by L. L. Akers
Kenny resisted, gently pushing her hand away and shushing her with a whisper, earning a cross look and pursed lips from his bossy wife, who then shot daggers from her eyes at Tucker, when he ignored her and turned back to the crowd.
Tucker knew Kenny well enough to know public speaking was not something he wanted to do. He cleared his throat. “Let’s talk about the convoy. As most of you know, some guys in camo showed up willing to give us food in exchange for guns and ammo. Our guns and ammo. The crowd that was there at the time agreed with me. For anyone that wasn’t present, they also told of a FEMA camp. You can wait for them to come back, or head out there on foot. It’ll be dangerous, but we know exactly where it is. They made promises of plenty of food and water. To be fair, I wanted to make sure everybody knows about it.”
He looked around at the faces staring back at him. None were surprised. He wasn’t surprised that they weren’t surprised. Without the modern amenities of television and music, the only means of entertainment now was gossip. The visit from the convoy would’ve spread like wildfire already.
None spoke up to disagree with the answer he’d given the convoy.
“Okay then. Next issue: as some of you are well aware, the sewage lines have backed up. We told you in the first meeting we had here to turn off your valves in the house, and on the street, if you had one. But some didn’t listen. Now you’re in a pickle, because there’s not enough water to give you any extra to clean up the mess. We need it all for drinking, cooking and bathing.”
Actually, he couldn’t remember if it had been Jake or himself that had warned of this, but he knew it’d been said. He looked around at the guilty faces and felt sorry for them. With the stress of the grid down, and the lack of air-conditioning and water, the last thing people wanted to do was live with a shit smell, or pack up and move. But the choices were limited.
He continued. “We’re moving into summer, and it looks like the power isn’t coming back on anytime soon. It’s gonna be hot and the smell will get worse… for y’all that have flooding, I’d suggest you double up on occupancy with a neighbor and wait it out. Maybe the smell won’t be so bad once it dries up. Pack up and ask someone if you can stay with them. Many of us have spare bedrooms, or you can sleep on the floor.”
Suddenly, the crowd perked up, and a wave of worried chatter moved through it. He realized what he’d said and tried to back up. “Look folks, I haven’t heard a word about the power coming back on—or not coming back on. No one has heard a word about anything. We still don’t know why it’s off. We need to plan as if it’s forever, just in case.”
Tucker cringed at his last sentence, wishing he could take it back before it was even all the way out his mouth. Damn this public speaking… he wasn’t made for it. His mouth was overriding his brain. The crowd roared, some at him, some at each other; panic rising over the words no one had had wanted to say aloud. They’d all denied it in their minds, wanting to live in their own little bubbles and hope for the best. As long as they didn’t say it out loud, it wasn’t happening. They could keep hoping and wishing to wake up to the world moving at a regular pace again; air conditioning running, trucks on the road headed to stock the stores with food, flushable toilets and running water.
Tucker had just popped that bubble.
If the power didn’t come back on, it would be life-changing. Not just for them, but for all of America. It would set them back a hundred years. It would be an apocalyptic event for sure; hell, it nearly was already, he thought, thinking back to his trip with Jake to the grocery store where five bodies now lay in their own pools of blood.
People would start dropping like flies, especially when they ran out of food and water. Many with serious health conditions would die from lack of medical care, or medicine running out—like the elderly lady in the wheelchair they’d found waiting for her kids to return, and giving up when she found out they would never come home again. She’d snipped her own oxygen tube as the last of her kin lay dead on the couch—having waited too long for more medication that couldn’t be found.
There’d be fatalities from sickness too, without a constant source of clean water for the majority; maybe some here at Tullymore. Already there were rumors of some of Curt’s people being sick with diarrhea and vomiting. Tucker felt sure it was the water in Curt’s pool. Drinking it without properly filtering it was the epitome of reckless. If anything, he was over-filtering his own pool water for his group, but better safe than sorry.
With the continued absence of police and a working court of law, murder and mayhem on a large scale would erupt soon, taking lives at will. Even if Martial Law was declared, who would enforce it? Who would keep the bad guys off the streets and away from the law-abiding citizens?
No one.
That’s who.
They’d be on their own. Just like they were now.
But he didn’t need to tell the group all that. Right now, they needed to focus on what they could control, and leave the hand-wringing for later.
9
Tullymore
The crowd at Tullymore settled down once more, and Tucker continued. “Okay, listen up. The other topic on the agenda is keeping cool. Most of us have never lived without climate control. Many of us haven’t ever had to work outside for long periods of time. And with our water situation, this heat is gonna be rough on everybody. We’re going to have to tighten up on the water again soon, as well as the food rations. So, we need to be smart about the heat.”
A low grumbling moved through the group at the mention of lowering rations again, but there’s was nothing to be done about it. What they had on-hand wouldn’t last long. Tucker ignored their disappointment.
“First, let’s all try to stay inside, or in the shade, during the hottest part of the day, or a good portion of it. That’s usually between 11 am and 5 pm. We’ll avoid being in the sun during these hours, when we can. When you are working outside, cover your head to keep the sun off of it. Wear light-colored, loose-fitting clothes. Natural fabrics like cotton breathe better than synthetic fabrics like polyester, rayon, or lycra. If you do get overheated, a wet towel over your head or shoulders will help a lot—if you have the water. But staying hydrated is more important.
Sweating less is our goal, so that we’ll not need to drink more water than we have to.
For inside the house, tune your windows. Strategically opening the right windows to get the best breeze in, and out again, is ‘tuning windows.’ Be sure to open some windows on the second floor, so that heat rising in the house doesn’t build up. Then open some on the first floor, so that the hotter air leaving the second floor is replaced by the cooler air. On the first floor, choose windows that are toward the wind, so that the air enters more readily. On the second floor, choose windows on the lee, the downwind side of the house, so that the air leaves more easily.
You should also block the sun that comes through any other glass by closing the curtains and blinds, or covering with foil or other opaque material. Make-shift awnings outside, over any windows on the hottest side of the house, would help too, if you can rig something up. Stay in the cooler parts of your home. The north side will have a lower temperature than the south side. If you have a basement, hang out there. Rooms with carpet are hotter than rooms with hard floors, so stay in any rooms with flooring like concrete, laminate, or tile. Move your beds in there if you have to.
At night, try to use the cooler temperatures to cool down the house. Again, tune the windows if you have screens—if you don’t have screens, you’ll be at the mercy of the mosquitos, so choose wisely which you’d rather be: hot and sweaty, or hot and itchy.”
Neva raised her hand and Tucker pointed at her. All eyes landed on the mysterious woman; some in a rude stare. She had her long, frizzy, black hair pulled up like most of the other ladies, probably trying to beat the heat, but was still wearing her signature big baggy shirt and long skirt, nearly covering her feet. Surprisingly though, she didn’t look hot or sweaty, unlike nearly e
veryone there. The Carolina’s in June could be brutal, and this one was no exception, but she looked cool as a cucumber.
In a deep, rumbly voice, she said, “If you have Vicks Vapor rub, you can smear a dab across your window sills that don’t have screens. It’ll help deter the skeeters. You can also pat a few dabs on your wrists, elbows and neck to keep them away when you’re working outside. But don’t use it if you don’t have much—the medicinal uses of Vicks will be more important down the road.”
“Thanks, Neva. Good advice,” Tucker said, and continued speaking, “You can create a draft by opening windows across the house from each other, then trapping that cool air inside before the sun hits your house the next morning. Even five degrees will make a huge difference when the heat really ratchets up.
We shouldn’t have many problems with this, but it needs to be said. If you’ll avoid excess sugar, caffeine, or alcohol, it’ll help you handle the heat better. Also, let your food cool down before eating it; fruits and fresh veggies are excellent and we’ll be sending out a team to forage. Blueberries and plums should be in by now, and I know this area has a lot of them, if we can find them. Early tomatoes are up, and cucumbers and collards. May even find some wild radishes. Maybe we can barter with any landowners where we find anything. But don’t eat hot foods if you can help it. The more your body has to work digesting a heavy meal, the more heat you are producing for yourself.”
Tucker was hesitant to bring up gardens. He didn’t want to bring everyone’s attention to the fact their neighbors might be growing food when they’d run out of fresh veggies in the group pantry, using most of them to can stews and soups for later. That might be enough to start in-fighting or stealing. But this might be the last time they were all together for a while and he didn’t have time to make one-one-one house calls to negotiate. “For those of you that might have your own little gardens…” He raised his eyebrows and looked around to see if anyone volunteered that information, or raised a hand.
He’d already seen four small gardens in the neighborhood, but no one had offered to share as of yet. Times weren’t desperate enough to force that issue—for now—so he’d let them stand up voluntarily if they wanted to.
No one stood up.
Guess no one is ready to share.
“Be sure to save your seeds. Some may be heirloom and we’ll need to replant those and see what comes up, or at the very least, sprout from them for some vitamin-something or the other.” He wasn’t sure how it worked, but he’d read something in a book that Katie had at the house about sprouts and the health benefits of eating those nasty weeds. He’d have to ask her to look into it for him.
“Moving on… be sure to cook everything outside—not indoors. Cooking inside is just going to add to the indoor temperature. We’ve still got some food for the group here and we’ll continue to do the evening meal out here once a day, but we’re gonna push it back an hour or so to get out of the heat.”
Tucker looked off in the distance, trying to think of anything else he could add. Neva raised her hand again. He pointed at her to speak.
But instead of Neva speaking, her beautifully exotic niece, IdaBelle spoke this time. “Aunt Neva says if you have any Peppermint Essential Oil, sprinkle a few drops into your water when you wash up. It’ll help cool you down too, or at least give you a cooling sensation.”
A smart-ass in the back murmured just loud enough for everyone to hear, “I would if Tucker’d give us enough water to take a damn bath.”
Another disembodied voice yelled out, “Can you show me how that washing up thing works, girlie? I’ll gladly share my water with you.”
Tucker—and IdaBelle—ignored the hecklers, and the entirely too long stares that many of the men gave her, with her full red lips, silky dark hair and curves. She was barely more than a girl—twenty-five, Katie had told him—and didn’t court the attention on purpose. She was a natural beauty and probably couldn’t hide it if she tried. She and her aunt, Neva, lived together.
He’d have to remember to keep an eye on them. Maybe he’d talk to Katie about moving them in with their family for a while, at least until when and if the power came back—which he knew in his heart of hearts wasn’t happening. Better to take any temptation to make trouble away before it happened, then after.
He gave the girl a nod. “Thanks, IdaBelle. And Neva.”
He looked around to see if anyone else was offering advice, but saw no other hands. He continued, “If we can locate another water source, or if we get some rain, we’ll start wetting our clothes and wearing them damp when we work outside. We can re-soak them when they dry off. And if we find that water, we’ll also be able to put a wet towel in front of the windows, or wet sheets in front of the doors, for the breeze to blow through. That’ll cool the houses down a bit, too. I’ve even read where back in the days before air conditioning, folks would sleep in damp sheets. So that’s a possibility down the road.”
Tucker didn’t know what to do about the water. The only water they had was in his and Curt’s swimming pools, and Curt’s looked nearly undrinkable by now due to his laziness. If it rained, the ‘hood was ready with all sorts of make-shift water catchment set-ups: rain barrels, tarps in truck beds with downspouts pointed at them, and a row of kitchen containers lined every back porch to include pitchers, bowls and glasses of every size. But the rain had been absent, and his worry was growing. He planned to send a team out to look for a creek or stream again today in the nearby woods.
“For now, if you do get overheated, take care of it immediately. We don’t want any heat strokes going on without medical care around here. Get a bandana or something else wet, and place it on your neck or other areas where your blood is close to the surface. Think pulse points–wrists, inner elbows, underarms, groin. Lay down in the shade, preferably where you can find a breeze. Hydrate the best you can, but don’t waste water… we soon may need every drop we have, and more.”
Tucker ended the meeting with a wave, and headed off at a fast walk, not wanting to be pulled aside by a dozen people with unanswerable questions right now. He didn’t have all the answers. Hell, he barely had any answers. He was flying by the seat of his pants here.
The stress of being in charge was getting to him—and he had no idea his final words to the group would ring so true, so soon.
10
The Farm
Puck twisted a ring on his finger, ‘round and ‘round, as he paced the gun range where the women were busy, ten minutes deep into the woods, in a clearing where Grayson had his own homemade shooting range. Just a pile of dirt piled high and packed in with the tractor; plywood nailed up in front of it, and a thrown-together make-shift shooting table. They’d thrown a blanket on the ground for bystanders—or sitters, as the case was.
Tarra leaned back and stretched, and exchanged a harried glance with Tina, both barely concealing their frustration. She leaned over to whisper to her, “Stupid people are like glow sticks. I want to snap their necks and shake the shit outta them, until the light comes on.”
Tina smothered a laugh as she once again stood to take her turn at giving Olivia instruction—Tarra’s patience had run out. As she got up, she caught Gabby’s disapproving stare; she’d heard them talking, and although she probably agreed, she didn’t approve of the negative back-chatter about her twin sister. Tina gave her friend a guilty half-smile.
As usual, Tina began with a reminder of the range rules; including cease fire and range is hot, and then went over the five fundamentals of shooting: aiming, hold/grip control, breath control, trigger control and follow through. But an hour into the training, and Olivia still wasn’t warming up to the idea of carrying a gun full-time; or comfortable enough with shooting in general to be relied upon when needed. Her movements were herky-jerky; her back hunched over, her posture tight and unyielding—but her wrists and hands were too loose.
The more she shot, the more she looked like Elmer Fudd on the range, all leaned over and too loosey-goosey with her gu
n, until she pulled the trigger, at which she’d jumped each time a bullet cracked air.
Jake had worked with Tarra alone, briefly, the evening before. She’d soon found out he already knew how to use a gun properly. He’d rather not mess with guns but he understood that now was not the time for rathers.
After only a short safety refresher and a few minutes of shooting, Tarra had put an end to the training session with Jake. No use wasting bullets. He hadn’t needed more training, it had all come back to him. He’d just needed to shoot a few times to practice, and to carry and handle his gun at all times to get used to the feel of it.
They’d gone through more ammo than they should have in the first half hour with Puck, too, and soon sent him to the blanket with a pat on the back and declaration of trained, seemingly sad to be made to stop wasting lead.
Puck was a joy to teach. All big eyes and open ears, soaking in every bit of instruction. He was eager to please everyone, especially GrayMan, as he called him. The boy was a natural, which didn’t surprise the group at all. After finding out he’d exceled at sports before his head injury, and seeing him in action with Trunk and his gang, they didn’t expect any less from him. He’d been reluctant to stop shooting, as he enjoyed it so much. Now, he was like a jack in the box, popping up and off the blanket every few minutes; restless and unable to sit still.
Graysie and Gabby had been excused from training by Grayson. He’d taught Graysie himself, and had broken lead with Gabby many times. They were just here to watch.
Olivia’s training was another story.
“Cease fire!” Tina yelled loudly.
Olivia set the gun down, pointing it down-range and stepped back from it.
Tina stepped up to coach her once again. “You need to loosen up a bit just before, and after, you pull the trigger.”
Puck sidled up to the women, Ozzie at his feet. “Can Olivia be done now?” he whined.