So Lewis checked his weapon, looked in the driver's side mirror to make sure he was at least partially presentable, and headed out to take a stroll along Main Street, like he had several times before. As he went he struck up a conversation with anyone who was interested.
Which turned out to be not all that many people. Most of the other civilian members of the convoy were cool and polite, wary of talking and seeming only interested in making the trades they'd come to make. But enough were friendly, at least to the point of exchanging introductions and sharing a bit of news. A few seemed interested in trading with Aspen Hill, and he agreed to get with them on the way back from the trade summit to see how things stood then.
Maybe halfway along the convoy he saw a truck that was pulling an honest-to-goodness poultry trailer, complete with a full load of feathery occupants making distinctive avian noises.
Turkeys. Where were these guys at Thanksgiving?
Lewis immediately made a beeline for the men seated in the shade of the vehicle, who stood at his approach with equal parts curiosity and caution. “Hey,” he called. “You from Sanpete County?”
The two men looked at each other. At a glance Lewis guessed they were father and son, and felt a brief but deep pang for his own dad. Lucas would've been a better choice for a trip like this than him.
“I guess the turkeys are a dead giveaway, huh?” the younger man said ruefully.
Lewis grinned. “If you live in the area it's a pretty strong clue.”
The highways through Sanpete were dotted with dozens of long sheds housing the birds, most of them well off the road. It was a pretty major source of revenue for the county, and also gave the place a reputation for a truly impressive stink if the wind was blowing the wrong way, especially in the spring.
He quickly introduced himself to the two men as being from a town on the other side of the mountains, and learned in return that the two men were in fact father and son: Frank and Nick Preston. Then he had to apologize for having no news about friends of theirs who'd lived in Carbon County before the Gulf burned. Might be they were still alive somewhere, but that was the best hope he could offer.
A bit of an awkward silence settled after that, so he turned the conversation back to their haul of Thanksgiving delicacies. “I got the impression Sanpete ate its way through all the poultry during the first winter after the Gulf burned.”
Frank rubbed at his thinning gray hair. “Most of them. This is the next generation, raised since then. We figured we'd rather eat worms and grubs short term if it meant we'd still have a means of providing food for ourselves long term.”
Lewis wanted to ask who “we” was, but that could be a delicate question these days. Especially for a group who had anything worth stealing, such as a bunch of juicy turkeys. “How about the eggs? We got by on chicken eggs this winter and they made a big difference.”
Nick shook his head. “Nah. Turkeys produce way fewer eggs, which is the reason you don't see them eaten all that commonly. I mean sure, we ate a few when we were desperate, but for the most part we decided it would be better to save the ones we got to produce more birds to grow and eat.”
To his embarrassment Lewis hadn't known that. After priding himself for so long on having knowledge on a broad variety of topics, which increased by the day when he could get into his archives to read books, that really was unexpected. Especially since he lived so close to so many turkey farms.
But while he was learning things he had a couple of important questions. First things first, the most important. “Our town could really use some turkeys of our own to raise. Would you be interested in talking a trade?”
“Absolutely,” Frank said, although he gave the trailer a doubtful look. “These ones, though? We've got plenty more at home.”
Yeah, definitely not those ones. Since they were already part of the convoy that would mean buying the birds, hauling them all the way down to Texas and back, and depriving both his group and the Prestons of trade goods and space. Lost profits.
“We're pretty close neighbors,” Lewis assured him. “We can talk turkey about some serious arrangement between our towns when we get back.”
Frank grinned as if he used that joke all the time, while Nick groaned. “If you didn't say it Dad would've,” he told Lewis.
That sent another pang through him. Lucas hadn't been the sort for bad puns, but he'd had his share of dad jokes. Lewis quickly continued to take his mind off painful memories. “If you don't mind me asking, though, why send turkeys down to Mexico? Most of us are sending other resources down so we can bring back food.”
“While we're sending food down?” Frank concluded with a wry smile. “It's not our first choice, I'll admit. Unfortunately we got driven into the mountains by the blockheads and scavengers picked the ruins of our town clean before we could get back there. We don't have much to trade aside from the birds.”
“It's not all bad,” Nick added. “The value of livestock is ridiculously high right now, since like you said a lot of people ate their animals to survive. We're hoping we can sell these birds for ten, maybe even a hundred times their weight in grain and other food. I imagine there's plenty of farmers down there who'd like to start their own turkey operation.”
Lewis grimaced. Matt had wanted him to look for livestock, but if what the farmer said was true then the town might not be able to afford any. He could only hope Mexico had managed to survive without eating up all their animals, and the price of livestock would be a bit more reasonable there.
That wouldn't be so great for the Prestons, though. Or maybe it would, if turkeys were scarce in Mexico. Another thing he wasn't sure about.
He agreed to meet with the two men again on the way back and briefly described his truck. “A captured blockhead troop transport towing a horse trailer?” Nick said when he was finished. The younger man chuckled. “Yeah, shouldn't be too hard to pick out.”
True. Lewis hoped that distinctiveness wasn't a bad thing; another possibility he hadn't really considered.
To his surprise he recognized a military truck parked in the next lot along. It was also distinctive, painted with advertisements of available wares and huge sales, and was being guarded by a large man with a 12 gauge shotgun, while a man in his middle years rummaged around in the back.
“Ned!” Lewis called, hurrying over. Ned Orban had brought him the primers and powder he needed for his reloading business last fall, while also making lucrative trades with the rest of Aspen Hill's townspeople during his visit. One of those trades had been for Deb's engagement ring, which Trev had entrusted to him to sell. In fact Lewis was carrying it on his person at that very moment.
For a moment Paul, the trader's bodyguard, tensed at his approach. Then he seemed to recognize Lewis and relaxed, slightly.
Ned was a lot more enthusiastic about his arrival. The trader hopped down off the truck, grinning ear to ear as he met Lewis and offered his hand. “If it isn't my young entrepreneurial friend.”
Lewis grinned back as he shook firmly, offering Paul a friendly nod. He got a curt nod in return before the man went back to warily eyeing the lot, cradling his 12 gauge.
“So I guess you're along for this ride too, eh?” Lewis asked.
Ned laughed. “Are you kidding?” He hooked a thumb back at his truck. “I've got an empty truck and several pounds of precious metals. And I'm not talking silver. I've spent the last winter trading necessities to people with a “you can't eat gold” mentality, getting their valuables in return for pennies on the dollar. And now I've found a place that has as much food as I can trade for and is eager to pay nearly full price for all my shiny paperweights.”
Lewis whistled in genuine admiration, doing his best to push down a surge of irrational resentment at the same time. The guy was obviously happy to make a killing off the end of the world, but at least he was doing so through honest trading. Maybe not with the most integrity, but Lewis was sure his customers had been happy to make those deals at the time.
/> The most Ned could be criticized for was good fortune and having the wits to know the right trades to make, and when to seize an opportunity. Assuming he wasn't the one who'd looted the jewelry store of all those trinkets he'd been selling last fall along with Deb's ring.
Then again, the man had been offering a steeply reduced price on those at the time, when he could've been selling them for full value down in Mexico in a few days, so maybe it all evened out. Deb and Trev were going to be quite a bit better off after Lewis sold their diamond ring and got them food they desperately needed, and they could thank Ned Orban for their improved circumstances.
It all came around in the end, Lewis supposed. “I'm glad things worked out well for you,” he said, and mostly meant it.
The trader chuckled. “Kid, “life is good” is a vast understatement. I may be the first millionaire in the New United States.” He stretched and rubbed at the small of his back as he continued. “How about you? Bringing a bunch of top quality reloaded ammunition to sell to the people who can pay top dollar for it?”
“Pretty much,” Lewis agreed. “Had to do something to fill the winter months.”
“Attaboy.” Ned clapped him on the shoulder. “I had a good feeling about your dad when he came around looking for reloading materials. How is he, by the way?”
Lewis felt his good humor drain away. “He died of whooping cough not long after winter began,” he said quietly.
The trader's smile also faded, and Paul swore in gruff sympathy. “I'm sorry to hear that, Lewis,” Ned said with genuine sincerity. “He was a sharp negotiator, and a good man.” Lewis nodded, and after a slightly awkward pause the older man cleared his throat. “So what brings you around to my neck of the lot? Stopping in to say hi?”
“Mostly.” Lewis gestured vaguely at the surrounding trucks. “I'm introducing myself to everyone, seeing if I can establish some trading ties between Aspen Hill and other nearby communities, or just make friends and swap news.”
Ned's grin returned, broad enough to swallow the sun. “A man after my own heart,” he said, clapping Lewis on the shoulder. That clap turned into the man guiding Lewis towards the nearest truck, as he motioned for Paul to stay behind on watch. “I love to see someone with a true head for trading making an honest go of it, so I'm going to do you a solid and introduce you to the friends I've made.”
From a consummate businessman like Ned, that wasn't a trivial offer. “Thanks,” Lewis said sincerely.
The man winked. “Who knows, some of them may want to by your ammunition in the future, after we get back. Actually more like most of them, if not all . . . you've picked a good business to get into, kid, and you'll do well in it.”
Shaken out of mourning thoughts of his dad's death by the trader's exuberance, Lewis allowed himself to be led off to make some new friends.
Chapter Thirteen
Stopover
Raul supposed the problem with saying something like “take your time” is that sometimes it's taken seriously.
He didn't mind sticking around guarding the truck. Actually he had zero desire to meet any of the people here or go exploring. He was just fine sprawling in a camp chair, gnawing on jerky and letting the spring sun offer what warmth it could to the chilly day.
The problem was he needed to piss like a racehorse, and he couldn't exactly leave. It had already been over two hours, and at this rate Lewis could be gone all day. It had gotten to the point where he was seriously considering ducking into the back of the truck and using an empty water bottle.
To his vast relief before he had to resort to that he saw Carrie amble into the lot, escorted by a private who was looking everywhere but at her face so he didn't gawk at her scars.
The young woman actually looked happy to see him for once. “Gung-ho!” she called, waving. She thanked her escort and the soldier gratefully made his escape as she closed the distance to the truck, looking around at their impromptu camp. “Looks like you've mostly got things set up,” she said. “Just need to get my tent.”
But instead of doing that she settled into the camp chair he'd just vacated and reached for the jerky. “Man, when Colonel Grimes said he just wanted me for my face he wasn't joking. Once we get to San Antonio he wants me to come with him to any reception or meeting involving representatives from the other nations as his “aide”. I'll have some paperwork ready in case he needs it, and he'll want me to take notes, but mostly it sounds like he just wants to parade me around.”
Raul genuinely sympathized, and he wanted to talk about it at some point when his kidneys weren't about to explode. “Sounds rough,” he cut in before she could go on. “Listen, can you stick around and watch things while I find a latrine?”
The young woman looked a bit put out, but nodded. “Sure, I'll be here.” She propped her feet up on the box of firewood and started gnawing on a piece of the old, tough jerky.
He barely waited for her agreement before bolting. Since he had no idea where the latrines were he just made for the nearest decent source of cover.
A few minutes later, feeling much better, Raul sauntered back to the truck and plopped down on the driver's side step. “Thanks,” he said, leaning back against the door.
“No problem,” she replied around a mouthful of jerky. “Seriously though, why the big deal about someone keeping watch? We're in the middle of a military convoy with soldiers on constant patrol. Do you really think we'll come under attack in the minute or so it takes to empty your bladder?”
Raul tried not to smirk. Carrie may have been through her share of nastiness, but she still clung to some measure of naivete if she didn't even consider potential thieves within the convoy. They might get the drivers of other trucks sneaking around trying to steal some of their goods, or potentially even some of the soldiers themselves.
They'd be smart to guard their own stuff 24/7.
But what he said was, “The town's counting on us. I'm not about to shift that responsibility onto people who have no personal interest in our wellbeing.”
Carrie shifted in embarrassment. “Right. That's what we're here for.”
A very awkward silence settled, and Raul spent the next minute or so glumly considering the fact that he was probably going to be spending the next few hours alone with this young woman.
It wasn't that he minded Carrie's company, although she seemed determined to get under his skin. But he'd spent a winter in near isolation, with only the occasional brief chat in passing. Not much hanging out with other people in a parking lot turned campground, especially people of the opposite sex.
After the first few minutes Carrie seemed to withdraw inward and turned to look out at the scenery. Raul wondered if she took his asocial behavior as a personal insult, maybe an unspoken commentary on her looks. She seemed endlessly sensitive about her disfigured face. Which was ridiculous, because he could plainly see how attractive she was in spite of the scars, possibly even because of them and what they represented about her character.
Besides, after the winter he'd spent alone he had to admit he wasn't feeling picky. It was an ungenerous thought and he felt bad for it, but that didn't change the fact that his thoughts kept drifting that way.
Or maybe he was reading too much into the situation; he was doing a bit of looking at the surrounding wasteland himself to escape the awkwardness. Finally Raul cleared his throat. “So, you were military. Did you go through the chaos after the Gulf burned too?”
Carrie turned to look at him, smiling wryly. The scars twisted the expression slightly, which was a bit unnerving. “We all went through that. But if you mean did I do it as a soldier?” She shook her head. “I enlisted last spring to fight the blockheads.”
“Oh. Okay.” One less thing they had in common.
The young woman gave him a curious look. “Why, what sort of chaos did you go through?”
Raul's thoughts immediately flashed to the riot outside the Capitol building in Salt Lake City. He looked away. “I'd rather not talk about it.”
“Right.” He could hear the embarrassment in her voice. “Lot of that going around. To be honest I don't mind skipping over a few of the things I went through, either.”
Well, that shut down that avenue of discussion, and he couldn't really complain because he was the one who'd done it. He tried a different tack. “How'd you end up managing through the winter?”
Carrie grimaced, which again wasn't doing anything for her scars. “Listened to kids whining and screaming while their moms bickered and tried not to go insane. Any excuse to get outside and I was out the door, and now that things've warmed up I plan to build my own house. Even if I have to dig with my hands like a mole and cover it with tied together branches. You?”
Raul couldn't help but chuckle. “Pretty much the opposite. I can handle being alone, but there were definitely times I wouldn't have minded human company even if it meant being in the middle of a catfight.”
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Well, they do say solitude makes people go crazy.”
And . . . that pretty much ended that line of discussion too. He must've gotten rusty over the winter because he'd never had this much trouble talking to a girl before.
Another uncomfortable silence settled. Raul was just wondering whether he should bring up his scouting trips down to the ruins of Aspen Hill, see if he could manage to salvage some of her interest, when the young woman abruptly perked up.
“Not a moment too soon,” she muttered almost under her breath, sounding relieved.
Raul followed her gaze to see that Lewis had finally returned, accompanied by Ned Orban of all people. For a moment he felt a flash of annoyance mingled with embarrassment; he wasn't that unpleasant to be around, was he? Besides, it wasn't like she'd even tried to make things less awkward.
He slapped his knees as he stood up. “Great conversation, we should really do this again sometime.” Without waiting for her response he hurried over to greet his friend and their visitor.
Nuclear Winter | Book 2 | First Spring Page 21