Second Chances (10 page)

Bert and Heather brought in meat twice a week. Sometimes what they brought in didn't look edible at first. One animal, what they called a Bolladon wasn't. It wasn't from Earth, that much they were sure of. It had a large beak, eyes on stalks on either side of the narrow beak, hump body covered in armored bone, with a spiked stubby tail in the rear. It had four short stubby legs and was easy to kill if you could get past the armor, sharp hooked beak and tail. They found out it wasn't worth the effort though; the meat just tasted greasy and awful. They ended up feeding it to the dogs who either ate it and then were sick or flat out refused to eat it.

“Well, live and learn,” Heather said. Bert grumbled about the waste but she shrugged it off. “Come on now honey; we know to avoid them now,” she said. “How else were we to know without at least giving it a shot?” she asked. He nodded grudgingly.

The Browns were not utilized much; there were only a handful of injuries, fortunately all minor. Both of the Browns worked on other things like farm and handyman jobs. John, Eric and Carlene made certain they were given enough food and wood. Their vital skills weren't in use at the moment, but it was only a matter of time before they would be needed.

When the animals went into heat, Trisha and the others who had them bred the animals. Love was definitely in the air; everything was mated, from the chickens, to the cats, dogs and horses. To make certain they wouldn't inbreed, Quincy urged them to exchange stud animals. The Southbys had only one stallion and no jack. There were two other stallions in the community, Sophia Edison's and Ginger Snadly's.

Quincy brokered a deal between the three horse owners to exchange blood lines. He even got John to breed his dogs to other dogs, including the mutt Ginger had and the Rottweiler bitch the Roberts had. Hanuk seemed happy and pretty relaxed John thought with a bit of jealous envy. The damn dog was getting laid more than he ever was. The wolf hybrid practically strutted.

Each morning eggs were gathered from chickens and milk from the two goats they had. The rabbits and one pet pig they had on hand were growing steadily. There was some muttering about keeping the pig, but since they had enough food to feed it, Nel's Miss Piggy was left alone.

Hides and furs the Gummers brought in were scraped clean, stretched out on frames and then tanned in the sun. They weren't very good, but they were something. The hides had a thousand and one uses, from making ropes to make additional shelters, crude containers or fur rugs. Feathers were washed and used for pillows, though they were prickly. The feathers were also used as fletching, ink quills and fire material. Nel wove a couple in a few of the ladies hair for a while before they got tired of the things and the fad passed.

Bartering their excess products formed in the base and became the norm as spring moved on. Those that hadn't started with much seemed bitter that others had more and were unwilling to share. Some resented it, and there was some concern over “robbing from the rich.”

“It's not fair man,” Darion grumbled. Sal nodded. John ignored the bitching for the most part as he worked with them to cut fire wood. “We should be pooling everything. That way everyone gets a fair shake,” Darion said.

“And what about the people who aren't doing their fair share? Those that refuse to leave the safety of the walls?” John asked, swinging his ax. He grunted as the wood caught the blade of the ax. He pounded it against the block he'd been using until it split clean.

“You can't blame people for not wanting to get killed,” Darion mumbled.

“Yeah well, those that do risk their necks should be compensated for it right?” John asked. Sal hunched his shoulders. He rarely ever left the base. He only went as far as the fields and even then only with a group of people.

“It's still not right,” Darion grumbled. Joy called to him. He turned to wave at her. “I gotta go,” he said, handing off his borrowed ax to John. John nodded and took the tool.

“He's right. But what can we do?” Sal asked.

John pointed out that although they didn't have a lot to start with, they did have their brains, bodies, and skills. They could work and did. He did help out though. “But we don't need as much,” Sal said, indicating the pile of wood he had.

“You don't now, but come winter it's a different story. Believe me, you can never have enough wood,” John said. He kicked a block of wood over, scaring a six-legged lizard out. A quick flash of his ax brought the lizard's retreat to an end. Sal made a face. “Bugs live in wood piles, and where there are bugs, other predators follow. You can eat this, or...” he turned and tossed the scrap to Hanuk. The wolf hybrid snapped the morsel up and barely chewed as he gulped it down. “Feed those who need it.”

“I see.”

“Other people need wood. You don't see the Roberts or Southbys sticking their necks out do you?” Sal shook his head. “See? You can offer to work for them and get direct compensation through barter, or you can trade your surplus to Chung's general store and let him take a cut. Your choice,” he said, shouldering the ax.

“Um, thanks,” Sal said as John went off to Chung's to dicker. He paused when he heard Heather come over to the kid.

“You know, he's right?” she said. Sal turned to her. “I mean, Bert and I trade meat and hide to Victor and other people. I know Adam Southby takes in metal and exercise stuff for his forge, but you could make stuff. Like oh...ever played with mud pies as a kid?”

“Are you kidding me? You can't eat mud!”

“No,” she drawled, shaking her curly red hair out. “No, but you could make bricks,” she said. “Get a bit of clay, some water, a mold, and some grass. Heat it by the fire. I knew a guy back in my old college days who did that. Painted them with stuff he ground up. All artsy fartsy stuff,” she said with a sniff, hands in her rear pockets. “But hey, he sold a bunch,” she said.

“I...”

“It's a bit of work but keep it in mind. Leave ‘em out by the sun to dry, then fire ‘em in the fire,” she suggested. “Trade ‘em in bulk to Victor or others who want them. Everyone could use brick, even if it's to walk on,” she suggested. The young man nodded as she walked off.

She passed John who had stopped to listen. She turned in her cowgirl boots to give him a half smile and wink and then continued on his way as he nodded.

John shook his head. Gerald took in electronics and plastic, at least until people started to reuse what they had. They'd learned the old provision that a butter container was a great poor man's Tupperware.

The Southbys took in anything metal in trade or for credit. They had a pile of scrap near the forge, most of it exercise equipment. It wasn't like any of the dust collectors were needed anymore; everyone was busy trying to stay alive and getting plenty of exercise.

Victor Chung had taken up the general store with gusto, setting up in near record time. He was ruthless in his bartering, knowing he had the market cornered on some stuff that was rare or hard to come by. He griped all the time about the 10 percent off he'd given to John. “Ten? I meant 5!” he said, stuttering, eyes wide.

“Yeah well, we agreed on 10,” John teased, knowing full well the guy was jacking up the price then lowering it with the discount. That was normal for any business, he thought. He needed the nails and plastic sheeting though. So he traded the four eggs his chickens had produced, along with a quarter cord of fire wood and some spare rope he'd had on hand.

“Me and my big mouth,” Victor grumbled as he wrote the sale out. John snorted. “Hey, want some bugs?”

“Bugs?” John asked.

“I know you don't need the protein, but it's good chicken feed,” Victor said, holding up a mason jar filled with squirming bugs. “That cowgirl lady traded ‘em. She found a couple fallen logs and stocked up,” he said. “The jar is on loan; there is an extra charge for borrowing it,” he said slyly.

“Um...you know, no thanks,” John said, shaking his head.

“Suit yourself,” Victor said, putting the jar back.

~~~~~~(@)~~~~~~

When the planting was done they held an evening party. John snorted, but watched as people chatted happily and strung up lights. Hoarded hooch was brought out. The girls were frisky and feisty, dragging guys off to dance. John took his turn guarding the wall allowing Bert to be dragged off by his wife. Bull was supposed to relieve him, but he didn't show up until halfway through his shift. By that time John was tired. The party had mostly wound down, so he checked the animals and then went to bed.

~~~~~~(@)~~~~~~

John checked upstream following the creek. Out of habit he did a couple test pans. Darion snorted when he saw what he was doing. John tossed the mess aside. “Nothing?” Darion asked.

“Nothing,” John agreed. “Not a single color. It'd be nice though,” he said.

“You can take the miner out of the mine...” Darion teased.

“Ah, it's...yeah, okay, that. But also, heck, some metal would be useful. It'd take a bit to get it though. But even gold can be useful when melted down.”

“Yeah, for earrings and stuff,” Darion said with a sniff.

“More than that,” John said. “Doesn't matter, didn't find any,” he said, putting the pan back in his bag.

“True,” Darion admitted.

An hour later Darion signaled to be quiet and stop with a hand sign. John knelt and then crept up to him. The hunter pointed to a six-legged elk-like creature drinking near the water's edge. John nodded and pulled his bow out. He aimed carefully and then let the arrow fly. It clipped a few branches, making the thing look up in sudden alarm.

The arrow hit just before the midsection, slightly higher than he wanted. The thing moved, scrambling as he pulled another arrow out and shot. The second arrow missed. He grimaced and let another arrow fly. This one caught the animal before it was out of range jumping away. He hit it in the spine, near the base of the neck. It dropped thrashing in a thicket.

“Going to be fun getting it out,” Darion grumbled.

“Can't have everything go our way,” John said, putting the bow up. He pulled out the radio and called in backup as the two men moved in to finish the animal off. They had about an hour to slaughter the animal and then get it to where the others could meet them easily.

~~~~~~(@)~~~~~~

Bert and Heather showed volunteers how to set traps for animals. The snare traps worked the best to catch small animals. Most were too injured to survive keeping alive. The alien ones were studied briefly by Bert, but he didn't offer any commentary. Finally Quincy got involved and got them to provide a sample. Bert instead brought in his disemboweled kills every day and had Quincy skin and dress the meat. That gave the vet with a strong stomach something he could easily do while also giving him an out to itch his curiosity.

~~~~~~(@)~~~~~~

Working on a farm and living in a construction site was filled with hazards. Accidents were infrequent and mostly minor. Doctor Brown had a look at each, and any cuts or scrapes were treated with boiled water and then either sutured or bandaged. Sean was a frequent customer; he tripped over his own feet.

Sean's unfortunate awkwardness cost him dearly. Darion and Chen brought the gangly lad back to base, grimly carrying him.

Doctor Brown was summoned as the community gathered to hear the story. “He fell,” Chen said simply, face closed. He closed his black eyes and looked away after a moment, facing the setting sun.

“He tripped over his own damn stupid shoelaces and fell down a cliff, he means,” Darion said, fighting his own emotions to try to copy the solid Asian. “He hit his head on a rock,” he said shaking his head. “He...he was just lying there...we...it took us a while to get down to him,” he said, voice catching. He shrugged off sympathetic pats on his shoulders as he walked angrily away, head down.

John turned and went to his gear. He pulled out a first aid kit he'd bought; a paramedic level one he'd gotten off E-bay. He rushed it over to the Brown residence. He wasn't sure what they could do, but he hoped it wasn't too late.

He met Quincy at the door and handed the pack off to him wordlessly. Quincy nodded and went back to his wife and her patient.

~~~~~~(@)~~~~~~

Early the next morning she came out, angry, exhausted and obviously upset. One look from her told John all he needed to know. He sighed as she stormed over to the community water fountain.

“Subdermal hematoma, internal injuries...I'm not sure which killed him. Either way, there wasn't a damn thing I could do for him,” she muttered, scrubbing as others just waking up came out. John nodded to Trisha as she stretched in her nighty. She blinked. He nodded to the doctor. She looked the question to him. He silently shook his head. She froze, then her face fell. She turned to Adam and murmured to him.

Their local doctor was hard pressed and depressed over her lack of material; what John had provided hadn't been enough. She angrily washed the blood off her hands in the cold community wash. John came over and stood silently by her. He thought about what she was doing as she scrubbed blood with cold creek water and winced. It wasn't quite Lady Macbeth, but the doctor lady had some profound guilt over not being up to the task. “Everyone's looking at me as some sort of miracle worker! I don't know what to do! We're so screwed! It's not like I have access to a hospital or even a medical clinic here!” she threw her wet hands up in the air.