Working With Cedar: The Early Years, page 9
“Not a bad idea. A man alone is only half a person. Losing my mama is right down painful, but I don’t know what I’d do without Glenda. By the way, I heard the last part of your conversation in the kitchen. “Love spelled in all caps.” That’ was pure syrup.”
Glancing toward the Jeep, Sam asked, “What happened to your windshield?”
Nash pointed to his bandaged head. “First a man we hit knocked it in and then my head knocked it back the other way.”
“Seems you and Betty have some tales to tell. Right now I’ve got a job to do.”
Sam stripped off his pullover sweater, and went to work. With his first swing of the pick, Nash found Sam wasn’t lying with his ability to dig the hard Georgia clay. Alternating pick to shovel, in thirty minutes he was knee deep in the hole. Wiping sweat from his face and eyes, he sprang from the hole and lowered his muscled frame to the ground near where Nash sat watching the driveway and sneaking marveling glances at Sam’s flexing muscles as he wielded his tools.
“Ten minutes to cool off and another round should do it. We’ll bury her before we go back inside. There’s no need for Glenda and Alice to see her like she is.”
When it came time to move Gail into her grave, Sam looked at the rope tied to her ankles, shook his head and said, “A few more feet of dragging her won’t do any more damage than what’s already done. Probably won’t be any less dignified than rolling her in.”
Nash drove the jeep, moving the body to the hole while Sam kept it aligned. Grandmother fell into place. Sam knelt by the grave to cut the rope binding her feet.
Strong, Sam was, but the effort of digging a hole to fit his mother’s considerable bulk took its toll on his energy. Nash reached with his good hand to assist him from the hole.
“If we had a hoe I could help put the soil over her.”
Sam shook his head, “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got this. I am going to take a break before I tackle the shovel again.”
“You said Glenda got shot near the South Carolina Border. Is that where you went to get animals?” Nash asked.
“Yeah, just outside of Greenville’s where we went; picked up four heifers and six calves. Soon’s we finish here I need to get them out of the trailer. Got em parked in the pasture farther down the road. When I saw your jeep here in the field, I didn’t bother unloading. They’re hungry and thirsty. I’m amazed they aren’t raising a ruckus to hear clear over to here.”
“How big is this farm?”
“A little over four-hundred-fifty acres; a hundred planted in pecans, a hundred in pulp-pine, and the rest pasture.”
“Would this be considered a big farm?” Nash asked.
“I’d call it a ‘big little farm’. You’re a city boy, aren’t you? What are you, twenty or so? This mess has only been going for four days and judging from the bandages, you haven’t fared too well. Mister, you need learn how to dodge trouble. Where are you and Miss Betty going? What I should be asking is, do you have somewhere to go or are you just running scared like most people?”
Nash decided to be honest and lay it all on the table. “We’re from the city. Atlanta. No, we’re not tough or work-hardened, but I’ll tell you this; between us, we’ve killed close to twenty men and women. A whole gang of rogue preppers that robbed me and killed a woman that was with me. Betty and I killed them all but one woman we left alive to take care of the kids they had with them.
“We didn’t kill any children there, but Betty had to shoot at an SUV that was ramming us, wanting the supplies we have on the trailer. The driver of the SUV lost control, and it flipped and burned. It was night time, but Betty thinks there were children in the vehicle.”
“Dang, that’s rough,” Sam said.
“Do you want to know what’s rough? What’s rough is Betty and I haven’t had any means of communication, nor any radio to know what’s going on. For all we know there are safe havens where we won’t have to worry about all the crap we’ve been through.
“I’ll tell you this. Yes, we stayed because of Alice, and we were prepared to take her with us if you and Glenda didn’t return in a few days, but we were hoping you would and that we could convince you to let us stay here. We have nowhere to go.”
“Dang, you really have had it rough. Safe havens, you can forget about that. The last broadcast we heard just before we got here was a bulletin from FEMA.”
Hope flared. “We still have a government?”
Sam shook his head. “No, we don’t have a government. I’ll break down what the FEMA guy said.
“All travel is prohibited; Air, sea or road. Almost all the major cities are hot beds for Ebola infection. Many small towns are still free from infection. Under the articles of martial law, townships can blockade their roads and shoot to kill anyone trying to enter. FEMA is working to restore order and to set up Ebola-free camps.
“Okay, that was the official word. Then the announcer said, “Now let me give you the truth. The cities with infection are doomed. The cities not yet infected soon will be and they in turn are doomed.
“All of you in those small towns; give it time. Desperate people are on the roads fleeing the cities in droves. Many of them are infected but don’t know it. Your blockades will fall and you are doomed. This disease is apocalyptic and there is no stopping it.
“Hide folks”. “That’s what the announcer said,” “Hide. Avoid all contact with anyone. Pray you can scrounge food untouched or un-sneezed upon by an infected person. Be prepared to kill if someone insists on entering your safe space. Socialize at your own risk. The FEMA camps do not exist. There is no government at the federal or state level. You are on your own.”
“Christ, when was this?” Nash asked.
“That was yesterday, late afternoon. You do know that we have no Federal Government and that the military, what’s left of it, is in charge.”
“What is left of it?” Nash asked.
“Only a bunch of elite officers who think they have an army still under their command. They’re hiding in secure bunkers, and they do have ships and submarines at sea that are Ebola free. That means America still has an effective force, submarines, aircraft carriers, a few marines and nuclear missiles to ward off foreign invaders. The trouble with that is there are only a few smaller nations that so far have not reported an outbreak of the virus. All the major powers are in the same boat as the U. S, and reduced to sea-borne units.
“As far as a standing army, forget it. Ebola and desertions decimated all the branches including the National Guard. What we have is one-hundred-percent; better watch you back; anarchy.
Nash held up his wounded hand. “A shot off finger in one incident, stitches on my butt cheek from another incident. My head stitched, not to mention men at one point lined up to car-jack me. I’ve lived the anarchy part.”
“I’d say, lived it and lived through it,” Sam replied. “What is it you want?”
“Betty and I want to stay here and work with you and your family to our mutual benefit. We have weapons, all types of weapons and plenty of ammunition. My trailer is loaded with supplies, including medical instruments and pharmaceuticals.
“Betty is a registered nurse with surgery room experience. I’m a computer jockey, a useless field now, but I’m a fast learner and a hard worker. Betty says, in a short time I won’t notice my missing finger. That doesn’t matter. I can still hold a weapon and hit what I aim at. You’re going to need our eyes on lookout and our hands holding weapons to mount any sort of continuous guard to secure your home and holdings.”
Sam held up his hand to stop Nash’s sell, and then extended it to seal the deal. “You had me at weapons and ammo. Betty a registered nurse is the frosting. We’ll make room for you.”
WORKING WITH CEDAR AUGUST, 2068
I wake before dawn; the glory-memory of the first time I told Betty that I love her loses relevance to the mundane demand of a full bladder. Thanks to a series of water towers and wind-driven pumps, our community has indoor plumbing. Habit takes me outside to pee on the base of a cedar. I revel in the cool crisp night, look up at the stars and think of Little Billie as I “Drain my lizard”.
The moon is gone but the sky is ablaze with bright points of light. Tonight is a double dipper, my favorite constellations. The little one is inches above the northeast horizon. The big one, higher up, nearly vertical above my head, its stars span a huge section of the sparkling clear sky
Flipping my business back into my jeans, I utter “Thank you Lord.” In these later years, I thank him for body needs that pass free from pain.
The position of the stars tells me dawn will break inside an hour, no need to return to bed. Wide-awake, I walk to my work area. Morning dew lies heavy on the stack of finished planks weighing down my workbenches; the bed of the trailer is bare. Walter finished the planing while I slept.
Glancing to the kitchen, I see electric light stream from the screened entrance and windows. We have electricity to spare. Over the years, the community has salvaged enough solar panels to cover eight acres. Electricity powers our lumber mill, lights our schools and university. Powers the appliances in the kitchen, including a butter churn and ice cream maker.
Energy we have aplenty during the daylight hours. Wind and solar we have, but the flow is fickle. It’s amazing how many cloudy days we have without a breeze to lift a feather. The crux is we have no way to store power. New battery shells, not yet filled with acid, served well for six years, but our scavengers picked dry the sources at any reasonable distance. Amazingly, even after forty years some of the power packs we stripped from electric cars still hold a small percentage of their original potential to charge, but not nearly enough to see us through a night.
We tried several approaches to remedy the problem, but we ended up with gravity. All the excess energy goes to lifting heavy loads of rocky concrete weighing several tons sliding along tall towers made from steel rails removed from a nearby railroad track. Bob Grossman, our resident “Civil Engineer” cobbled the system several years ago.
Building the towers was our most challenging feat to date. It works by regaining the energy as the weight descends the rails. Bob warned us it wouldn’t be a very good solution, but the few thousand kilowatts the towers deliver does power many LED lights to brighten things at night.
Not outside though. We have security floods mounted to light every inch of our compound, but because of how quickly they drain energy, used only in the event of an attack.
Nothing attracts unwanted attention in a post-apocalyptic setting quicker than blazing lights. For a long period after the plague, when we used houselights we blacked the windows so no light showed.
Now we have many men and women at arms, a heavy concentration of lookout posts and a strong perimeter. Seeing lighted homes shows that, at least in our neighborhood, a modicum of civilization is returning.
I go to the barn for my smoothing iron. Pulling a draw with the grain, I find the cedar too damp, the fibers knot and tangle under the edge of the blade, causing it to bump along rather than glide. The project will wait for the morning sun to dry the boards.
I go to the kitchen in hopes of an early breakfast.
Even though Peggy doesn’t like it, rather than walk through the long dining area, I use the screened rear entrance that lets directly into the kitchen. Long before reaching the door, I smell the rich odor of sausage frying.
Jung Chang, Peggy’s chief assistant sees me enter and calls to Peggy standing at a huge commercial gas-grill. “Mister Nash has come.” Before the plague, Chang owned three barbeque restaurants in the Atlanta.
Sweaty faced, Peggy turns to greet me. Instead of scolding me for violating her sanctum, she says, “Sausage is nearly done, but biscuits and gravy should hold you till then.”
“Biscuits and gravy; I’ll pass on the sausage, but a couple of scrambled eggs will go down well.”
Peggy motions to Sue Ann Weller, one of her many helpers. “Scramble him three eggs and make him a plate with two biscuits and lots of gravy.”
I know she’s giving special treatment, but decline to remark on it. Nodding thanks, I leave and take a chair at a table in the unlit dining room close to the entrance to take advantage of light coming from the kitchen.
Minutes later, Peggy came from the kitchen carrying my tray of food. Placing the tray in front of me and taking a chair on the opposite side of the table, she says, “Walter came in while we were cleaning after supper. Says you and him will finish the coffins today. Nash, there’s supposed to be clear skies tomorrow. Pastor Lewis suggests after lunch; two o: clock. He wanted me to pass it on if I saw you first.”
I stifle the sensation of sinking-gut the word coffin brings with it and tell her, “Let him know two will suit me.”
Peggy harrumphs and her eyes dart around for a place to spit. The dirt floor beside her receives the brown, vile stream. “So you’ll know, a group of us will come to walk with you to the site. That’s not a path to travel alone. We know our love for them is no match for yours, but love them we did. I know you don’t need us, but we need your strength to make that walk.”
“I’ll wait for you at the house.”
Peggy stands. “I need to get back to the kitchen before Chang ruins breakfast.”
“You mean improve it, don’t you?”
“Kiss my big ass,” is Peggy’s eloquent return to my gibe.
Digging deeper, I call to her a running joke about their constant arguing, “Heard you two a getting married. When’s the date for you to hitch?”
Peggy stops in her tracks and returns to my table. “How did you know? He only asked me an hour ago.”
“I didn’t … but that’s great. Six years in the kitchen with you, and he finally pops the question. Congratulations. Err, you said yes, right?”
“We’re getting married next Sunday.”
Sunrise finds me un-stacking the boards to lay them on the ground so they can dry. Walter shows as I’m about to leave to fetch nails and my chest of carpentry tools.
“What time did you quit last night?” I ask.
“I stopped before midnight. Could’ve worked longer but I figured I’d sleep late if I did.”
“I appreciate how much you finished. You could’ve slept later.”
“Could’ve, but I figured I could do the smoothing and you do the building. You’re a better carpenter.”
“Thank you, but don’t put yourself down. If your display of toys at last year’s Fall Festival holds true to your normal grade of work, I have respect for your craftsmanship.”
Walter shrugged and said, “Toy making is a hobby. Working at the distillery doesn’t involve much carpentry work other than barrel making. I’m a hell of a barrel maker. Barrels are round. If you’re making round coffins—. Never mind, I just think you’ll do a better job with the making.”
I could tell Walter felt bad about his choice of words. “You’re a good man, Walter, and your toys bring joy to every child at Christmas. I don’t know how you manage it.”
“Time is all it takes and that I’ve plenty of. Besides, every cut and every paste is a work of love.”
I respond to his word choice. “You said “Cut and paste”. Remember when that phrase meant some different?” Then responding to his quizzical expression, I say, “You’re twenty-something, aren’t you? Cut and paste is an archaic computer term from before the plague.”
Walter nodded and said, “My parents had a computer they used. I was too little to remember much about it. I do remember how bad they felt when it quit working. Mister Neil, the electric man over in Finger Town says he’s going to get a bunch of them working on direct power for the schools. Heard tell one of the scavenging crews brought him a servant thingy and he and some other electric fellows might get that internet thing going again. Mama says it won’t be much of a net, but she sure would like to send emals to her friends.”
“Emails,” I correct. “Yep, that would be something. Walter, the smoothing iron is on a bale of hay in the barn. Go ahead and get started while I get my tool chest.”
“I’ll wait for you to show me how to use it.”
“Then I’ll show you now.”
Walter finished the smoothing around three. The building went faster than the planing, and with the sun still high above the western horizon I was on my last box when Nate showed up.
Freshly returned with the posse, he came bearing news about the bastards that killed my son, my wife, and several dear friends visiting with us.
“They’re dead.”
“You got em all?”
“Every last dog of em. Helmsley was madder than I thought. After I blew the concrete wall with the ANFO, oh, ya shudda seen the blast, biggest one I ever did; Anyways, ole Helmsley, he give the order ta shoot survivors without mercy. Come ta find out there weren’t any bastards the blast didn’t kill, but we would’ve followed his orders glad enough.”
“It’s done then?”
“Yep, it’s done. I even did what ya asked and blew the leaders head into chunks.”
I repressed a shudder and asked, “How did you know which of the bastards was the leader?”
“One of the prisoners described him; Black hair with an eagle tattoo on his arm. Do ya know Jimmy Starnes took off with his wife and kids?”
“No I didn’t. When did that happen?”
“Peggy says it was right after breakfast yesterday. Anyways, that’s what one of the Starnes’s neighbors told her at supper. Jimmy told the neighbor he couldn’t bear the shame from being the one that let the killer through the checkpoint.”
I feel a surge of anger, not at Jimmy Starnes, but at the hideous trick that the killer used to get past him. “It wasn’t Jimmy’s fault. It was nighttime and the bastard was wearing Jess’s clothing and his …” I choke the words out, “He was wearing Jess’s face.” Tears flood my eyes. “God Damn IT! The bastards skinned my boy’s head and the killer wore it like a Halloween mask.”
It took a while, but Nate waited until the tear-storm passed.
“What ya want done about Starnes?”
“We’ll do what has to be done. Find Helmsley and tell him to gather whom he can and bring Jimmy and his family back home. If Helmsley’s not up to it, have him designate someone in his stead. Either way, I want them back.”
