She went inside. They didn’t lock the doors these days. The camp was a mile off the nearest road and they didn’t get much company. They’d never had a problem with theft. The camp was hidden in the inner recesses of the farm, requiring that you pass Oliver’s house to get there. The occasional visitor, escorted by Oliver, showed up to bring them the gift of some supplies. Usually some canning or meat they’d butchered.
Other times they might see a hunter crossing the property. Waves were exchanged but no one ever approached. Sharon knew some people still showed up to check on Oliver, but not nearly so many as before the collapse. As a musician he had many friends, but it was not a good time to travel. It was sad to admit but Oliver was getting to that age where most of his friends and family had passed on.
Inside the dining hall, Sharon headed directly for the kitchen. Had she been at home she’d have headed for the coffee pot, but they’d been out of coffee here since last fall. She’d had a lot of herbal tea over the winter, but the last thing she wanted now was to pour hot water into her already warm body. She picked up a glass jar in which fresh mint leaves the children had picked along the bank of the creek had been steeping overnight. She tucked the jar into her lap and moved from the kitchen to the dining room, lit an oil lamp, and removed a notepad from the pouch hanging from the side of her chair.
Every day started with a list. She reviewed the things they’d accomplished the day before, which was never as much as she’d hoped, and added new things to her list that had occurred to her as she lay in bed at night. Food preservation was always on the top of their list. Another fall and winter would be upon them soon and they’d go into it more poorly-equipped than they’d been a year ago. They’d eaten their way through the leftover camp supplies; the big number ten cans and the bagged rice, all the pasta and canned sauces. They wouldn’t have that as backup this year. Survival would be about their own resourcefulness. It would be about the supplies they laid in and how well they preserved them.
8
The Camp
Nearly two hours later children began straggling into the dining hall. Once one of them woke up, the rest came to life as if some sort of chemical signal passed between them. The oldest of the girls, twelve-year-old Kay, took responsibility for making sure the girls were ready and prepared for the day. Sharon had put her in a role similar to being a counselor at the camp. Their counselors for the children’s sessions normally had to be sixteen but these were unconventional times.
Sharon assured Kay it would be good training since she’d already expressed an interest in being a counselor in the future. “Just do your best. Make sure they have what they need. Make sure they’re comfortable. If you need help, ask me.”
In the boy’s cabin, fourteen-year-old Nathan did the same. He kept the morale up and made sure the boys changed their clothes when required. This time of year, keeping the children bathed and their clothes clean was less of an issue. They simply went swimming in their dirty clothes, splashing around in the creek until they were clean.
They were all back to living in the cabins for now because Sharon felt like it contributed to the feeling that this was just camp and they were normal kids having a normal summer camp experience. Last winter they’d all moved into the dining hall with its wood stove and insulated walls for obvious reasons. They spent the cold months feeding the fire and pretending they were at a slumber party.
Keeping morale up on those long, dark evenings had been quite the challenge. The children practiced their instruments and had lessons every day, worked puzzles, and played board games. Sharon made them read books from the camp library in an attempt to keep their general education from suffering. Despite her career as a classroom teacher, she did everything she could to make the camp not feel like a classroom.
Sharon had breakfast laid out in the kitchen by the time the children showed up. It wasn’t the kind of breakfast kids would find at most summer camps. There was no sausage, bacon, or eggs, no biscuits, pancakes, or little boxes of sugary cereals. There were no juice boxes and tiny cartons of milk. All of that was long gone and they were back to the bounty of the Earth.
“Who wants to get the yogurt this morning?” Sharon asked.
“I will!” Jenny bolted out the door before anyone could protest.
A cold mountain stream ran past the cabin. They’d taken an old cooler and drilled the bottom full of holes with a hand drill. Cold stream water ran through the cooler all day, allowing them a basic level of refrigeration. They had a variety of goats that had once served as nothing more than entertainment at the camp. Now those goats provided milk, which in turn allowed Sharon to make cheese and yogurt.
While they waited on the yogurt, kids helped themselves to blackberries, strawberries, chunks of cantaloupe, slices of apple, and ripe summer peaches. It was a bountiful time at the camp and it warmed Sharon’s heart to be able to provide for the children in such a way. Last winter they’d often struggled to find a meal that everyone liked but that wasn’t an issue now. The fruit, topped with yogurt and honey, was a favorite for everyone. They were attempting to dehydrate berries now to preserve for the winter but Sharon had never done it before. She was uncertain if they’d survive storage.
Jenny was back in a few minutes with two crocks. One held plain yogurt and the other a flavored variety that Sharon was experimenting with. While the children ate, Sharon studied her list.
“It looks like another hot day,” she said. “We’re going to work for a while, then we’ll take a break and play in the creek so you can cool off if you want. Then we’ll work some more, eat lunch, and then take a break in the early afternoon so everyone can practice their instruments. How’s that for a plan?”
“What do we got to do today?” Tara asked. She was the youngest of the kids and the most insecure with the situation. Despite Sharon’s assurances, she was always afraid she’d be assigned some task that she couldn’t do. She was lacking in confidence and Sharon was working hard to bolster it.
“Most of us will work in the garden this morning,” Sharon said. “Everything is coming ripe at once. We need to pick tomatoes for tomato sauce, ketchup, and tomato soup. We’ll cook everything up this afternoon and do some canning tonight.”
“It’s hot inside,” Jenny said. “Do we really have to can tonight?”
“There’s nothing we can do about that, is there? Everybody is going to want ketchup. Everyone is going to want tomato soup this winter. The only way we’ll have those things is if we cook and can them.”
The children already knew that. Everyone understood the canning had to be done but no one was excited about doing it. It required cooking on the woodstove in the already hot dining hall and it could be unpleasant. Sharon wanted to build an outdoor canning kitchen but she hadn’t gotten around to it yet.
“Nathan, you and Stevie are going to go collect peaches. I need you to get two full buckets each. Then check the eggs and make sure the chickens have water.”
“I wanted to check the eggs this morning,” Jenny said. “I like it when they’re still warm in your hand.”
Sharon smiled at her. “That’s fine. When you finish breakfast you go do that.” As much as Sharon depended on her lists, flexibility helped keep everyone sane. She picked her battles. Sometimes the list had to be adhered to and other times it did not. If Jenny wanted to get eggs, she’d let her go.
With the planning out of the way, they ate their breakfast and talked. Sharon had several prompts to get them talking if everyone was trapped in the doldrums. She’d ask about any interesting dreams anyone had. At dinner every evening, she made each person bring a story about something interesting they’d seen during the day. It could be a pretty leaf or a weird bug, an unusual bird, or an animal they didn’t normally see. It wasn’t just about distracting the children; Sharon was interested in building their observational skills and teaching them mindfulness. However, she had an ulterior motive even beyond that. In these dangerous times, she wanted them to be cautious, an
d that required being constantly aware of their surroundings.
When they were done, each person cleaned their own plate and utensils, each washed their cup. Before leaving the kitchen, they dipped them into a solution of bleach water to help sanitize it, then put them in a rack to dry. This system had worked for the camp for years and Sharon saw no reason to change it now.
They met as a group on the back porch of the dining hall and Sharon reviewed their assignments with them. She reaffirmed the safety procedures. No one was to be left alone or go anywhere alone outside of the main camp area, which consisted of the dining hall, cabins, and garden. If they saw a stranger they weren’t to speak with them. They were to run and find her if she was close, or run and hide if she was not.
“You tell us this every day,” Tara said, rolling her eyes.
Sharon smiled. “And I will continue to do so because I care about you and want you to be safe.” She poked Tara in the belly for emphasis, the child giggling as she pulled away.
As everyone wandered off to their jobs, gathering the supplies they needed, Nathan went about the first task he performed every day. In addition to goats, Oliver kept some ponies around for the children to pet. As a resourceful farmer, used to improvising, he’d figured out in the early days of the disaster that Sharon could harness one to her wheelchair and use the small animal to pull it around like a cart.
In an ideal world, the measure wouldn’t have been necessary but the world wasn’t ideal. Some of the places Sharon needed to go around the camp didn’t offer smooth, wheelchair-friendly surfaces. She was a strong woman and could muscle her chair into a lot of places, but that wasn’t the best use of her energy. Why exhaust herself rolling over uneven ground when the docile ponies were perfect for it?
They’d settled on a friendly animal named Honey, but it had taken them a while to perfect the rigging. Eventually Oliver, Nathan, and Sharon came up with a good system. Sharon perfected it over the winter. She made a good nylon harness with buckles and Velcro. It clipped onto her chair with a couple of carabiners, turning it into a miniature buggy. It turned out to be a game-changer in terms of getting her where she needed to go on the property. For the two decades she’d worked there, she’d relied on a gas-powered golf cart for that task. That cart now sat abandoned in the high weeds behind her cabin.
“What are you getting into this morning?” Nathan asked, securing the last buckle and stepping back from the pony.
“I’m going to go check on Oliver. He wasn’t feeling so good when he left here yesterday. You reach a certain age and you can’t tolerate heat like you used to.”
“Is that age fourteen?” Nathan asked with a grin.
Sharon smiled and shook her head. “Not hardly.”
9
The Valley
Ellen was down at the barn preparing for a day of canning. There had been a day when it was an indoor activity, conducted in an air-conditioned kitchen with all the modern conveniences. That was no longer the case. They needed a wood-fired stove for sanitizing jars and sealing the canned foods. Performing that operation inside rendered the house uninhabitable.
Early in the spring, Jim had set up an old woodstove near the barn just for this purpose. They had plenty of water there from the nearby springhouse and there were folding plastic tables for cutting vegetables and staging supplies. The rusty old woodstove was set up beneath a lean-to attached to the barn, keeping them from having to work directly in the sun all day. A chimney made of thick steel well-casing directed the smoke through the roof. As far as apocalyptic canning kitchens went, it wasn’t a bad setup.
Nana and Ariel were organizing jars so they could be washed and sanitized. Ariel was less than excited about the task, but Ellen made it clear that her presence was required. Everyone had to pitch in to help. Everyone had jobs to do. It was the only way they’d survive the winter with enough food to eat.
Ellen was building a fire in the recesses of the broad stove when she heard a horse approaching. She turned and shaded her eyes. Hugh was coming across the yard toward them. He tossed a hand up in greeting.
“Morning, folks. How’s everyone doing?”
Ellen smiled. “We’re good. Just getting ready for a day of canning.”
“Passing on the skills to a new generation, I see.” He nodded toward Ariel.
She crinkled her brow at him. “I don’t want to can. I want to play.”
“Work first, play later. That’s how I was raised,” Hugh said.
“You sound like my daddy,” Ariel said.
“And your mommy,” Ellen added.
“And your grandmother,” Nana pitched in.
“Sounds like you’re outnumbered, little girl,” Hugh said. “Best go along with it. There’ll be time to play later.”
Ariel didn’t appear convinced.
“What you into today?” Ellen asked. “Here to lend a hand with the canning? We could use it.”
“Afraid not. Going into town with Gary and Debra. We’ve heard that farmer’s market has really grown this summer. They want to see if they can trade off a few things.”
“I’m glad you’re going with them. That didn’t go so well last time. Turned into a gunfight, as I remember.”
“Yeah, we’ll be ready for trouble, but hopefully everyone is more interested in trading than fighting. Gary’s leaving Will in charge back at his place. Charlie is going with us. He said he had a few things that belonged to his parents that he wasn’t going to need. He wanted to see if he could trade them for something more useful.”
“Any of it stuff we can use?” Ellen asked.
Hugh shook his head. “Nothing that would benefit us. There are some collector knives that aren’t really made for use but would be helpful if you didn’t have a knife at all. He’s also got some oddball hunting ammo that doesn’t fit any of our weapons, some heart medication that belonged to his dad. A few other things.”
“He and Pete are helping Randi and Pops with the garden at her place,” Nana said. “At least that’s where they said they were going.”
“I’ll head over that way then. Anything you need from town?”
“A milkshake,” Ariel said. “Vanilla. And maybe some French fries.”
Hugh laughed. “If I could buy one and get it back here before it melted, I’d be glad to do that.”
“I don’t know of anything we need right now,” Ellen said. “I don’t have any vegetables I’m ready to trade either. I’m going to try to can everything we raise.”
“Good enough,” Hugh said. “Pete is going to be riding a patrol while we’re gone. You should be able to get him on the radio if you need him.”
“You guys be careful,” Ellen said.
“Always.” Hugh tipped his hat and rode off.
He circled Jim’s house and cut through the narrow gate in the backyard. That would deliver him to Randi’s house faster than returning to the road. It was a private, direct path between the two homes. After a short ride, he found everyone gathered in the garden. As he got closer, he saw they had serious looks on their faces. These were not happy gardeners. These were pissed-off gardeners.
“What’s going on?” he asked, dismounting and tying his horse off to a fencepost.
“Coons!” Randi said with disgust. “The damn trash-pandas got in our corn. They wrecked entire rows, pulling off ears and trampling the plants.”
“Yeah, Mack Bird had some get in his chickens. He’s not happy with them either,” Hugh said.
Charlie frowned. “I want to put out traps.”
“I already told you once, you trap one of my daughter’s cats and you’ll be the one getting skinned,” Randi warned.
“I’ve got some trapping books at my place,” Hugh said. “There might be some options for live traps.”
“Coons are vicious,” Pops said. “Most cats and dogs don’t want to fool with them. They’ll pretend like they didn’t see them and go the other way.”
“Mack was going to put that thermal scope of his o
n a .22 and lay in wait for them. Maybe he’d let you borrow that setup if you use your own shells. You could sit down here at night and wait for them.”
“We’ve got to do something,” Randi said. “Even if I have to camp out in the garden myself I’m not losing all this corn. This is too important.”
“There may be some live traps floating around the valley we can borrow,” Pops said. “I had one at my house but it’s all the way across town. It might as well be on the moon.”
“Are you ready?” Charlie asked Hugh.
Hugh checked his watch. “Yeah, we need to meet Gary and Debra at the foot of Jim’s driveway. They’re probably waiting on us already.”
“Where you headed?” Pops asked.
“Charlie is going into town with Gary, Debra, and me. We wanted to check out the farmer’s market again. Hopefully, we’ll get a better reception this time. Between us, I’m curious to see if I overhear any gossip about Jim. We need to know if people are still looking for him or it’s passed. I thought it was over but that drone spooked everyone a little.”
“I hope it’s passed,” Pops said. “This whole mess is about to be the death of his mother. She can hardly take all this worry.”
Charlie headed for his horse, tied up under a tree in Randi’s yard. Pete wasn’t far behind him.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Pops asked.
“I told Hugh I’d ride a patrol in the valley while he was gone,” said Pete. “Just keep an eye on things.”
“That’s good. I’d prefer you not go into town if you don’t have to.”
“Fine with me,” Pete said. “I have no interest in town.”
“Nor do I,” Randi said. “Nothing there but trouble and heartache.”
The Borrowed World Series | Book 8 | Blood & Banjos Page 6