by L. L. Akers
They stood back and admired their work. The entire job took less than two hours.
“Looks like a big window,” Grayson said. “Now what?”
Jake pulled his bandana off his head, and mopped his face with it.
Grayson looked at his brother-in-law with concern. “You feeling alright, Jake? It’s not that hot in here…”
Jake nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine. Look, before we take this outside, you need to understand something. This thing is dangerous. And I do mean dangerous. You cannot leave it unattended when it’s uncovered, and don’t point it at anyone or anything that you don’t want to see turned into a flaming ball of fire. You should never leave it out in the sun without first pointing the beam at something that won’t catch fire, and even then, never ever walk away from it. Keep a dark sheet, or blanket or something to throw over it when we’re not trying to cook something, or set something on fire, and you need to keep it put away in a dark place when we’re not using it. But never, and I mean ever, leave it in your barn, or anywhere, without the cover. If the sun hits it, there’s gonna be a beam, and something’s gonna light up. You could burn the whole place down if you’re not careful.”
Grayson narrowed his eyes. “I don’t even see a beam.”
“Hold my beer,” Jake said and threw his bandana at Grayson.
Grayson and Jake wasted an entire afternoon playing with the Fresnel lens. They lit fires, boiled water, and finally, experimented with cooking, using only a cookie sheet sitting on a sheet of metal that Grayson had dug out of his barn to cook eggs on, and then later with Elmer’s solar oven, quickly cooking three jars of homemade butter bean and ham soup that Grayson had snuck out of the basement for a celebration.
For the first time since the grid went down, they were having fun, like two boys with a new toy.
They’d made cornbread with the lens, to go with their beans, and had laughed with glee when they unwrapped the aluminum foil insulation they’d used around the heavy Dutch oven, finding the top a bit burnt. They’d scraped it off and ate it anyway, dipping it into the hearty soup.
Grayson slapped Jake on the back. “This is so slicker than greased owl shit on a doorknob, bro,” he said, as he watched Jake once again rotate the lens and point the beam, this time at a pot of chicory roots and water, heating it up to boiling in seconds for an after-dinner cup of ‘coffee.’
“Jake, I gotta say, I know you weren’t on the prepper band-wagon so much, but you’re a hell of an asset to have around when the shit hits the fan. From making some gas usable, to using that scrap RV pump to get the women a real shower in the house, to all the other things you’ve done around here. Especially this… this is going to be a game-changer for cooking and starting fires. And it’s a helluva toy, too. I’m glad you’re here, brother.”
Jake shrugged, humble as usual. “Yeah, thanks. But anyone could do this, really. Don’t need me for it. Even Puck could start a fire or cook a meal with this beam. It’s not rocket science.”
Puck watched, peeking around from the corner of the barn, smiling widely at the big window-toy that Jake and Grayson were playing with.
Finally, he thought; something he could help out with, all by himself.
7
Tullymore
The next day at Tullymore began with Kenny reporting a huge problem to Tucker.
Kenny wrinkled his nose. “Well, the shit’s hit the fan for real this time.”
“Not the fan, but the floor, for sure.” Tucker ran his hand over his face in frustration. “Why won’t these people listen to anything? When the power went off, I told them to turn off their water and sewer valves. How hard could that be?”
“Some people are just plain stupid, man,” Xander, the dark-skinned, American-borne Haitian replied, as he single-handedly loaded logs as big around as their waist into the back of a yard-wagon. He stopped and removed his doo-rag from his shiny black head and mopped the sweat off his face.
Tucker still found it strange to see Xander so casual, especially with a bandana on his head. He’d never seen the young entrepreneur in anything other than a full expensive suit before the grid went down. The man didn’t even mow his own yard. He hired a team to come in every weekend to handle any outside maintenance.
Xander shoved the tip of the now-wet cloth into his back pocket and grabbed another log, slinging it on top of the pile with a huge crash, and a satisfying smile. “They probably thought it was a waste of time, thinking the power was coming back on any day now.”
Tucker stomped off to pace and think a moment, and Kenny and Xander let him go. By now the three were thick as thieves, working shoulder to shoulder every day, and all three helping to guide the rest of the neighborhood.
Kenny started out being a pain in the ass, but was stepping up to be a huge asset, although Tucker and Xander had to teach him to do nearly everything, which took a good pit of patience from Tucker. But he was eager to learn, and gave it his all. The man they’d dismissed as a nerdy pencil pusher in the beginning was now an irreplaceable ally, worker, and friend.
Kenny’s wife, Penny, had a propensity to stick her nose in, obnoxiously pushing Kenny on him for every project at every turn, and getting on Tucker’s last nerve. Tucker and Katie assumed it had to do with the first day when Penny had nominated Kenny as the leader, and stubbornly stood as his only vote. She wanted him to be seen as important, somehow.
When Tucker had finally gave in to the nerdy man being in his shadow night and day, and embraced it instead of ignoring him, Penny had backed off.
Turned out they truly did just want to help.
Kenny took his self-appointed role as Tucker’s sidekick seriously and he was used to dropping a problem on Tucker and then letting him work out the solution, or the plan, while hanging quietly by in wait, until Tucker gave him his marching orders.
Xander did the same. He had no need to be the boss—he’d had enough of that in his nine-to-five before the grid went down. He was just glad to be home after his long trek back from the mountains of Tennessee, with his family in tow. The Carolina’s had never looked so good, even though they rolled into it on barely more than a hope and a prayer, having crossed looters, robbers, and rapists on the way. He’d been happy to see his home still standing and untouched, and had been working hard every day since to help keep the ‘hood afloat in this crisis.
Tucker scratched at his short beard and looked around.
The air wreaked with the smell of raw sewage. Luckily, all the houses in their subdivision hadn’t been affected yet. Only the ones on the lowest elevation in the ‘hood, and only those who were on the main sewer line—so far.
Tucker groaned. He knew what the rest of his day would entail now; going house to house and handling the job of finding each water and sewer valve himself, to make sure they were all off.
This wouldn’t fix the problem of some of their floors being covered in the stomach-flipping sweet smell of raw sewage, but it’d stop the entire neighborhood of being flooded with it. Tempers were on the verge of flaring due to food shortages, and hot, long work days without a shower or air-conditioned place to relax. The last thing he needed now was for their living conditions to get worse.
Yesterday morning, when they’d turned away the offer of the lopsided trade for food and water in return for their guns and ammo, Tucker had seemed to really wake up. It was almost as if he’d been in a fog, getting up each day and handling what the day brought, but not really planning for a long-term event; secretly hoping each day that this would be the day the power came on, or the government showed up with help and an explanation. He’d put off thinking about tomorrow, batting the thought away like a pesky fly.
But tomorrow was here. And whether he wanted it or not, he was the leader of at least half of these people, and he needed to start thinking like a leader; thinking long-term.
The neighborhood needed to be better fortified. The man in camo was right. Worse could come. Bad people were out there. He’d seen them up close—too
close—and personal. A month ago, it looked like the whole town had been ransacked. Probably no food left for sure now. Soon, those bad people would be heading to the outskirts of town.
Places like Tullymore.
They’d need to be ready.
He had to find more water, too. The water in the pool was going down in huge increments every single day. It was less than a third full now, and every day they prayed for rain. It took a good bit of water for forty-ish people. Drinking, cooking, laundry, washing up… so many needs for water that no one really thought about until there was none, or not much.
There had to be another water source around here somewhere. They’d just have to find it—before they desperately needed it.
Food was another issue. They were quickly using everything they had.
Right now, the women insisted the men eat more, as they were handling the heavy outdoor work, most of the time. But the men insisted the women and children eat more; as that’s just what good men did—took care of their families first. And the kids were demanding they get more, because dammit, they were always hungry and used to eating whenever they took the notion; especially the teenagers.
And the dogs.
Bottomless pits.
Both species.
The few dogs that survived Trunk’s rampage through their neighborhood were now being fed mostly from their owner’s plates. The day Tucker announced they could no longer spare extra food for those dogs was the day he really resented being the leader.
He loved dogs.
Especially his own.
Each evening he had to swallow down guilt that his own dogs, Hoss and Daisy, were secretly well taken care of, so far. They’d always kept two galvanized trash cans in the garage with extra bags of food. Wasn’t really prepping—it was more of a convenience for Katie.
She enjoyed her grocery runs alone. In a house full of teenagers, alone-time was a rare gift. She actually looked forward to her weekly store run. But the dog food was too heavy for her, and took up too much real estate in the back of her SUV, room needed for enough food to feed a family of six.
So, Tucker took to stopping by once a month on his way home from work and buying half a dozen bags at a time and sticking them into the trash cans to rotate out.
The grid went down right after such a trip, so they were good for a while. He just wished the neighbors would’ve been doing the same. That was one thing Katie said she wouldn’t share. She’d fight for Hoss and Daisy as though they were four-legged furry children.
To her, they were.
They were feeding them only once a day now, and late at night, one big bowl each, in the dark and away from prying eyes. He couldn’t do it. Katie handled that. He couldn’t stand those big brown eyes looking up at him when their one plate per day of food was gone. The dogs had always been fed twice a day before—morning and night—plus table scraps and treats.
Now they were on rations too, and looking a bit scrawny.
Meanwhile, the humans were still doing okay. But their belts were pulled a good bit tighter. Stoically, they were all were mostly grinning and bearing it, as if this was one big glamping trip, without the glamour, and the wienies.
But more food wasn’t happening for anyone anytime soon, and he knew the smiles and niceties would soon fade. People would get real hungry. And real mean. Mothers and fathers would do anything to feed their children if they were starving, and the ‘hood would turn against each other. The food challenge seemed even bigger than the water. Surely, they could find some water, somewhere, and eventually the rain would come.
But food?
Food was going to be harder to come by.
Add extreme heat, and shit-water running through their houses, and things were gonna get crazy. Tucker returned to stand in front of Kenny and Xander. He sighed. “Send out the Town Criers, Kenny. Call a meeting for one hour from now.”
While Tucker picked back up in helping Xander load the logs they’d cut, Kenny hurried off thru the gap in the houses and into the woods behind to round up the teenagers of the group. They had more energy and speed than the adults, and relished a chore such as this one. Much better than their never-ending job of cutting and gathering smaller firewood and dragging it back to camp, or even worse, the burning of the shit-barrels—which they’d complained about having to do.
Tucker smiled at the thought of their faces when he’d called them together in a special meeting early that morning. They’d been expecting a reward for all their hard work, and had stood tall with grins spread ear to ear, waiting. Unfortunately, he’d been given a report that they’d snuck out and were splashing around in the shallow pool the night before—their only source of water right now—so the reward was to assign them to the barrels, the shit jobs.
Their shit-eating grins had melted away real fast.
Even his own kids weren’t exempt from some good hard work as punishment. All four were elbow deep in goo all day, with black-rimmed eyes from the smoke.
He felt sure they’d stay out of the pool from now on.
8
Tullymore
Around sixty people gathered in Tucker’s backyard in the shade, under large rectangular beach canopies, and tarps strung haphazardly to trees and random sign-poles they’d dug up from the neighborhood, replanted in the ground for this purpose, as well as to hang clothes-lines on near the laundry area.
His numbers were growing. When the neighborhood first split, he and Curt each led around forty people each.
Now Tucker looked out at the crowd and saw that many of the faces that peered back at him were from Curt’s group, marked by the tell-tale sign of them furtively glancing around looking for their own leader. Some of their faces were painted with guilt, other with defiance. Tucker didn’t mind them hanging out for things like this. He wished the neighborhood wasn’t split into two sides to begin with. They’d be stronger as one; and things were going from bad to worse for that group already.
Until they agreed to merge into one big group, and also shared some of their own food for the group pantry, he wouldn’t allow them all to eat at the community supper. If they joined his group alone, though, he fed them with the understanding they’d be assigned to a work crew. But to convene for information purposes—or even to help out on security—was good for everyone. No one really gave them any trouble, as long as Curt wasn’t there to instigate a problem.
And not surprisingly, Curt wasn’t there. The last time Tucker had seen him was over an hour ago, laying in a hammock under a tree in his own back yard, sneakily snacking on something he kept hidden under his arm. He was neat and clean, as though taking a break from a long day behind the desk in his home office. Tucker was surprised he didn’t have a few of the women standing over him, fanning him with big leaves, and feeding him as well.
The guy wasn’t a leader. Lazing around, eating their food, while his people could be seen working wasn’t setting a good example. Tucker looked at his own hands covered in callouses. His clothes were filthy; he wore a once-white T-shirt stained with who knew what, and torn-up jeans that now hung a bit looser on his lean frame, gathered together with his belt with a few new holes poked in it.
His boots had seen better days, too. His hair, which sorely needed cut before the grid went down, had grown over his ears and down his neck, just barely long enough to pull into a band at the nape, which his daughters pestered him into doing, and his sons laughed at him for.
He wasn’t asking his own folks to do anything he wasn’t willing to get out there and do himself, right beside them.
He shook his head in disgust at the thought of Curt lording over his new fiefdom, and then realized as he looked around that Sarah, his neighbor, was nowhere to be seen, either. He called his eldest son, Zach, over.
Zach hurried up from his seat on the ground, and stretched his long legs as he stood in front of his father. He was more man than boy now, especially after the past few month’s events. His light brown hair was now tipped in wild, golden curls
from working out in the sun, instead of staying locked in his room on video games or his cell phone all the time. His arms were bulging with muscles, and Tucker was shocked to see he didn’t need to look down to speak to him anymore. They were eye to eye now.
When did that happen? he thought.
“Take your brother and go check on Sarah, please. Tell her there’s a meeting.”
“I already did, Dad. She wouldn’t open the door. She yelled through it and said she was busy with Sammi, and to go ahead without her.”
Puzzled, Tucker scratched his now apocalyptic-beard. Not wanting to waste time, water, or the precious soap and shampoo he tried to save for his girls—he was out of shaving cream—he’d let it grow, and it was in the painfully-itchy stage. The group rarely called a meeting, but everyone knew if and when they did, it was usually very important. He was surprised that Sarah would miss it.
“Go over there again, son. Tell her she needs to be here to hear all this; I don’t want to repeat myself. Unless her or the baby are sick or something.”
Zach grimaced. “She is sick… or something. I can smell it through the door. It’s a stench.”
“Oh great. That means her house probably got flooded with sewage, too.” But on second thought, Sarah’s house shouldn’t have flooded. She lived across the street from Tucker, and they were on the high side. No one else’s house on their street had been affected yet.
He needed to get started with the meeting. They had a lot of ground to be covered, and then they needed to get back to work. He let it go and waved his son to sit down again. He’d have to make a trip over there himself, later.
Penny, Kenny’s wife, overheard the conversation. “Kenny can run the meeting if you need to run over there, Tucker,” she said, prodding her husband to stand up. “Go ahead, Kenny.”