by Geo Dell
The top of the silo was vented; the bottom as well. They had made a giant post with spokes that was mounted in the center of each silo. The center shaft was nothing more than a whole tree sitting in a rock lined pit. The spokes smaller trees. But not much smaller. A man would never turn it, especially full of tons of silage, but a team of Oxen could, and would a few times a week, to allow the air to circulate through the silage as it dried out. That was the principal reason for the short silos. Any taller and nothing would have moved the silage at all. At least nothing they had on hand.
They worked to fill the first silo, then started on the second. They were nearly to the top of that silo when the raw material ran out.
Liquid was already seeping from the bottoms of the silos. A concrete channel directed the liquid into deep concrete pits in a closed room of the barn. That room was well ventilated too. There they would turn the liquid into grain alcohol so pure it would run a gasoline engine. Bob felt they should end up with a few hundred gallons of the stuff as a by product of making the silage.
Most of the silage would go to the pigs, but a fair portion of it would go to the cows as well. The horses would subsist on grain and hay. Standing hay fields, cut while the seed was still on the stalk. That would make up the majority of the cow and bison's diet too. The second stories of all four barns was nothing but storage, just waiting to be filled with hay.
What they had planted would never be enough, but there was so much standing hay, nearly as far as the eye could see, that they would have no problem filling all four lofts.
What they had planted would be a much higher protein yield than the stuff that grew wild. But as they harvested they sowed their own hybrid seed they had bought in with them. So all the yields in the following years would be higher in protein. There would be no shortage for people or animals, once they had finished with the cornfield everybody headed back to the cave. Lilly, Candace, Patty and Janet began to get dinner ready, as well as look after the children, as the others made a steady procession up the stone ledge and into the far reaches of the cave to store the corn.
The remaining two fields of corn would come down by ear and be run through a coring machine, that did just that, left nothing but a core.
In between the second and third barns was what looked to be a huge concrete pad. But under the six inches of concrete it was hollow, about four feet high; rock lined walls and floor.
The corn would be spread on top, watched over by people. Fires started underneath to heat the stone and concrete, and the corn would be dried. The fires under the concrete had to be carefully regulated. Hot enough to speed the drying process, but not so hot that it cracked the concrete.
There were six huge concrete and stone storage containers that had been built in the fourth barn. That is where the finished product would end up. The corn would probably not take up more than two-and-a-half of the big rooms. But some silage would also be dried and used to fill the rest of the containers, as the silage worked down they would add the stalks from the remaining fields to it. As well as whatever they had in leftover hay that would not fit into the lofts. By the time most of the excess moisture had been drained or vented off, the silage would be a highly concentrated, high protein feed. Drying it out would stop it from working, and allow it to be stored for long periods of time: By the time the corn was put away, dinner was nearly ready to be served. People had gone down to the pool to clean up, or further down the stream to bathe.
There were two areas below where they drew their drinking water from that they used for bathing. The first place was for the women. It was close to the pool: Where the pool drained off it had created a ten foot hole leading down to the valley floor. The area where the water fell was already elevated from the valley floor some twenty five feet, so in effect it created an area about ten feet wide, with a fairly deep bottom and wide stone ledges, since it was sunken down into the rock it afforded privacy.
The second area was slightly farther away, where the stream took a sharp right turn, pulling away from the side of the mountain and turned out into the valley itself where it meandered the rest of the way across the valley floor. The sharp turn had eaten into the rock about eight feet, which dropped the stream down even with the valley floor. The turn left a rock sheltered stone ledge on the inside corner of the turn that extended about twenty five feet before the rock sides fell away and the stream flowed into the valley proper.
Tim had promised hot water, pipes, drains, real showers. Everyone knew it would take some work and that it was probably a few years off, but they all believed it would happen eventually. For now the cold water bathing was what they had and no one complained.
Dinner was pork chops, potatoes with creamy pork gravy, peas and pumpkin pies. Sourdough biscuits. Fresh cream for the pies and butter for the bread.
“Okay,” Candace said. “Now I see why I am getting so big.”
“Face it dear,” Janet told her. “You have two trucks parked in that garage.”
Patty nearly spit out a mouthful of the milk she had just swallowed. Candace laughed so hard tears squirted from her eyes.
Lilly choked back her laughter. “That will make your butt look big,” she gasped; wheezing with laughter.
“Jan, you are so funny sometimes,” Candace managed at last.
Eventually the laughter died down and they all tucked into the food.
On The Road
They had found the other truck that they needed, gassed it up, checked it over and they were ready to go. Josh had shut the truck down for a moment when the wind bought the sound of gunfire from the south. They would never have heard it if the truck had been running: If the wind had not carried the sound: Or if either of those things had not happened to coincide with the other, Mike told himself later. If he had not heard it, what would have happened? He hated to think about it, but he had heard it and so had the others, and there was nothing for it except to go and check it out. After all, Jessie's group had gone in that direction just a few hours before.
They had made good time coming back off the logging trail. Even so, Mike opinioned, it had been four hours. It should be nothing to do with Jessie's group. They should be long gone. But what if they weren’t? If it was them they had to help, even if it was not them they had to help. The decision was made in seconds. No words were exchanged. Mike turned to the others and they were waiting on him.
“Okay... Let's go see what it is... Leave that truck here... We'll come back for it,” he finished. A minute later both trucks were speeding down the highway in the direction of the gunfire.
The Nation
The afternoon turned into late afternoon, and then late afternoon turned into evening. Candace, Lilly and Cindy played music in the main meeting area. They were short Tim who played drums, and Molly who played guitar and also sang, but they sounded fine to everyone.
Candace and Cindy played their guitars and sang while Lilly added her flute to the melody. Candace did a version of A Minor, a song she had liked in the old world. And then she and Cindy did a song,'Peace In The Valley', followed by two other songs, 'You Say' and 'Stones Across the Water.' All three were songs Candace had written and the three had been working on.
Cindy's voice was high, sweet and clear, and it complimented Candace's voice which was low, throaty and somehow sinuous. People often told her that she had a good blues style, the way she sang, the way she phrased her voice and her guitar style, which was all finger picked and dealt in a lot of minors.
The music went on and pretty soon they were doing requests for this song or that song from the old world. Twice they were asked to play more of their own music as well.
When the sun began to slip down below the mountains, some left for their posts or evening chores, but others stayed. Finally, Candace and Cindy called it a night.
“My fingers hurt,” Candace admitted. “And this kid is trying to kick my guitar right off my lap.”
“Mine are shot too,” Cindy said. She held them up and examine
d them. They were starting to callus but she had not been playing long enough for good thick pads to build up on the tips of her fingers.
“And my lips are shot,” Lilly said. She looked at Candace daring her to make a smart remark.
“What,” Candace asked. “You think I would take a cheap shot like that? Like, 'Oh, your lips are frozen in an Oh!' or ...” Lilly gave her a shot in the shoulder and they all laughed.
Patty came over from where she had been talking to one of the newcomers whose name Candace could never remember, Janey, or Jeanie, something like that. A young, pretty girl. But she tended to stay away from Candace.
“You have to teach me how to play,” Patty said.
“Most of it is these calluses,” she held up the tips of her fingers. The tips were callused, but even so there were grooves in them from the strings.
“Doesn't that hurt?” Patty asked.
Candace turned them around and looked at them. “Nope. Used to, but the callus pads are thick. Doesn't hurt at all. The grooves will be gone in an hour or so.”
Patty took Candace's fingers and brushed them against her own cheek. “Hard,” she said. “Rough.” She met Candace's eyes and held them. She still held her hand in her own.
“Here,” Candace said. She pulled Patty to her and sat her down in front of her. She handed her, her own guitar, one she and Bob had made, and pulled Patty into her. She reached around her, took her hand and formed it into the proper position for a C Major on the guitar's fret-board. She took her other hand and strummed the strings with it. “See?” she asked.
“Yes,” Patty said quietly. Her voice was low, breathy.
Candace bent her head to look at her. Their faces just inches apart. “You okay?” she asked.
Patty smiled. “Yes... More than okay... Show me more, Candy.”
Candace took her hand and reset the chord position with her fingers. Then had her strum. The chord came out muted and buzzy sounding. “Tent your fingers... Like Cindy's.” Beside her Cindy showed her the chord and then strummed it.
Patty laughed, leaning back into Candace. “Mine doesn't sound that nice.” She looked closer at Cindy's hand.
“Tent it like Cindy's hand is, See?” Candace took her fingers, bent them slightly. “Push harder too.” The chord came out much clearer. Patty laughed again.
“You'll show me how to do it better?” she asked Candace. She lifted her face up to Candace's own, their noses nearly touching. Cindy turned away, a little embarrassed by the thought that had just jumped into her head, and watched the flames leap from the fire that burned in the middle of the room.
“Practice, practice,” she heard Candace say behind her.
“But you'll show me?” Patty asked.
“Pats, I just did... But I'll show you more... Spend some time with you... To show you.” Candace's voice was low and throaty. The same way she sang, Cindy thought. She turned back, still a little embarrassed. Her own mind sometimes created things that could not be true, she told herself. She had thought... Never mind, she told herself. Just never mind what you thought.
Patty's face was a little red. They had moved apart, but they were still looking at each other in a funny way. Cindy spoke. “I'll show you too. It's not that hard... The hardest thing is getting the calluses to build up... Waiting through that part of it.”
Candace cleared her throat and addressed Bob who sat nearby.
“Bob. Have you ever heard of Cat Gut strings,” she asked.
“Yes... But of course they are not really made of Cat Gut. Usually they are made of Calf skin... The inner lining of the stomach... It's very thin. But, they could also be made from actual gut, stomach too. Cow, calf... Probably cat too, I suppose... Sorry, why?” he asked.
“You answered it... These steel strings won't last forever, and I was wondering what we'd have for an alternative,” she said.
“Nylon,” Bob said. “And we have a lot of that in all gauges too.”
“Jeez Louise, nylon,” Candace said. “I should have thought of that. They use that on classical guitars... Sometimes metal wound too, but nylon.”
“Also gut strings on classical as well,” Bob said.
“Really?”
“Yep. It's not used like it used to be... Or it wasn't used like it had once been used,” Bob corrected. “Sometimes I forget it's all gone away. It wasn't used as much in this country, but in many countries it was still the material of choice... It has a very different sound than steel or nylon.”
“I thought only violins used it,” Lilly said.
“Nope... They do, or did, still do I guess, but classical guitarists liked it as well... Used it instead of nylon.”
“Well, how hard would it be to make,” Candace asked.
“Ah. That is the question. We'd have to play around a little, but I bet we could figure it out easily enough. Figure the gauge, what produces the pitch you need. I could build a jig once we figured it out so I could cut the gut the same time after time... Even make it round too,” he smiled and raised his head from the floor where it had sunken as he thought, working it out in his head. “A little playing around, pun intended, and we'd have it. Then it would be no big deal to do it on a regular basis” He paused for a moment. “I really like your music, Candace,” he told her. “I like the way you did that song... A Minor was it? And that other one, Stones Across The Water... Yeah. You have a beautiful voice.” He turned to Cindy.
“I had no idea how beautiful your voice was. Where did you learn to sing,” he asked.
“I didn't. I just sang along with the radio... Like anyone, I guess. But I like Candace's voice... I think our voices compliment each other.”
“You got that right,” Craig said. He had been sitting listening.
“Yeah,” Patty agreed. “I like that song too... It's about someone in prison, right?”
“Two kinds of prison... Like a prison in their head is what I get from it... Doing time for the things that have already passed in your life,” Candace said.
Patty nodded. “And your songs are about us. Our life here... I like your lyrics too... You could have done something in the old world, seriously.”
“I thought about it. I just didn't want it bad enough to crawl through all the mud you have to crawl through.” She shrugged. “I write better stuff now too. I like what I write now, and I didn't always before,” Candace finished.
On The Road
They came upon Lisa first. She was sprawled less than fifty feet from the truck she had left in that morning. The truck was a burned out wreck. There were charred bones in the wreckage. The heavy, greasy odor of burned pork hung in the air, along with the smell of burned plastic and hot steel. The wreckage was too hot to get very close to. The bones could have been one person. It could have been more.
Lisa lay nude in the tall grass. A dried crust of blood at her mouth. A small blue hole in her forehead.
Josh immediately choked up and began to cry. Tim swore, cried too, and then took off his coat and covered her with it. Chloe turned to ice, as did Mike. The smile she had been wearing for the last few days gone. Her anger just below the surface, barely contained. Visible. There was no question then that they were in it.
Mike raised his eyes to the tree line and saw the dead shifting in and out of the shadows. They had not been at her yet, but they would be. If they could not turn her she would simply be food. Beside him Chloe's eyes came up and locked on the wood line as well.
“No fuckin' way,” she whispered. It was nearly too low to hear it. She thumbed her safety off. Mike began to speak, but realized he had also thumbed his own safety off and was moving deliberately across the field toward the trees.
“You can't fuckin' have her,” Chloe screamed. Her machine pistol came up and she began to spray the trees. A second later Mike found that his own pistol was up and firing. Tim beside him. Josh off to one side. His face gray, ashen, his pistol jumping in his hands.
The dead that had ventured out of the trees began to fall,
and Mike found himself running at the tree line as Chloe and the others were. A few short seconds later and it was over. The dead that had not managed to flee lay on the ground. They stood for a second and then walked back to the trucks where they still sat idling in the sunlight.
Chloe and Mike picked up Lisa's body and settled it into the back of Chloe's truck. A minute later they were tearing down the road toward the sound of the gunfire that came to them loudly on the wind now.
Ten short minutes later they were at the edge of whatever was still going on. Ahead, an unfamiliar truck was cross-way in the road. Four people crouched behind it, firing at something further up the road.
Chloe and Mike both sighted through their scopes. “That has got to be the bad guys,” Mike said. He looked over at Chloe.
“Ain’t nobody we know,” Chloe said tightly.
“Get behind the truck,” Mike said to Tim and Josh. To Chloe: “I'm taking the two on the right, you take the two on the left.” He laid down on the road. Propped his elbows up to hold his rifle and sighted. “On you,” he told her.
Chloe shifted slightly. “Say when,” she whispered.
“When,” Mike said tightly.
Mike's first shot hit the man on the far right in the back. The man next to him, believing the shot had come from the front, jumped up and began firing into the distance past the truck, but before Mike could take him out a shot from somewhere else took him down. He turned to Chloe's second man, she had already dropped the first man, and they both fired at once.
His head exploded, and the glass of the rear window he had been standing in front of blew inward. The shots ricocheted back to them and then the silence came hard and stayed.
“Chloe,” Mike whispered after a while.
“Yeah?” Her voice was still tight. Strained. They had both been looking through their scopes.
“You see anything? Anything at all?”