SurviRal (32 page)

“Mike! Mike Oberson! What in the world are you doing here?”

“I live here, man! For now, anyway. Have a second home a half-mile towards town. You know the Butlers?”

“We met yesterday. I’m their next-door neighbor, westward. I guess that also makes me your neighbor.”

“Wow. Small world. So you’re the one that caught the big catfish?”

“No, my brother, Jake. I just got a few pan fish.”

“Well, beats synchronizing server processes, huh?”

They laughed and talked about work, the current state of Oracle, and other publicly-traded tech companies. Running into a coworker here, in this place and on this occasion, was an amazing experience. Clint found it made the world seem less …fallen. When Randal and Joanne called everyone to eat an hour later, Clint’s brain was in full technical mode. He found himself mentally working on solving hypothetical engineering problems. It was something he now realized he missed in life.

The food was set out buffet-style. By the time Clint made it to the front of the line, his crappie had been taken. All the pan fish were fried whole. He took one of the bluegill, a small piece of grilled bass, and of course a handful of Jake’s special fish & chips. The Butler’s had several large chili plants growing, and somebody had blended a bunch of them up with water and a little salt to make a green hot sauce—which Clint found to be sublime on the catfish.

The women mostly drank wine while the men worked on the harder stuff. Clint only refreshed his drink once in a while, not wanting to get drunk, and not wanting to take too much advantage of the Butler’s generosity.

The conversation grew lively after dinner. Clint was pretty sure he finally managed to meet everyone when he realized he wasn’t spending any time with Jenny. He decided to track her down.

He found her sitting inside, reading today’s local paper. Jake, Harold, the Butlers, and handful of neighbors were also milling about the living room.

“Honey, listen to this,” Jenny said when she saw Clint. “A woman who was raped during a home invasion robbery twenty miles south of La Junta last week told authorities it was Zane’s Savages who saved her. The invaders are suspected of being a copycat gang who murdered her husband and then got caught in the subsequent rape and robbery acts by the authentic Zane’s Savages. The woman heard the new arrivals chastising the copycat gang for leaving a ‘savages’ calling card on her wall just before killing them as she fled from the house naked on foot. Zane Savage, the leader, is suspected to have been driving a green Ford Explorer the day of the incident. The woman said he walked away casually as the shooting started, a distinct characteristic the infamous gang leader is becoming known for—as he has been reportedly seen calmly strolling through the midst of at least three other gun battles. Two additional bodies were discovered near the property next to a stolen golf cart, which are believed to also have been members of the copycat gang. Authorities are asking any witnesses who might have been in the area to contact the sheriff’s office in La Junta.”

Jenny lowered the paper and looked at Clint, as if she were gauging his reaction. Clint offered none.

“Hard to contact authorities when phones don’t work,” Jake said.

“Yes it is,” Harold agreed.

Joanne Butler spoke. “Didn’t you say you came down that way last week, sweetie?”

Jenny nodded. “We did.”

“Thank God you nice folks didn’t run into that kind of trouble. So dangerous to be traveling right now.”

“Yes,” Clint said. “It is. We’re very thankful to have arrived safe.”

Jenny gave him a look that confirmed she understood Clint thought it best not to provide any additional details on their travel stories. So she responded by changing the subject slightly.

“You don’t have to be travelling to find yourself in danger, unfortunately. What was the name of those people who were invaded on their ranch north of town, honey? The Lorimers?”

“Sounds right,” Clint said.

“I knew the Lorimers,” one of the other neighbors chimed in. “So tragic what happened. Especially considering the fact that all the homeowners north of town formed their own security patrol.”

Clint nodded. “I know one of them; Roberto Sanchez. From what he told me, I don’t think crooks will have such an easy time raiding additional north-side homes. Their patrol seems quite proficient to me.”

“Shouldn’t we form our own security patrol?” Jenny said. “Down here on the southwest side?”

“That sounds like a right smart idea, Jenny,” Randal responded. “Wonder what everyone thinks of that?”

Other voices in the room began clamoring agreements. One of them said, “She’s right! We need to do that. Let me go find Arnold and see what he says.”

The idea took root and grew in the living room. The more everyone discussed it, the more excited they became. The talk spread to the yard, and soon everyone was gathered inside the house. Six different conversations now took place simultaneously, all on the same subject. Some of the participants became animated—especially the men who had most often been seen at the liquor station.

Clint gave Jenny a thumbs-up before heading to the kitchen, in search of the source of the sudden wonderful coffee aroma. He wasn’t the only one. Joanne had just made a fresh pot. Mugs and packets of the usual non-dairy additives sat enticingly next to it. These Butlers really did know how to throw a shindig.

Clint quickly found himself involved in his own conversation with the coffee hawks in the kitchen.

“How would the patrols be done?” Cal asked as he emptied a sugar packet. “Whatever gas we have in our tanks won’t last.”

“That’s one of the problems the north side has,” Clint said. “I’m sure they’re working on a solution. We should, too. You and the Butlers have horses, right? Some of us have mountain bikes, no doubt. Maybe there’s an electric vehicle or two among us. If we pool our resources, we can probably come up with a workable arrangement.”

“I have two ATV’s,” one of the neighbors volunteered. “They get great mileage.” He lowered his voice. “Also have enough gas on hand to power them for four or five months, maybe.”

“I don’t know about making horseback patrols,” Cal said.

“Why not?”

“Those of us with horses would have an unequal burden, I think. And I’m not crazy about the idea of riding one of my animals into a potential gunfight.”

Cal had a valid—if somewhat selfish—concern. As Clint returned to the living room, he came to understand that Cal’s sentiments were shared among some of the others. What started as enthusiasm had now deteriorated into objections and petty squabbling over the logistical problems of organizing a neighborhood patrol. Clint knew the details could all be worked out. That’s what engineers like him did, after all. But with disagreements now becoming more prevalent than support for the idea, he could sense the project dying before it even got off the ground. In two spots he heard voices rising to levels that were probably only a few words away from becoming heated arguments.

That’s when Randal whistled loudly. It brought all the conversation to a stop. He stepped up on his wooden coffee table and addressed everyone.

“Neighbors, it would behoove us to stay friendly. We aren’t likely to agree on all issues, such as politics, religion, and forming a neighborhood watch program between properties separated by ten or more acres. Now, I think we’ve all been enjoying ourselves today, eating fresh fish and sipping on a few drinks, getting to know each other. Let’s end this on a friendly note, shall we? We’re neighbors, and dang it y’all are some wonderful folks. I’m proud to be living next to you. If y’all want to work out some kind of security patrols among us, that’s great—but let’s not lose our heads about the matter. Rome wasn’t built in a day, you know. Maybe we should all just mull the idea over a while.”

“By that time some of us might be dead,” someone said in an alcohol-infused voice.

A couple others chimed in to agree with him, but then somebody raised a practical objection and within another minute the room was filled with arguing again.

“I’m okay using my horses to help protect the neighborhood,” Randal said over the crowd noise. “I’m sure Cal will be, too, in order to do our part. We just need to solve how everyone can contribute equally.” Clint knew only a few people heard him. Randal appeared to give up at this point and stepped down from the coffee table.

Clint felt a tug on his shirt. He looked next to him and saw Jenny, her eyes wide with pleading.

“This is no good,” she said. “Please do something, honey. We need someone to pull us together.”

Clint looked around the room and felt like shrugging. He held it back. He was an engineer, not a people person—but he didn’t want to look like a wimp in front of Jenny right now, either. He cleared his throat, not knowing how to get everyone’s attention or even what to say. Mercifully, a different voice suddenly boomed through the room. A commanding voice, but one void of negative emotion. It came from above the coffee table again. Everyone stopped talking and turned to it. The voice belonged to …Jake.

“Let me ask again,” Jake said. “As a community, what is it we want to accomplish tonight, and what are the primary stumbling blocks?”

Clint didn’t know his brother could talk like this. Jake had somehow captured the attention of all. No one said anything for a minute.

“Improved security for our homes and family, Jake,” someone said in a friendly tone. Everyone muttered agreements.

“Fair enough.” Jake looked around the room and made eye contact with as many as he could. “What are the obstacles keeping us from accomplishing that?”

“We don’t all have transportation,” someone said.

“The patrols,” said another. “How can we organize the patrols so it’s fair to everyone? And how can we guarantee a response in an emergency, when half of us don’t even have working phones?”

More muttering. But at least the mood had turned positive again.

“So if I understand you,” Jake said, “we need a way to discover invasive threats and send community calls for help. Is that essentially correct?”

Heads nodded, agreements were voiced, and, perhaps most importantly, no other issues were raised.

“At least we’ve defined the dilemma,” Jake continued. “Now it seems to me that this isn’t much different than a volunteer fire department, in essence. Only we’re looking to have neighbors with guns come running when there’s trouble with unwanted visitors, instead of neighbors with buckets of water when there’s a fire. We’ve all been hearing about these home invasion gangs, and we’re right to be concerned about it. Although personally, I’m not sure what poses a greater threat, a visit from Zane’s Savages or a visit from Tilley’s patrol. But I digress. How did volunteer fire departments work back in the olden days?”

“They had an alarm,” someone shouted. “Bells or sirens or something, waking everyone up.”

“Okay. Where can we get an alarm? Or a bell or some sirens?”

“How about air horns?”

Clint looked to his right to see who said that. It was Cal.

“I’ve got at least three dozen air horns. Good ones, for boats.”

“Are they loud enough?” Jake asked.

“Loud enough to hear fifteen or twenty acres away,” Cal replied. “Probably more. You can hear those things clear across Two Buttes Reservoir.”

“That’s still not loud enough over land,” a voice objected. “Some of us are two or three miles away from others.”

The resulting mumbling grew loud. Jake held his hands up. He didn’t say a word; just held his hands up. Amazingly, the room quieted.

“So we have a decent signal device at our disposal now. The problem is, it can only be heard one or two houses over—and there’s what, eight or nine of us? So how can that problem be solved? How can we get the signal for help broadcast to everyone in our group?”

“A relay system!” Clint shouted. Jake looked at him, smiled, and nodded. Clint ignored the positive utterances in the room and continued.

“With a unique signal for each house. You know, like Morse code—only simpler, since we only need eight or nine unique signals. When anyone hears the alarm sound, they repeat it before mobilizing to go help at the house whose signal was sent.”

The room erupted with jubilation. Jake turned his palms up, as if to acknowledge receipt of a divinely inspired solution.

Jenny kissed Clint on the cheek. “That’s your brother up there.”

“If you say so.”

“You did good too, honey. I’m so proud of both of you.”

Chapter Twenty Four

Clint took a few seconds to worship his arrow before sliding it across his bow and fitting the notch on the yucca plant string. Truth be told, he had come to appreciate Jake’s survival techniques more than he would ever let Jake know. As skeptical as he had been in the beginning, he now relished his homemade archery equipment, and had every intention of taking down a deer with it. He could now hit the bulls-eye repeatedly on the hay target Jake built in the backyard. Nuts to the rifles. Who needs them? Maybe today would be the day.

The doe was upwind of his current position. Clint knew he was trespassing on a neighbor’s property, but that didn’t matter anymore. He and Jake had been given clearance by everyone in the new
Southwest Springfield Community Preservation Committee
to hunt everywhere they wanted, across all property lines. They were, after all, the ones bringing in most of the meat—even if it was only small game thus far.