Renewal 2 - Echoes of the Breakdown (6 page)

“I sort of figured that.”

“Arturo and I are going to look around the area today. He calls it recon. We’re going to see if there is anything obvious to worry about.”

“That’s a good idea. Maybe the people who live around here are nice,” I said.

“Maybe. Hopefully... Anyway, if there’s no real problems, we’ll probably stay here for a while. We’ll have to do some work to make it safer, but we’ll be ok.”

“Ok, Dad. I’m up for anything.”

“Good. Let’s go see about breakfast.”

We ate our morning bowl of oatmeal before anyone else emerged from the tents. Lucy was out first, followed by Mom. Then Arturo walked in from the woods, wearing his space blanket like a cloak. Dad explained that he slept out there where he could hear anything coming in from the back side of the camp. Arturo looked bleary-eyed and ragged.

“I’m getting too old for this sh... crap,” He said.

“I appreciate it, Art. We probably would have been dead about three times over if it weren’t for you.” Dad replied, handing Arturo a bowl of oatmeal and a box of raisins.

“Well, that’s true, which is why you and I are going on a little recon slash training hike today.”

“Great. I hope you can talk really fast, because you need to get on the road before regular old crazy turns into full-on ‘tango uniform’ out there,” Dad said, looking concerned.

“What’s tango uniform mean?” I asked. I expected the men to ignore me, since they were in the middle of grownup talk.

“True, true. Unless something changes, I’ll head out tonight, or early in the morning. Bill, tango uniform means really messed up.” Arturo chuckled.

“Ask me when you’re older, Bill. Is it better to drive at night, you think?” Dad asked Arturo.

“Hard to say. It might be harder to navigate, and harder to see problems ahead of time, but it may also make it harder to see me. If I need to worry about cops, they’re usually easier to out-think when they’re tired.” Arturo replied.

“Voice of experience?”

“I was young once,” Arturo replied with a grin. “Even better, they probably won’t have working radios. All I have to do is outrun them.”

“Well, you have the right car for that. This side of a Corvette anyway.”

“The hard part will be finding gas.”

“Yeah. That’s one reason to take the back roads, through Alabama and the panhandle. Less traffic and no news means you may find some mom and pop places that will take cash.”

“I hope so,” Art said. “I sure would hate to hike to Florida and back.”

“Don’t forget there are about 30 million dead cars out there now. There’s a siphon pump in the back, so you don’t even have to use gasoline for mouthwash.”

“I like the way you think, David.”

Dad held up three fingers in the Boy Scout salute and said, “Be prepared.”

We started the day with digging. At first it was painful all over, but eventually our muscles loosened up and only the blisters continued to bother us. Dad said, only about two hundred times, that he wished he had thought to buy work gloves. Tommy and Jimmy, with Mom’s help, decided we could handle digging without them, and so it was just the four of us. We made good progress, especially when we got past the six-foot mark. At that depth, the rocks began to thin out and made way for solid greenish-tan clay. We were using buckets on lengths of rope to lift dirt out of the hole, and I was in charge of dumping them into the wheelbarrow. It fell into a rhythm. I would empty five buckets, push the wheelbarrow over to the slope, dump it, and come back in time for two more buckets. When the hole was nine feet deep, Dad and Arturo took some time to scrape the walls straight and even. We dumped that dirt and then we all stomped around on the bottom of the hole until the floor was fairly flat and hard packed. Then Dad dug a small, deep hole in the center of the floor and threw some rocks into it to fill it up even with the larger hole.

“For drainage,” he told us.

“Clever,” Arturo said.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Dad used the square shovel to cut tall steps into one end of the hole, starting at the bottom and working each one in a little farther into the wall. By the time he finished, Kirk and I could walk right out of the hole. We were thankful because we had no idea how we were going to get out. Then, Dad had us over the crest of the slope, throwing dead leaves on the dirt we had dumped there.

“The idea is to be hard to spot. All this fresh dirt can be seen from a distance.”

Arturo went back to camp while Dad gave us our jobs for the day. We were to drag our cut saplings over to the hole, cut the limbs off, and lay them across the top of the hole. If we didn’t have enough, we would have to cut more. Then, we would put the leafy branches back on top of the trees. When we had everything tightly covered, we were to cover everything with more dead leaves. Hard to spot, we were reminded.

“Leave the steps uncovered for now,” Dad said. “We’ll find something to use as a door later. If you get all that done before we get back, start moving the food over here. I’ll arrange it in the hole later.”

“Ok, Dad,” Kirk said.

Arturo had a small pack ready when we got back to camp, along with the hunting rifle and the shotgun. Dad had already made a habit of carrying his handgun with him, while Arturo had picked the best of the bandits’ pistols for himself. We were amassing quite a collection of weapons, but hadn’t had time to work through all of them. I was hoping that one had my name on it, but I wasn’t too convinced that would happen any time soon.

Dad gave Mom a kiss, and he and Arturo hiked out to the west, which was the back of our camp, as we figured it. Mom watched them go until they were lost to sight in the woods. After a few more seconds, she walked over to Francine, sat down next to the old woman, and started talking to her, trying to get any kind of response. I picked up the ax. Kirk grabbed one from the new pile of tools, and we got to work.

Chapter 2 – 7

I was proud of our little show of woodcraft, when it was done. We had covered the entire pit with strong saplings and woven them with branches into a tight roof. When we had it covered in leaves, Kirk and I were convinced that no one would even know it was there. We even put together a woven panel for a door over the steps, after Kirk had the clever idea of using vines to tie it together. Extra credit, we called it.

We guessed it was around four in the afternoon when we got back to camp, and we were starving. Mom had made a bunch of peanut butter crackers for us, and kept them in the cooler until we got back. While we munched and sipped water, we noticed that she kept looking to the west, obviously beginning to get worried about Dad and Arturo. We were surprised when they came back from the north, looking tired, but no worse for the hike. Dad was carrying a red metal gas can in one hand, and the rifle with the other.

Mom gave Dad a hug, and squeezed him hard enough to get a grunt in return as he clumsily set the gas can down. Arturo was carrying the pack, but it was clearly heavy now, the thin straps cutting into his shoulders.

“We met the real landowners,” Dad said.

“You did?” Mom asked, with an open mouth of surprise.

“Yeah. George and Martha Carroll. Nice old couple. Their family has been around this area for generations. We told them our story, and asked if it was ok if we stay here. Mr. Carroll said it was fine, on one condition.”

“What condition?”

“We’re supposed to blow these horns if any trouble comes our way, so they’ll know to get ready. And, if they blow their horns, we’re supposed to come running to help out.” Dad turned Arturo around and pulled a little canister air horn out of the pack.

“Well, that seems nice of them,” Mom said.

“There’s more. They also gave us a big bag of nails and a bunch of ammunition that George thought would work when we told him about what weapons we had. He also gave us a rundown on where to hunt for deer, and other animals.”

“Wow. You must have really been charming.”

“Aren’t I always?” Dad asked with a wry grin.

Mom rolled her eyes and ignored the question. “Where are they? How far is it?”

“About a quarter mile that way,” Dad replied, pointing northwest. “But it’s closer to a half mile when you take the easy way. No fences to cross.”

“Did they know anything about what’s going on?”

“Not much, but they do have a great nephew who’s a deputy. He told them things were bad, and to stay at home, no matter what. For them, it seemed like the normal thing to do anyway, so they aren’t really convinced that things are bad. If the power weren’t out, they might not even know,” Dad answered.

Arturo chimed in, “They know about the nukes that went off in DC. They don’t know why the power is out, even though their nephew, Rodney Barker, explained the EMP to them. They do know he was very upset when he came by to check on them, and they know that the whole sheriff’s department is running on commandeered old diesels, since they survived the EMP pretty well. Rodney was driving a ’78 Chevy truck when he stopped by. He told them one piece of news, that Nashville is a mess, but not nearly as bad as bigger cities, like Atlanta. His command pipeline said that nationwide martial law is being discussed. He said he would look in on them as often as possible.”

Dad added, “George reminded us not to shoot any deputies that show up, just in case Rodney comes out to see who’s on the back forty. He said that we should shoot anyone else, but he was half joking. He was seriously “old school” about his property. Oh, and Martha said she could probably spare some of her canned food if we needed it. Nice people.”

“Yeah,” Mom said. “Very nice. And you liked them?”

“I think we got incredibly lucky again,” Dad replied.

“Me too,” Art said, nodding his head.

“Well,  I guess that makes me feel better. At least we are allowed to be here... I do feel better,” Mom concluded.

Kirk and I were practically bursting to show Dad our work, and he agreed to come and see it. When he did, he was full of praise. “That is excellent work, boys. Just great. I couldn’t have done it better if I tried.” We were beside ourselves with pride, and practically skipped back to the camp circle.

Arturo and Dad had apparently worked out the details on their hike, and immediately started loading the car for Arturo’s trip south. They put in some food, water, one of the assault rifles and ammunition for it. Arturo kept the handgun he had chosen and set it on the passenger seat with a matching box of ammo. He wedged the big combat knife into the gap between the dash and the under-hanging CB radio. Dad gave him a quick tour and set the red gas can in the very back. It was empty, but Arturo would fill it at the first opportunity for an emergency backup. Dad pulled the siphon pump out of the spare tire storage and set it next to the can. He didn’t want Arturo to waste time looking for it and getting it out. Arturo had the maps out where he could reach them on the fly, and a couple of bottles of water at hand.

“Ok, David. It’s time to hit it. Remember everything I told you, and you should be fine.” Art said, holding out his hand for a shake.

Dad leaned in and gave Arturo a hug. “Good luck my friend. We’ll take care of your boy, and we’ll stay here as long as it takes for you to get back, or as long as it’s safe anyway. In any case, we’ll be close by. If you can’t find us, honk the horn and we’ll find you, ok?”

“Sounds good,” Arturo said. He put on his best terrible Terminator voice. “I’ll be back.”  He squatted down and gave Jimmy a long hug, and whispered, “I love you, boy. I will be back.”

Arturo stood up and slid into the driver’s seat, as Mom held Jimmy back from the car. Arturo took a minute to adjust seat and mirrors, then turned the key. The big engine rumbled to life, and idled roughly with its mismatched parts. The car clunked into reverse, and backed slowly out of the woods. Arturo never took his eyes off of his son, until he reached the grass, waved once, and pulled away to the north, aiming for the gravel entrance to the road. We heard the car idle, smoother now that it was warming up, as Arturo worked the gate, and the faint metallic rattle the gate closing behind him. The car accelerated away to join the road heading south, and we were all feeling strangely empty. We were hoping, maybe praying, that we would see him again.

Chapter 2 – 8

“Hello, the watch!”

Terry felt a sharp disconnect when the new voice intruded on Bill’s tale. Bill seemed to be expecting it.

“Hello, below!” Bill called.

“Is that you, Bill?”

“Yep. Bill plus one. Come on up.”

The twin ropes of the ladder rattled against the platform as the newcomer climbed up and vaulted over the edge in athletic fashion. He was a young man, in his twenties, long limbed and rangy, with dark hair and tanned skin. He was dressed in the typical work pants and work shirt.

Bill made the introductions. “Terry, meet Neil. Neil, this is Terry Shelton.”

“Ah. Hey there, Mr. Shelton. You’re the talk today. Good to meet you,” Neil said, looking Terry in the eye as he extended his hand for a handshake.

Terry clasped the offered hand. “Pleased to meet you, Neil.”

“What do you think so far?” Neil asked.

“It’s all so incredible. I’m still trying to think what to think, you know?” Terry replied, looking around to show the scale of his incredulity.

“Yeah, I know. I was new here not so long ago. It’s a long way from the trout farm. We ate fish every damn day.”

Bill explained. “We did a lot of trading with Neil’s family, until Tullahoma decided to take the Nut Cave Trout Farm by force. His parents sent Neil and his little sister into the woods to hide, and we picked them up later on our normal run to buy some fish. We brought them back here.”

“Those bastards had my parents working as slaves, since no one else knew how to work the fish farm. Kirk and his crew rescued them after a couple of months. They live here now, too. The Tullahoma crew killed my uncle, and two cousins,” Neil said, looking away.

“Well, thanks to a little help from our friends in Bedford County, they got what they had coming.” Bill said.