Rockfall

by William Allen

  “I wish I was that good with running equipment,” I admitted. “I can run the backhoe and dig a halfway decent hole, but I don’t have the touch to do anything more complicated.”

  “I imagine that’s why you went to law school, Mr. Attorney,” Nancy said with a grin that was a bit more confident than before. “So you could hire that work done. And having me around to do that would be a good thing, right?”

  “You are correct, Ms. Prentiss,” I replied honestly. I could sense she was finished fencing around the topic and was ready to get to the point, but I had one more subject to address.

  “Before we move on to other things, I feel like I need to explain a few things about me. I’m a widower now, and I lost my wife and son almost five years ago. Dorothy and Wade probably told you some of the background already, but I’m sorry if I let my emotions get the better of me the other day. I…I don’t talk about my family much, and I know I should be moving on by now. But honestly, I still feel like what happened was my fault.”

  “I…wasn’t the other driver drunk?” Nancy asked, hesitation evident in her tone. This was obviously deeper family melodrama than she was expecting, but as I expected, Wade and Dorothy had given her the highlights.

  “He was, and yes, the roads were icy that morning, but that doesn’t make me feel any less guilty.”

  I looked away, staring out at the storm-drenched landscape. This country lifestyle would never have suited Collette, I realized for the thousandth time since I’d bought the property. My small-town girl had wanted nothing to do with the slow pace of country living, not after experiencing the hubbub and energy of a city like Houston. Maybe that was the real reason for my guilt, I thought sourly. That, also, was not a new thought.

  “If I’d just taken the fifteen minutes that morning to drive my son to school, then maybe my wife and son would still be alive. But I was too busy that day, too wrapped up with my job. Collette…she was never that comfortable driving on ice, so maybe it affected her trying to avoid the collision,” I explained as the sharp claws of my loss and guilt tore at my belly.

  Even in my misery, I felt those light blue eyes bearing down on me, like she was peering into my soul, before Nancy finally made her response.

  “You didn’t do it, and you can’t second-guess every move, Bryan. Trust me, there are plenty of times I wish I had a time machine, or the ability to see the future. Doesn’t work, and sometimes the thing you think you want to change the most, turns out to be something you couldn’t live without.”

  Looking away, I felt the first sting of tears threaten, and I got up to get more coffee, since the slightly sweet herbal tea wasn’t cutting it anymore. That, and the movement gave me a few moments to regain my composure.

  “In my head, I can see you’re right, Nancy. But I still feel like a loser for… what happened. See, I almost said, ‘for what I let happen’. So, on top of being a failure, I’m also an egotistical son-of-a-bitch.”

  I thought I saw Nancy quirk a sliver of a smile with that admission. Then she squared her shoulders, and I expected some chipper words of encouragement. What I got instead made me sit back in my seat in surprise.

  “When I was twenty, this boy I’d dated a few times in college slipped me a Roofie and raped me,” Nancy said. “He kept me tied up in his room all weekend. I wasn’t on birth control, because I was a good girl, committed to remaining a virgin until marriage.”

  “Holy shit,” I whispered, stunned by this revelation from out of the blue. I looked at Nancy, and instead of hurt or anger, I saw confidence and strength on her face. Then I understood.

  “Lisa,” I said softly.

  “I tried to report the assault to the campus police, which was my first mistake,” Nancy went on. “Nolan’s family were big contributors to the school, and word quickly got back to his father. I was taken to the hospital and there they performed tests, including a tox screen for the remnants of the drug in my system. When I was finally released, I went to report the crime to the ‘real’ police, and I found out all the evidence the hospital had collected was missing.”

  I nodded. I could see that happening, when there’s enough money involved. Idly, I wondered if Bernard Landshire, our current sheriff, had been working in Beaumont at the time. Sounded like a classic Landshire move, after all.

  “I was devastated when the charges against Nolan were dropped, but that was only the first step. The college, no doubt fearful of the repercussions, promptly expelled me, for, get this, drug abuse. I was there on a partial scholarship, which of course, went away as well. About that time, I found out I was pregnant.”

  “Why is he even still alive?”

  The words burst forth like a reflex, pouring out before I had time to think. I think I blushed then, again turning away.

  Surprisingly, Nancy laughed at my display of sudden anger.

  “I told Dorothy you had some fire in you still,” Nancy explained, meeting my gaze when I dared look back in her direction. “You’d do it, too. On the unsubstantiated word of a stranger, you’ll kill my ex-boyfriend and bury him deep. If my daddy hadn’t been in a nursing home at the time, I’m sure he would have done the job himself.”

  Hiding behind my coffee mug, I thought about all that had been said, and not said. “I take it you never actually married the creep?”

  “No, that’s for Lisa’s benefit. She still thinks we were married when she was a baby, and I don’t have the heart to disillusion her. She’s had plenty of time to learn her father is not a good person, though. He’s never once visited, or even sent her a birthday gift.”

  “That’s pretty cold, even for a raping scumbag,” I agreed.

  “I did manage to sue him for child support, after I moved away and got a decent lawyer. He tried to fight the paternity test, but it was a forgone conclusion. His daddy got involved after that, once he found out there was a child on the way, and he made Nolan take care of some things for the sake of the baby. After Lisa was born, the old man wasn’t so pleased, since he was wanting a grandson instead. Still, I had a house and a job in Texarkana, provided by Mr. Seegar.”

  “That’s Nolan’s father?”

  “Yeah. He actually came and saw Lisa a few times, even though his son never did. I think he felt guilty over what a monster his boy turned into. Anyway, when Robert Seeger took sick last year, things got bad again. Nolan somehow got control of the company, and he was appointed guardian for his father.”

  “The house in Texarkana was only a rental, so I got turned out in the street, and the job suddenly went up in smoke. But Dorothy was there for me, and she worked her magic to help me find a job and an apartment here in Albany County. The only way I could get back at Nolan was to pursue the outstanding child support, and now he’s got another warrant out.”

  Digesting what she’d said, I realized Nancy Prentiss was probably the strongest person I’d ever met. She’d lost everything to someone she thought she could trust and not only had she survived, she had done it without turning into a hateful, bitter person.

  “I think I get what you mean by having a time machine.”

  “Yes, if I’d had one back then,” Nancy conceded, “I might have deprived myself of the best thing in my life. Lisa is not just a sweet, smart little girl, she’s my best friend and the reason I get up to go to work every day.”

  “All right, now that we have all the skeletons flushed out of the closets, we can get down to the real reason Dorothy and Wade wanted you to visit.”

  Briefly, I gave Nancy a rundown on the conversation we’d had the night a week ago, after she had gone home. Without going into any details, I explained how Doyle and Wade planned to open up spaces at their respective farms for family members to hunker down as the situation became more unstable.

  “Who raised the idea of me staying here?” Nancy asked with a carefully neutral tone, and I forced myself not to laugh.

  “Your sister. Honestly, I didn’t even know Dorothy had a younger sister until she brought you up.”
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br />   “Well, I would say she was trying her hand as a matchmaker,” Nancy explained archly, “but if Wade’s little sister Susanne is staying with them, I think it’s more to keep her husband Wilton away from me. The guy just can’t take a hint when it comes to the ladies, and he’s already hit on me a couple of times.”

  The realization that Nancy was an attractive woman hit me suddenly, though in abstract I could see all of the pieces already in place.

  “I’m not sure of the distribution, but you are more than welcome when the time comes. We will need the extra hands for planting and help with the kids. With Lisa, that will be five under the age of thirteen if all my siblings are in residence.”

  “And where would you have me stay?”

  “You might hear us joke about the bunkhouse, but that single wide has three bedrooms and an updated kitchen and bathroom. I pointed it out during the tour, but we can go over and you can give it a better look-see.”

  “So are you a prepper, like Wade?”

  “Uh, not exactly,” I hedged. “We’ve tried to focus more on sustainable living, like the early homesteaders. But with electricity, running water, and other modern conveniences, of course.”

  “So, you are a prepper, whatever you want to call it,” Nancy concluded. “Don’t worry. You’re offering me a safe haven for my child in a time of uncertainty. I’d be a fool to betray your trust.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured, feeling a mixture of amusement and amazement at her humor and quick grasp of the situation. I decided more of an explanation might be in order.

  “I know Wade’s Uncle Doyle doesn’t care that much about who knows he’s into preparedness, but here, we try to maintain a low-key approach.”

  Nancy gave me a searching look, then nodded.

  “You don’t want to attract attention. How does that work?”

  I felt a touch of apprehension, but Nancy knew her own future safety might hinge on this understanding, so I gave her my spiel.

  “We try to stay under the radar. Some people call it the ‘gray man’ method for the sake of security.”

  “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “Well, I try to keep my political views and opinions as my own business, for one thing. You’ll notice I don’t have any bumper stickers or window decals on my vehicles. An NRA logo or ‘This truck protected by Smith & Wesson’ might be cool, but it broadcasts your affiliations and supposed allegiances too much for my taste. For another example, I don’t buy ammunition from any of the internet suppliers or order any ‘prepper’ style foodstuffs online.”

  “You don’t want to advertise,” Nancy noted thoughtfully.

  “You got it. I don’t want to stand out in the crowd. Even Wade didn’t know, not for sure, until I ‘fessed up’,” I added with a little laugh. “Nobody from the post office or UPS is going to notice any unusual packages being delivered to my front door.”

  “But didn’t your brother say something the other night about making purchases with the long life in mind?”

  “Sure, but that doesn’t necessarily mean buying from some specialized online retailer,” I explained. “I’m a member of Sam’s Club, but I get, or I should say, got, a lot of those kinds of things at Walmart. Including my ammunition, paper products, long shelf-life foods, and the like. I always pay cash, and if I’m picking up a particularly large load, I go someplace like Silsbee or Beaumont to make the purchase.”

  “You’re not just staying under the radar with your neighbors,” Nancy exclaimed, then lowered her voice as the light dawned. “You don’t want to show up on any government lists, do you?”

  I nodded slowly. Nancy really was sharp, and I decided to share more than I’d originally planned.

  “Look, the feds were already nervous about preppers, despite their stated position of not opposing the federal or state governments. But the FBI and Homeland were really paranoid about anyone they suspected being members of any militia group. That was before this all happened. Now…well, let’s just say, some of the things I’m hearing on shortwave don’t fill me with a lot of hope for the future. So, we don’t have any cute little paramilitary camo outfits in storage, nor do we fly the Gadsden flag out in front of our house.”

  “And that’s because…” Nancy asked, fishing for an explanation.

  “Those are the kinds of things they expect a militia to do,” I supplied, and she nodded, though she was still unsure about the flag thing, and I went on to explain how it was the yellow flag with a coiled rattlesnake with the ‘Don’t Tread on Me’ logo underneath.

  “Oh, I know that one. I’ve seen it on some trucks before.”

  “Yep, and that’s why I don’t do it. Hey, I’ve got nothing against the flag or what it stands for, but I don’t feel like painting a big old target on myself or my family here. Same thing with the camo stuff. Mike and my brother-in-law Patrick have plenty of that stuff from when they were in the Army. I just prefer the Realtree hunting patterns. For whatever reason, they don’t seem to upset the feds as much.”

  “You really think the black helicopters might show up out here?” Nancy asked with a laugh, and I gave her a scowl before chuckling.

  “Don’t poke the bear. That’s always been my motto. I just want to live in peace out here, raise my livestock, and grow the gardens. I’m not expecting an Orwellian government takeover, if that’s what you mean, even after the disasters we’ve endured.”

  Nancy looked down at the cup of tea growing cold in her hands and then glanced up, her expression serious.

  “How bad do you think this is going to get, honestly? I know you’re worried, and Wade and Dorothy are worried for me. What do you think is going to happen?”

  “I am worried the feds are going to end up eventually confiscating farms and seizing stored food,” I admitted openly. “I’m much more worried about hungry outsiders showing up with a truckload of shooters demanding their fair share of the garden harvest, or wanting to shoot one of my cows and wasting half the meat after they do it.”

  “Fair share? How does that even work?”

  “Everything they can get their hands on, if we aren’t willing to protect it. If you are living here, that means, you and I and every other adult here is willing to protect the food, or the children here will go hungry.

  “You asked me, how bad is this going to get?” I paused, and elaborately shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t have the answer to your question, but I suspect there will come a time when we will have to fight that horde of hungry raiders. Are you willing to do that?”

  Nancy didn’t hesitate, and she looked me in the eye when she spoke.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to feed and protect my daughter, Bryan. If that means killing to do it, then so be it. I’m scared for the future, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let anything happen to that girl if I can prevent it.”

  “Then welcome to the farm, Nancy,” I said.

  By the time I ended up driving Nancy back over to her sister’s house, the overcast day had given way to dusk, and the rains came again with a touch of chill in the air. Before she left, Nancy and I talked of many things after those first few tense minutes. This included everything Mike, Marta, and I could piece together about the meteorite, and how the impactor might have destabilized the Ring of Fire. I kept silent on the possibility of Yellowstone erupting, since that was something beyond my ability to prepare. Or likely survive. Best to leave that sleeping dog out on the porch for the time being.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  If Saturday was a slow day, then Sunday quickly took up the slack.

  I hadn’t gotten much sleep after my visit with Nancy Prentiss, tossing and turning through a nightmare-plagued night. Finally throwing in the towel about four am, I went out to the tack room and worked over some of the leather gear for the saddles and harnesses until the first tinge of false dawn lightened the sky. With all the moisture in the air, I worried about things like the leather going bad and mold spreading. Even with pressure-treated lumber, I also had co
ncerns about rot setting in if the weather stayed the same. Damn, if I’d wanted this kind of environment, I could have moved to Seattle. Then I remembered that meant I would likely be dead now. Okay, that train of thought needed to be derailed, so I did what I always do when life gets me down. I got to work.

  By six am, I had Maisie milked and the product strained and ready to be added to the chiller. Since I couldn’t legally sell the milk, I usually fed what I didn’t use to the pregnant sows. Wade had mentioned wanting some fresh milk, so I took some of yesterday’s haul from the chiller and poured up a gallon for him before adding the most recent bucket of milk into the converted chest freezer. That was best, since I still needed to separate the cream off today’s harvest. I’d be making butter later, and I could use that extra cream then.

  The other reason I gave Wade yesterday’s milk was purely aesthetic. Fresh-from-the-udder milk was fine, but some people didn’t like warm milk and preferred it chilled. Hence the gallon plastic jug full of cool milk waiting in the fridge.

  Next, I stepped next door and raided the chickens for a basketful of eggs. Three of the older hens were getting broody, so I left them to their job and jotted down a note to turn the rooster in again tomorrow. After that quick note to myself, I grabbed two of my generic plastic egg cartons, filled them up, and set them aside for Wade as well.

  We usually didn’t produce enough eggs to find a market for them, but when Mike and Marta did their summer produce stand at the local flea market, I usually saved up a few cartons for them to sell. They split the money with me, but the idea was more to fit in with the locals than to build our retirement accounts. Nothing says local quicker than standing out in the sun hawking bags of potatoes and baskets of Roma tomatoes.

  In fact, now that Mike was done with school for the summer, we would have to talk about whether they were going to do the produce stand this year. This was a Mike project, but Tommy came with his dad last year and had a blast while Tamara was spending the week with her grandmother up in Denton.