Alone: Book 1: Facing Armageddon (24 page)

     Regulating the temperature was the hardest thing
. You probably experienced the same thing. I started out checking the internal thermometer every five minutes or so, but it kept going above or below 350 degrees, and I kept having to crank the charcoal pan either higher or lower each time.

     I finally got smart and just sat there, raising and lowering the pan every time the temperature changed.

     It was kind of a pain in the ass, to be honest. But it was worth it. Before long the smell of fresh baked bread began drifting out of the vents and actually covered up the dead body smell for a time.

     I ate a whole loaf. Seriously. I wrapped the
first loaf in wax paper and put it in the freezer with the vegetables. But I couldn’t resist with the second loaf. I didn’t even slice it. I just tore off a chunk and it melted in my mouth. And it tasted exactly like yours did.

     Anyway, one thing led to another, and before you know it the whole loaf was gone. And no, I don’t feel guilty about that. Later on I regretted it, because I use
d up my whole calorie allotment on one loaf of bread. But it was so worth it.

     The only difference between mine and yours was that mine didn’t rise as high as yours. I looked at the jar of yeast I used, and it’s still good for two more years. So I guess I just didn’t let it sit on the counter long enough.

     I’ll get better as I go. For now, though, I know I am capable of baking bread, and may even tackle one of your other recipes soon. The zucchini nut bread sounds good. And we just happen to have zucchini in the garden and pecans on the Hansen’s tree.

     Sorry, I had to gush a bit. I never in a million years thought I’d be baking bread, of all things.

     It’s amazing what you can accomplish when you have to.

     I love you.

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     It was early October now, and Dave had just finished bringing in the second corn crop.  Like before, the ears were piled into laundry baskets and cardboard boxes and stacked into a big pile in his dining room.

     He’d learned a few things when he processed the first batch of corn. First, he learned that using a knife to cut the kernels off the cobs was a time consuming and dangerous p
roposition. He cut the same thumb twice during the process.

     He’d learned that it was much easier to unshuck the cobs, then to let them dry out, before processing them. Once they were completely dry, he could twist them to make the kernels fall out of the cobs instead of cutting them off.

    Lastly, he learned that twisting four hundred cobs of corn was hard work, especially on his forearms. He fully expected to resemble Popeye the Sailor after a couple more harvests.

     He was in no hurry to process the second batch of corn. He had a long winter ahead of him, with no crops to care for. He had plenty of time to work the corn pile, and in fact could even do it a little at a time.

     So he shifted his focus to the wheat.

     He processed the wheat in a completely different manner, while still in the field.

     By going down his work rows one at a time, and by cutting off the grains with a small linoleum knife, he could get a good sized handful of wheat kernels, still in the husks.

     The
n he repeatedly beat the husks against the inside of a large bucket he dragged along behind him. Beating the husks caused the kernels to fall free and settle in the bottom of the bucket. Once the husks were empty, he tossed them aside and gathered another handful.

     It was a very slow, but very effective process.
He and Sarah had already stockpiled a hundred five pound bags of flour for making bread and hard tack after the blackout. It was stored in zip-lock storage bags in the wall of the garage, hidden behind a sheet of sheetrock.

     He wasn’t sure how much flour this crop would make after he ground it. But he was fairly confident it would stretch the
existing stock of flour considerably, even though he’d now developed the capability to bake bread with it.

     He figured another week or more to finish bringing in the whe
at crop. Then he’d pull the plants up by the roots, along with the corn plants and the plants from the garden that no longer bore vegetables.

     He’d toss all the vegetation over the fence into his own back yard, where it would feed his ever expanding population of rabbits over the winter months.

     After three days of crawling around on his hands and knees, though, he decided he needed a break.

     As he had done before with the corn, he took four zip-lock sandwich bags, and poured about a cup of wheat seeds into each.

     Then he made a sign to place underneath the bag of seeds:

PLEASE DON’T EAT THESE SEEDS

If you eat them, they’ll only provide one meal.

But if you save them until the springtime and plant them, the wheat they will produce will feed you for months. Here’s how:

1. Trap rain in barrels and trash cans during the spring rains. Put them against your house, where they will catch the runoff from your roof.

2. Cover the cans when they’re not in use, so the water doesn’t evaporate.

3. Prepare the ground by digging it up and then removing all grass and roots.

4. Plant seeds one at a time, one inch deep and eight to ten inches apart.

5. Water each plant, every other day. On days you have a good rain, skip three days.

6. Harvest when the stalks hang low and dry out.

7. If you plant in late March, you can harvest in June and plant a second crop. The two crops together will feed several people for several months.

8. After your second harvest, be sure you save seeds for your next planting in the spring.

9. TAKE SOME MORE OF YOUR SEEDS AND SHARE THEM WITH A NEIGHBOR. TELL THEM TO KEEP IT GOING UNTIL EVERYONE HAS THEIR OWN CROPS.

     Dave wasn’t a long winded guy by nature. But he wanted to be specific. He didn’t want anyone’s crops dying in the field because they didn’t get all the grass roots out of the ground, or water them often enough.

     He didn’t realize how detailed his instructions were until he had to write out three more copies of the sign long-hand, and it gave him writer’s cramp.

     But sore hands were a small price to pay for what he’d come to consider his calling: sharing what he had anonymously with others in the neighborhood, and helping others to survive.

     He’d planned on going out that night to deposit the seeds at various locations around the neighborhood. But as he was putting the packages of seeds into a black backpack, he heard a vicious firefight, with AK-47 and AR-15 rifles, only a block or two away. The battle raged for half an hour, and culminated in several blasts from a shotgun.

     Dave would never know who was shooting at who, of course. Or why.

     But it reminded him that the world outside his home was still a very vicious and violent place.

     He also suspected that tensions would be high among the survivors of the shootout, and they’d probably be watching out for more trouble.

     He decided to wait a couple more days to complete his seed mission.

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     Dave went ahead and finished his wheat harvest. He’d gotten considerably more than the first harvest, and didn’t know why. He’d planted the seeds the same way. Watered them on the same schedule.

     He wondered if planting the first crop in the early spring, when the ground was still cool from the winter, stunted the growth of the first crop.

     Whatever was the cause, he was pleasantly surprised at the yield. And he was happy enough about it to share more of it with neighbors.

     When he set out on that Tuesday evening, just before midnight, the black canvas pack on his back contained eight ziplock bags of seeds, and eight identical sets of instructions.

     As had been his habit in the past, he first went up the stairs to the front window that overlooked the street. With his night vision goggles in place, he scanned the street for several minutes for the slightest movement or sign of life.

     All he saw w
ere the trees blowing, and an occasional odd piece of trash rolling down the street.

     He went into his darkened garage and pulled the cord that released the door from the garage door opener.

     The overhead door could now be opened manually.

     He eased it up about eighteen inches and crawled underneath it.

     He was immediately struck by the cool wind. Winter was right around the corner. He wondered if he should have brought a light jacket, and for a brief moment thought about going back.

     Then he remembered he didn’t even own a black jacket.
And the walk would keep him warm.

     He pulled the door back down
, shouldered his AR-15, and stealthily low crawled away from the house and to the shrubs next door.

     From there he once again surveyed the street. And once again he saw no sign of movement.

     Then Dave was on his way, moving in short bursts from one set of shrubs or parked car to another.

     At first he was disheartened to see that there were no more trash cans as far as he could see, in either direction. Then he realized that was a good thing. It meant that the survivors had taken his advice, or maybe discovered on their own, that they could use the cans to catch rain water.

     The only problem was, the lack of cans gave Dave no place to leave the seed packs, as he had done before.

     He solved that problem by placing the first package on the hood of a yellow Honda Civic, stalled in the middle of the street, about two blocks from his house.

     He tucked the first of the notes underneath the seeds and turned to leave when he heard a man’s voice, calling out behind him.

     “Hey!”

     Dave froze. His back was to the voice, and he was vulnerable. His rifle was over his shoulder and his handgun was still holstered. The man behind him had the drop on him.

     If the man meant him harm, Dave was in deep trouble.

     But there was something in the tone of the man’s voice, in that single word, that struck Dave as nonthreatening. He slowly turned around.

     The first
human he’d seen up close in eight months was walking toward him, seemingly unarmed, hands outstretched.

     What he said next puzzled Dave.

     “It’s nice to finally get a chance to meet you.”

     “Excuse me?”

     “The whole neighborhood’s been talking about you. The mysterious man who comes in the night and leaves seeds, and rabbits, and shares information on how to survive. That’s you, right?”

     “I guess.”

     “Are you the same one who released a bunch of rabbits into the wild? I’ve been seeing them around here quite often lately.”

     “Yes. I want them to multiply so they eventually provide a source of protein for the survivors.”

     “Well, I’ll be damned. I knew it. I bet old Bill five bucks you were the one. Not that five bucks means anything anymore. But I told him there couldn’t be more than one man around these parts who knew how to breed rabbits. It must be you, I said.”

     The man reached out his hand.

     “Frank Woodard. My wife Eva and I live in the blue house right there. Well, it’s blue in the daytime. Guess at night it’s as black as all the others.”

     Dave was caught off guard by the man’s demeanor. But he shook the hand offered to him.

     “I’m Dave. I live… well, back that way a ways.”

     Frank laughed.

     “Let me show you something, Dave. Don’t get too jumpy, I’m not reaching for a gun.”

     He slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a wallet. Until he opened it up and Dave could see a badge.

     “Bexar County Sheriff, twenty one years. I’m sworn to protect and serve. You have nothing to fear from me. But these days it’s wise not to give out too much information. So I don’t blame you for not wanting to be very specific.”

     “I’m sorry… Frank. You’re the first person I’ve talked to since the blackout. I don’t know what’s going on out here, or who I can trust.”