Shortage (Best Laid Plans Book 2) (10 page)

He nodded. He'd been about to go searching for food when Ferris had unexpectedly shown up to finally insist they let him inspect the house. Now that they'd found the food hidden in the shed, the family's only cache, it was all the more important he go find what he could. “Yeah. I'll be home for dinner.”

“With dinner too, I hope,” his mom replied. She sounded equal parts woeful and shaken. “We have nothing to fall back on, now.”

He was glad even in her shaken state that she'd remembered not to talk about Trev's cache. Or maybe in her shaken state she'd
forgotten
about it. Either way he couldn't reassure her while Ferris was around, so he gathered up a few plastic grocery bags and started outside, pausing at the door to look back at his parents.

His dad's shoulders were hunched as if the weight of the world rested on them, while his mom was plucking hopelessly at the shredded couch cushions she'd spent so long fiercely protecting from stains and misuse. They looked tired and hopeless, and older than their years.

When he came out onto the porch Ferris and his soldiers were carrying the bags of food out of the shed, what looked like a pathetically small amount in their arms, especially to make such a fuss over. With a last venomous look at him the administrator and the soldiers left the yard and started down the street to the storehouse.

Sam met him at the stairs leading down to the driveway. “Want some help?” she asked quietly, eyes filled with worry.

Matt immediately shook his head. Even with the “protection” FETF provided the town it was getting more dangerous. Even after numerous complaints about theft the refugees still had free access to walk the streets, since Ferris insisted it was a free country and they had every right to go where they pleased as long as they didn't trespass. Trespassing he seemed happy to turn a blind eye to, and even a few break ins Matt had heard about. The would-be thieves had to be disappointed at what they found since FETF had already been through and taken anything of value.

Crime had also risen drastically, especially in the refugee camp, and Ferris seemed too busy collecting and not redistributing food to do anything about it himself. Even with whatever deal Razor and the administrator had made the gang leader had been getting bolder and bolder as Ferris continued to go easy on him. Razor still tried to keep what he did quiet, but in spite of that Matt and the other townspeople had heard stories of assaults, robberies, and much much worse among the tents.

Since Halloween Matt had slept poorly with a can of bear spray next to him, fearing some of the bolder criminals might break into the house and come after his parents or Sam. He really worried about April and her family living in another house, and had made sure they both had a few of his remaining cans of pepper spray to defend the house or if they had to go out.

No, it definitely wasn't safe. As much as he enjoyed Sam's company, more and more with every day, Matt had started to feel like he couldn't protect her when she came with him. To be honest he was getting more and more worried about whether he could even protect himself.

He grit his teeth at the thought of his dad's .30-06 being confiscated at Roadblock 1 when Ferris first arrived, and all the other weapons the townspeople had given up to FETF. He really wished Anderson had held his ground and never allowed the administrator to get away with confiscating those weapons, although it had probably been too late the moment the trucks drove into town.

The Mayor still insisted they were better off giving up their guns, since not only would they avoid violence but the refugees would be disarmed as well. That would leave the only weapons in the hands of FETF patrolling the streets keeping the peace. But even Anderson was losing conviction in his reassurances. Especially since Ferris and his thugs had become no better than looters in their “inspections”.

In fact just a few minutes ago one of Ferris's soldiers had taken a break from tearing holes in walls when he discovered Matt's dad's collection of old coins, ripping the books apart to pull the coins free so he could shove them in his pocket. They had other valuables in the house, but either they were too large or weren't quite tempting enough because Ferris had left them alone.

Matt left Sam on the porch, although not before she caught him with a quick kiss and told him to be careful. As she went inside to help his parents clean up he crossed the yard, one hand holding the empty grocery bags he desperately needed to fill, the other in his pocket clutching the can of bear spray. His decision to empty that display in the store what seemed a lifetime ago had been inspired, since the pepper spray had done more to protect him, his family, and his friends than anything else. Especially after they'd lost their firearms.

At first he moved quickly down the streets, past areas he and others had already harvested. His luck was getting worse lately as people either figured out what was edible or tried eating it anyway, and upon discovering it wasn't killing them or making them sick kept on eating it hoping it would do some good.

He was grateful his mom had always been frugal and forced them to eat salads made of weeds when he was growing up: dandelion, purslane, lamb's quarters, and other edible plants he saw all over the place. Back then he'd hated every bite, but now he blessed each little green treasure he found on these foraging missions.

In the past weeks he'd been able to find enough to fill his bags just by walking down the streets, plucking weeds from sidewalk cracks and unkempt roadsides, but now he had to actually leave town and wander around searching, and even then he found evidence that others had been there before him.

He always went west, towards the mountains. Not just because the vegetation was greener there but because it took him in the exact opposite direction of the refugee camp. The farther he could stay from that place the better.

On this trip he went farther south, towards areas he hadn't visited before because they tended to be larger chunks of land held by a few landowner families. The nearest one to town was owned by Jack Dawson, ten or so acres south and west of town where in earlier years he'd kept livestock. Jack had to be in his 70s by now and his days of tending livestock were over, but he stubbornly refused to sell his land and kept making a go of it.

Matt could tell he'd reached Dawson land by the shoulder height split-rail fence along the road, well maintained in spite of the man's advanced years. Along the fence he found a decent haul of edible weeds, and he silently thanked his good fortune as he bent to the task of gathering them into the bags. He was so intent on the task that he didn't even realize Jack was out and about until he heard a shout and looked up to see him swiftly approaching.

Old the man may have been, but he certainly looked spry enough as he made a beeline across his fields towards Matt, waving one arm and continuing to shout angrily. Matt couldn't help but notice that the Jack's other hand stayed hovering near the small of his back the entire time.

He hurriedly straightened from the patch of weeds and waved back. “Afternoon, Mr. Dawson!” he called.

Jack slowed slightly, some of his anger fading. “Matt? Matt Larson? How about that. I know it's been a while, man, but you look as if you've lost weight and aged 5 years since I saw you last! And you were pretty skinny to begin with!”

Matt smiled bleakly. It had been a few years, sure, but nowhere near that long. “Been a rough few months. Although you look the same as ever.”

The old man turned a sudden suspicious glare at the grocery bag he held. “What you got in there?”

“Weeds,” Matt admitted frankly, holding the bag out. “The edible sort. I've been gathering them along the road. Hope you don't mind me foraging near your property.”

Jack finally seemed to fully thaw out, both hands dropping to his sides as he ambled the rest of the way to the fence and rested his arms atop it. “I'm not so bad off that I'm eating weeds yet. Not for lack of trying from those jack booted thugs who come by like clockwork to poke around my house, of course.”

Matt frowned. From what he'd seen of Ferris in the last three or so weeks it was hard to imagine the man going easy on anyone. “Glad to hear that, although I'm kind of wondering how you manage it.”

“Fowls,” the old man said with a snort. “That FETF weasel and his goons don't do a lick more work than absolutely necessary, so for now they're only going for the easy food. I hear they're rounding up livestock to be butchered when needed, but my chickens and geese are way too much bother. They didn't seem interested in hauling a few scrawny birds back to town, let alone slaughtering them, plucking them, and cooking them.”

Hearing that sort of made Matt wish his mom had kept the rabbit hutch she'd maintained when he was in his early teens. He doubted Ferris would've been any more interested in them. “Glad to know they're letting at least that much go for now,” he said. “How about besides Ferris? You handling things okay way out here by yourself?”

“Yeah, been pretty quiet around here, thank the Lord,” Jack said. “Although I found a few members of the entitlement crowd squatting on the far southern end of my land a couple days ago, looking like they'd been there at least a week. Explains where some of my missing stuff got to.”

Matt furrowed his brow. “Entitlement crowd?”

The old man looked embarrassed. “Ah, yeah. That's what I've taken to calling their sort. I noticed with the influx of refugees that in a crisis humanity seems to split into two groups: those that are mostly decent and hardworking, grateful for what they have and respectful of other people's privacy and property, and the entitlement group. The people who feel like the world owes them something and they're entitled to whatever they can get by any means.”

Jack spat off to one side. “They're the ones who sit around in the refugee camp waiting for FETF aid and complaining about lack of food and poor conditions even though that weasel Ferris can never get enough volunteers to dig latrines, build shelters, and do all the other stuff that needs doing before the snows fall. The ones who sneak into people's houses and steal, and when caught doing it act like the owners are bad guys for not sharing. The ones who turn nasty and violent to get what they need. I'm still hoping Anderson will grow a pair and send most of them on their way, even though I know Ferris never will.”

Matt nodded. He didn't like the term, but he could see a few instances where it applied. “So what did you do about them?”

The old man seemed to take offense at something in his tone or what he said. “I wouldn't have minded if they'd been polite and decent about it,” he snapped. “Apologizing for trespassing and asking if they could stay at the least. And more willing still if they'd offered to help out and acted like human beings instead of animals. Heck I could use a little help around the place, and someone to watch the fences way out there where I have trouble getting wouldn't have gone amiss. I would've been willing to help them out with what I could spare in return.

“Instead I see a pile of my possessions, tools and antiques from the shed attic mostly, sitting in the center of the camp mouldering in the wet. They immediately get all belligerent and in my face when I walk up, like
I'm
the one trespassing, and one vicious little weasel even tries to club me from behind with a bit of my own fencepost!”

Matt wished he was surprised by that. “What did you do?”

To his surprise Jack casually reached behind his back and pulled out a new looking SP101 to rest on the fence between them, as if to emphasize that he still had it even though FETF was confiscating weapons. It didn't take much to put two and two together and guess that the vicious little weasel was inhabiting a shallow grave somewhere nearby, courtesy of the small but high caliber weapon.

“I exercised my God and constitutionally given right to defend myself and my property,” the old man said with a steely glint in his eye. “Wasn't happy about it, would've preferred not to do it, but when push came to shove I did what I needed to. And wouldn't you know it, after that the other squatters ran off to cause problems somewhere else. All except one middle aged lady who offered to stay and be my wife if I'd take her in.”

That
did
surprise Matt, although it made him think of Trev and Mandy. “Did you?”

Jack spat off to the side again. “I'm too old for that sort of nonsense. Besides, I may be getting closer to the finish line but I'm not eager to lose what years I've got left in me. Don't relish running the risk of getting my throat cut in the night by sharing a bed with a complete stranger. Besides, even if I did ever find I was over my Suzy and wanted another missus I wouldn't pick her from the entitlement crowd. Things're so hard these days you want someone willing to buckle down and work to survive alongside you.”

Matt thought of Sam, and for what seemed the millionth time felt a surge of gratitude for having her in his life. “I hear you. Especially when ever since FETF showed up things seem to be getting harder and harder.”

The old man snorted. “Funny, just about everyone I talk to seems to be saying that. I thought those pencil pushers were supposed to come in and make things easier for people, but all they seem good at is stealing what little folks have and spreading it around to people who don't deserve it. FETF? Hah, more like fed up!”

Matt smiled for the first time in what felt like days. “Me and my family were set up all right, but not an hour ago Ferris finally kicked down our door and stole what little food we had. Now I'm going around picking weeds for dinner. Having a hard time of it too since everyone else has the same idea.”