Working With Cedar: The Early Years, page 15
“Tomorrow afternoon I’m loading my family and everything we value and moving there. We’ve done enough talking to suit me. What I need to do is concentrate on my driving and loading. Sam said you’re good with weapons. Keep your eyes peeled for trouble and your trigger finger ready.”
True to his word, Burt kept small talk to a minimum. Nash found him to be an excellent driver and extremely proficient at loading and unloading containers.
They encountered no traffic on their first trip. Nash was astounded at the number of containers stacked three high on the lot. Burt informed him that while mostly purchased by businesses and individuals for storage, many people were converting them into dwellings. Examining an empty ‘forty-footer’ as Burt called it, Nash easily visualized turning it into a cozy apartment.
Arriving back at the farm, while Burt off-loaded the container, Nash went to the first container where Sam and Blake worked at leveling it. Bobby was some feet away, digging a trench toward them from the barn.
“Looks like you’re almost finished with this one.”
Sam turned to the sound of his voice, and with a groan stood from where he squatted placing concrete blocks to shore up one corner.
“We still need to run electrical and plumbing to it. Man, this is going to take days of work. What’s worse is I have enough wire and piping on hand to trench out to this one, but that’s it. About out of blocks as well.”
Nash nodded and said, “I was wondering about that. We’ll need to send out scavenging parties, but that’s something we need to discuss tomorrow morning. Make lists so every trip is organized to prioritize what’s needed so we don’t waste resources.”
Sam stretched and said, “That meeting’s looking more important by the minute.” Nodding at the container, he said, “I need to get back at it. Blake and his family will camp in it tonight.
“Oh, and you just missed them. Betty and James brought over a load of his cows and gone for another. Either today or tomorrow morning, James and Bobby will go for the rest of their personal belongings.
Nash turned to the sound of his name called. Burt had the lift reattached to the rear of his truck and was ready to leave.
They picked up and delivered three more containers. The day was growing short, but Burt decided they had time for one more. Nash was slightly annoyed that the timing of trips didn’t coincide with James and Betty. To himself, he admitted he was lonesome for her company.
Climbing into the cab of Burt’s truck, Nash said, “I’ll be glad when this day is over. I haven’t done anything but ride, but Sam and Glenda are up before the sun, raring and ready for the day.”
Burt said, “Staying alert is wearing.”
Burt was right about that. Nash found that his eyes tended to wander from giving due diligence to his surroundings. The old adage, ‘familiarity breeds contempt,’ came to mind. He knew it was seeing the same landscape and landmarks caused the boredom and prodded himself to stay aware of not only the roadside, but to also check ahead and behind them.
It was on the return trip with the final container loaded for the day, leaning forward to get an angle in the rear view déjà vu swept him. He saw a pickup truck rapidly approaching.
“There’s a pickup coming up fast from behind us.” Still watching through the mirror, he added, “I see several men in the bed with weapons.”
In the mirror, the truck sped to the rear of Burt’s trailer and then went from view as it changed lanes to pass. Nash twisted in his seat, and made clumsy with only the one hand, struggled to kneel in the seat. Drawing his pistol, he was barely in place when Burt jerked the steering wheel, causing the truck to swerve into the other lane.
Nash couldn’t see the pickup, but he did hear a solid thunk when Burt’s truck struck it. An instant before the thunk, a bullet went through Burt’s open window and made a hole in the windshield.
Burt swerved back into his lane and shouted, “I almost took him out. The bastard regained control. Son of a bitch in the rear bed tried to shoot me. I felt the wind of the bullet going past my head.”
Nash twisted back to sit so he could use the rearview. He caught a glimpse of the pickup close on their rear a moment before a shotgun blast shattered the mirror. Using his good hand on the dashboard for a brace, he shouted, “Hit the brakes hard!”
Burt didn’t hesitate. He stomped the brakes. Nash’s arm folded. Off-balance, his upper body slammed into the front console, and then he lost seating to slide into the floorboard of the roomy cab. During this, he heard the pickup crash into the trailer, the sound of it over-riding the squeal of Burt’s tires losing rubber.
Burt released the brakes and straightened his truck. “That did it, they hit the forklift. Their truck’s dead in the road. Oh man, some of the men in the bed got tossed out onto the road…” then with concern, “You okay down there?”
Not answering, Nash struggled back into his seat.
“You okay?” Burt asked again.
“I’m okay. My mirrors shot out. Are you sure that’s it?”
“Oh yeah. The fork’s a lot tougher than a Chevy pickup. The bastard’s engine is probably in the front seat with him. Christ, why in the hell would they want to mess with someone carrying an empty container?”
Nash finished accessing his condition, amazed that he escaped bruising from his impact with the metal console. Turning to speak, he saw Burt was pale, and the arms holding the wheel were shaking, prompting him to ask, “You’re very pale, are you alright?”
Without taking his eyes from the road ahead, Burt said, “No, but I’ll get over it. I’ve never been in something like this, never any trouble at all. I don’t understand what’s going on. Those men weren’t locals. It was a truckload of Asians. Are we at war or something?”
Nash considered that farfetched, “My guess is they’re just a gang out hunting for something to steal. They don’t know the container is empty. Their mindset tells them normal commerce is dead, so if we’re hauling it, it must hold something of high value. For all they know it could be full of food.”
Still not turning his eyes from the road, Burt replied, “Well this container makes five. I’m hauling no more until I can have an armed escort with me. As it is, by the time I unload, it’ll be dark and I still have to drive home.
The short-lived, thwarted attack happened only a few miles from the turn off for Sam’s driveway. As they rode, Nash thought about Burt’s claim the men in the truck were Asian. Other than being a gang of predators out to steal, he could think of no other reason for them to attempt hijacking the truck.
Just before the turnoff for the farm, Burt announced that to save time he intended to drop the trailer without bothering to unload the container.
Turning into the driveway, Nash saw Betty again on guard duty at the curve and called for Burt to let him disembark.
Walking toward her, she stood to come meet him. As Burt pulled away, Nash stopped to gaze at the forklift attached to the rear. Without a closer examination, it seemed undamaged by its collision with the front of the pickup.
Betty stopped by his side. “It’s been a long day. I’ve missed you.”
Nash turned to her, reached for her and pulled her into his arms. Hugging tight, smothering his face in her hair, he said, “I missed you?”
Betty twisted her head to nip his neck with her teeth. “I can tell, but you need to go to the house. Glenda is holding supper for you.”
“I will in a minute. How was your day?”
“Uneventful. At least we didn’t kill anyone today.”
“That’s up for debate.”
Betty pushed away to see his face. “Why? What happened?”
Nash related the incident with the gang. “So you see, without stopping to check, it’s possible someone did die. The pickup hit the lift extremely hard, hard enough to eject some of them from the truck.”
“Dog gone it Nash. If trouble keeps finding you, one of these days it will do you.”
Making small talk, they paced together, hand in hand watching the road for danger with occasional pauses to kiss. Finally, Betty declared he’d better get to his supper before Glenda tossed it into the trash.
**********
The noise of many people talking greeted their awakening to another ‘predawn’ morning. They dressed and hurried from the bedroom to find everyone gathered at the large dinner table in the dining room with eating utensils already in action.
Seeing two plates in front of side-by-side empty chairs, they sat and dug into the eggs, bacon, and gravy-covered biscuits with the same gusto as those surrounding them at the table.
Though Glenda piled the plates high, Nash and Betty were only minutes behind the rest in carrying their plates to the kitchen.
Glenda pointed to a huge stainless coffeemaker on the counter. “Grab a cup from beside the fixings on the breakfast table. Tell Sam not to start the meeting until I sit.”
In the dining room, small talk reigned until the true queen of the castle came to the table bearing a yellow legal pad, several pencils and a portable digital recorder.
Glenda spoke to Alice and Seth, “This is grownup time. The sun is shining and the day is warm, outside with the both of you.” Hearing the ‘Don’t question me’ tone of her voice, the children left the room. Glenda took a chair beside Sam, arranged her pad and pencils, turned on the recorder and said, “This recording represents the first meeting of those gathered at the Sam and Glenda Wilkins farm. We are bound together to survive the Ebola epidemic ravaging our world.
“Nash Vaughn, you are the one who asked for the meeting. How about giving an opening statement outlining what needs to be achieved.”
Feeling self-conscious, Nash said, “Hello, my name is Nash Vaughn. The reason I requested we meet is to hash out the rules and regulations that should be in place and to discuss what we need to do together to survive this epidemic. Some of the things we need to talk about is how do we limit our risk to Ebola exposure. Under what circumstances do we use lethal force to protect ourselves? What supplies we will need going forward and methods of procuring them. Also I think a main consideration to determine is how large a population can the Wilkins farm support.”
While Nash spoke, Glenda was taking notes. Taking the pause after his last sentence as him completing his opening statement, she said, “Thank you Nash. Shall we discuss his points one-by-one? Point one. How do we protect ourselves from exposure? I believe point two; When can we use lethal force; connects with that. Betty, you’re a nurse, what do you see is needed?”
Betty wasted no time mincing words. “Strict quarantine procedures need to be put in place. As you know, because of our shortage of people to pull guard shifts, we have made several exceptions to that. I would ask that there are no more. We need to procure military style canvas tents and set them in places far from common usage areas. The tents will need a large distance between them, and each will need a separate outhouse. Port-a-potties won’t do. Human body fluids, including moist feces are the main… well they were the main vector for the disease. Those continue to be vectors, but the fact it now spreads through airborne particles from sneezing or coughing makes the virus easier to spread.”
Sam asked, “How far away should the tents be from common areas?”
“I recommend fifty yards from common areas and no closer than twenty-five yards to each other.”
Sam nodded, “Okay, how many tents?”
Glenda spoke, “That refers back to Nash’s statement. How many people do we need?”
Blake Anderson entered the discussion, “That is really two questions. How many do we need? That number depends on how many can this farm feed. I mean, we have cattle for milk and meat, but they can’t be slaughtered faster than they can be replaced. The cows require acreage to graze; Guarded acreage to prevent poaching. Then we need to consider acreage under cultivation. Winter feed put away not only for us, but for our animals too, everything from the cattle to the chickens.”
Sam made a noise to get attention. “Glenda and I have put thought on that. We came up with the number thirty. That includes children.”
Blake said, “Let that be our working number for now. We can modify it if we need to.”
Betty spoke, “Okay that brings us back to tents. Counting Burt and his family who will be joining us soon, we’re at fourteen people. We need to plan for sixteen more. Assuming some of those will be couples or family units; I think we need a minimum of eight tents.”
Sandra asked. “Why not use the containers Burt’s bringing.”
“No we can’t use those,” Betty answered. “If we use the containers we will be faced with a monumental decontamination problem. We can burn any tent that proves to house an infected. Fire is also the best way to dispose of infected bodies. The containers should be for after they pass quarantine.”
Glenda said, “Thank you Betty. Okay folks, here what we have so far. We need eight good tents each with an outhouse. We have a working number of thirty members. Twelve of those spots are filled. We’ll need to figure out how to feed anyone in quarantine. That brings us to the gorilla in Nash’s statement: Lethal force.” She paused and then motioned around the table, “Who wants to grab that beast?”
Blake spoke into what became a void of good people not wanting to be the first to speak about killing fellow humans.
“I worry. What I worry most about is what if somehow the government regains control of the situation. What if we’re held to account for our actions?”
Nash said, “Is the past few days I have been bombed, shot at, shot and accosted. During those days I had no means of calling for help from first responders, and from what I can tell, there are no first responders on the job. The way I see it, we either take on their job to protect ourselves, or we die at the hands of those who want the few resources we have.”
Glenda spoke, “Nash, let me give a hypothetical situation. Right now, this moment you hear someone outside calling for attention. We go to the porch. In the yard is a family, say a father, mother with an infant in her arms and a young boy, maybe ten years old. Are you with me so far? I’m talking about a real situation that could happen. They want food. We offer them food, but the man wants more. He wants a place for his family. We say no, leave our property. He draws a pistol and threatens us. Do we—?”
Nash interjected, “Shoot him dead and tell the mother and children to leave. Give them food to carry with them. However, if they made it to your front yard, that would imply we had a security failure.”
Sandra asked, “How can you speak so lightly about killing someone?”
Nash shook his head. “I’m not speaking nice. I’m speaking in terms of survival. Let me take that scenario a step further. The man does not draw his pistol; he simply refuses to keep his distance. We shoot him dead. Even further, if the entire family encroaches willfully past our safe zone, we shoot them all dead.”
Sandra gasped, “Even the baby?”
Betty stepped in to relieve Nash from the burden of answering. “Glenda proposed a situation. Nash was clear in stating the make-believe family was willfully violating our space. Sandra, unless they are exhibiting symptoms of the plague we will have no way knowing if they are infected. You tell us, what should we do? Keep in mind; we are at the only viable sanctuary around. Keep in mind the safety of the children here. Now talk to me. Are you willing to take on the care of that possibly infected child?”
Angrily, Blake interjected. “Please, Betty, don’t ride her like that. She is speaking from the principles of our faith.”
Just as angrily, James joined in and said, “If your faith is going to get us killed, perhaps it will be wise not to ask you and your wife to pull security duty.
Sam slammed the table with his palm. “That’s enough, no more of this hostility. Nash, you made your point, and with great reluctance, I agree with you. James, I appreciate and thank you for your solution to Blake and Sandra’s problem. They will not pull security duties. I have no doubt they will be productive members at other work.”
Blake said, “Well spoken, Sam… James, I understand your position and I know you are a good man, but please understand we can do naught but live by the guidelines of our faith. We cannot kill even in self-defense.
James proved who he was. “Then by God’s given grace, I’ll protect you.”
Bobby proved he was. “I ain’t killing either. Not people, not rabbits or squirrels, not dogs and not even gonna shoot fleas of a dog’s nose even if I see one. I can use my fingers for that.”
James reached to pat his brother’s shoulder in a calming way. “That’s right. You don’t have to kill.” Turning to speak to Sam, he said. “That’s three adults who won’t bear arms for our defense. Depending on how many children we end up with, we may have to bump that thirty up.”
Sam nodded, “If it comes to that.”
Glenda spoke to regain control. “That is settled. The use of lethal force is a viable means to protect ourselves. I’ll add this one caveat; lethal force will be a last resort.
“Let’s move to another point. Nash mentioned supplies, or rather a lack of, and his question is, what is needed and how to get them. Nash, would you care to be more specific?”
Nash nodded, but took a moment to organize his thoughts. “There is no way we can cover all our needs in one sitting. In addition, I know very little about what it takes to run a farm, but there are some obvious areas.
“Take fuel. I saw the tanks close to the barn. I would guess one holds gasoline and the other diesel for the farm equipment. The tanks are big, but I think a couple of tanker trucks full of fuel would be better.”
“Where would those come from?” Blake asked. “Unwanted tankers may be a hard item to find.”
Sam held up his hand for attention. “There’s a logging operation on past Sparta maybe twenty miles. I picked up a load of white-oak planks for fence rails from there last month. There were two tankers on site. I know one of them held diesel, not sure about the other.”
