After the Fall: Jason's Tale (14 page)

Anne planned to talk with the girls when they came home.
“I’m going to tell them that we are now a couple,” she explained. “We have to
face the reality that our spouses are gone and we have to move on with our
lives. This may not be easy, but I’m not going to sneak around with my girls,
and you certainly are not going to sleep on the couch anymore.”

“I rather like the couch, now that I’ve gotten use to it,”
Jason replied.

“I think you’ll find my bed more pleasant than the couch,”
she said with a wink.

The girls came back loaded with berries that were divided up
for eating fresh and cooking into a sauce, sweetened with honey, for canning.
Anne talked with the girls while they cooked.

“You know your dad has been gone now for two years.”

“Yes,” said Catherine.

“And you know Jason’s wife died in a plane crash when the
power went out,” she continued. “We’ve talked about losing our spouses and how
we are now working together to make it in this new world.”

“I hate the new world,” Sarah said.

“But you have learned to adjust to it,” Anne replied. “And,
admit it, some of it has been okay, especially since Jason joined us.”

“If you count shooting and killing okay,” Sarah shot back.

“I didn’t say it was all good, but we have done more than
survive, we are beginning to live again. You girls are so much more self-sufficient
and able to take care of yourselves. I can see you’re stronger and more
assured. Yes, it’s tough and hard and, yes, your father left us to fend for
ourselves. We can’t undo that, just like Jason can’t undo losing his wife. But
the important thing for me is to see you girls not only survive but thrive.”

“What’s your point, Mom?” Catherine asked. “Are things ever
going to return to normal?”

“I honestly don’t know, honey,” Anne replied. “You’ve heard
Jason talk about what he saw happening in the city, and you’ve experienced some
of the bad types that are now on the loose. Is the country still in existence?
Who knows? All I know is that we can build something here while we wait to see
what happens out there.”

“So, what’s your point?” Catherine repeated.

“Well,” Anne said slowly, “Jason and I have grown close
together over the months he has been with us. We all have grown closer. Jason
is good for us as a family. We have come to realize that we both have a lot of
affection for one another, so we have decided to become a couple.”

“Like, being married?” Sarah asked.

“Yes dear. We can’t get married, there’s no one around to do
the ceremony, but that’s how we feel about each other. We want to join our
lives.” Anne paused to let her words sink in.

Finally Catherine spoke, “I figured this would happen.”

“Are you okay with it?” Anne asked.

“Jason is a good man and we’ve learned a lot from him. I
think he’s good for us and good for you. So, I’m okay with it.” Catherine
seemed a bit sad with her reply.

“Sarah?” Anne asked, turning to her younger daughter.

“It’s good, Mom, I want Jason to stay with us forever.” Anne
breathed a sigh of relief.

The family continued to grow closer. Catherine took
responsibility for many of the tasks. She was a good worker and organizer and
took a great deal of weight from Jason’s shoulders.

“I’ll finish the camouflage for the shooting holes,”
Catherine said one evening.

“That would be great,” responded Jason. “I can start on the
rooftop shooting platform. That’s going to be a lot of work, but worth it.”

“It will make the house look funny, the way you describe
it,” Sarah said.

“It might. Maybe you can figure out how to make it look
better,” he replied.

“I could hang potted plants on the walls,” she said, only
half seriously. “You know you need a feminine touch in this rooftop project.” She
gave him her most grownup look. “Without me helping you, it will look like a
bridge construction, or part of the barn.”

Before Jason could reply, Anne broke in, “Sarah, you’ll get
to help keep Jason from making it look too much like a barn project, but I need
your help in the food gathering.”

“Not fun,” Sarah said.

“Don’t complain,” Jason offered, “I do want your help in
making things look good. It may even help disguise the purpose of the
platform.” Sarah smiled triumphantly at this acknowledgment of her importance.

Bud survived the attack on the farm by fleeing over the
fence. He ran for an hour before stopping, thoroughly winded. Crouching in a
hedgerow and listening, he could hear no pursuit and breathed a sigh of relief.
Later that night he came to a ridge line where the land sloped down to a river.
He nestled himself in the bushes and fell into an exhausted sleep. In the
morning he could see a town to his right, on the other side of the river. There
were people about, so he dropped down and waded across the stream, hoping to
find some food. A lookout spotted him and saw that he was armed. A shout went
out and he was ordered to drop his weapon and get on the ground. As guns were
leveled at him, Bud turned and ran. He didn’t know if word of the fight at the
farm had reached town and he would be arrested, but he didn’t want to wait to
find out. When he was out of site, he turned south, skirting the town and
rejoining the road when he was past it.

He kept wandering south, barely surviving on scraps he found
at abandoned farms and houses. He was good at looking in all the hidden
corners. Often there were scraps of grain, an overlooked box of dry goods or,
if it was a good day, a can of beans. Hunger was his constant companion,
driving him to keep moving, keep looking for food. At night he dreamed of
extravagant meals that left him feeling even more hungry and desolate in the
morning.

Alone and struggling, he didn’t know where he was going to
wind up, but kept moving south. He had no desire to go north; that had almost
cost him his life. He saw more signs of human activity the further south he
went. He tried getting into some small towns but was challenged and clearly
told he wasn’t welcomed. After a couple of aggressive rejections he gave the
settlements a wide berth. Yet he was clever enough to note their defenses as he
passed by. That information might be helpful to him one day. With very little
ammunition left, threadbare and foot sore, he came upon a gang encampment.

Bud spent some time carefully studying the gang before he
approached them. It was a large group, maybe fifty or more members, large
enough to dominate any of the towns he had passed. They looked wild but Bud had
few options by then. With much trepidation, he approached the lookouts. When
spotted he was ordered to stop and lay down his rifle. After doing as he was
told, the guards asked him what he was doing around the camp. Bud replied that
he wanted to join them.

“We don’t need you,” came the reply. “If you know what’s
good for you, you’ll get out of here.”

“But I can help you out,” Bud responded. “I’ve come from up
north and know about some of the communities up there.”

“I’m telling you, you should just keep going.”

“I got no options, and I can help,” Bud replied
despondently. He didn’t relish going it alone any more.

The two guards looked at each other, then the kid. “You’re
taking your life in your hands,” one said.

“Yeah,” the other chimed in. “You’ll be safer getting out of
here. If you want to stay, it’s your ass.”

“I want to join up.”

“Take him to Big Jacks,” the other guard ordered.

With a shrug, he took Bud and headed into the camp. By the
time they reached the center of the camp, many of the gang members were tagging
along. Bud got more and more nervous. Was the rest of the gang expecting some
kind of show, at his expense? They were camped around a small group of houses
at a rural intersection with tents and a few pickups spread around. At the
front of one of the houses, the guard spoke to an armed man on the steps.

“This guy wants to join up.”

“We don’t need another mouth to feed. Get him out of here,”
the guard replied after giving Bud a disdainful looking over. “He’s too skinny
to eat,” he said with a grin.

Bud’s heart jumped. The rumors of cannibalism were true! It
was too late to turn around; he would have to play out what he started. The
leader of the gang, Big Jacks, emerged from the house. He stood about six feet
eight inches tall and weighed close to three hundred pounds.

“What’s this?” he asked in a deep voice.

“It’s a kid who showed up and wants to join. Say’s he has
info on towns to the north.”

“And for that we should let you join us?” Big Jacks looked
at Bud. Bud could not even nod his head in response. “Maybe we just squeeze the
information out of you and then carve you up and eat you?”

Bud just stood there trembling. His bowels felt like they
would let loose any moment. His brain finally engaged and he took a chance.

“I’m a good shot.” It was true. Bud had a knack for aiming
well. Now his knack might save his life. Big Jacks just stared at him, so Bud
pressed on. “I’ll bet I can outshoot most of your gang.”

Big Jacks laughed, “That’s a big brag, runt. I’ve got some
sharpshooters.” He paused for a moment, then said, “If you can outshoot one of
them, maybe I’ll let you in. If not, we’ll be eating you for dinner.”

Big Jacks called for two Coke bottles to be set out on a
table at fifty yards, and summoned one of the gang. The man came forward with a
wicked looking military rifle. He glanced at Bud with disdain and got into a
prone firing position. He took a long minute to sight his target. The rifle
fired with a loud report and shattered one of the bottles. They handed Bud his
rifle and he lay down on the ground. His heart was racing and his breathing was
too rapid. He took some deep breaths and tried to calm himself.

“Shoot already,” one of the gang shouted.

“Maybe he don’t know where the trigger is,” offered another.

Bud settled himself down, steadied the rifle on the bottle
and squeezed off a shot. The bottle shattered.

The gang erupted, shouting insults at the gang’s marksman
whom Bud had equaled. Big Jacks looked like he was enjoying the show.

“Put out two more bottles, only further away,” he commanded.
This time the bottles were set at around seventy yards. The gang’s shooter told
Bud to go first. Bud got on the ground again, now more confident since he had
made the last shot. He was smart enough to know that he needed only a very
slight adjustment to hit this bottle only another twenty yards away. He calmed
his breathing again and squeezed off his second shot. The bullet hit the top of
the bottle, shattering the neck and sending it tumbling to the ground. The gang
started whooping it up again. Now the pressure was on the gang’s marksman. He
got on the ground and slowly took aim on the bottle. His shot rang out and the
bottle shattered. Everyone erupted in cheers; the game was going to continue.

“Move ’em further away.” Big Jacks ordered. Two new bottles
were now placed about a hundred yards away. Bud was ordered to shoot first
again. He quieted himself. He closed his mind to everything but the bottle. He
knew his rifle, a 30-06, was good for the distance, he just had to aim
correctly. He adjusted, raising his aim slightly to compensate for the
distance, and squeezed off a shot. The bullet smashed through the edge of the
table, caught the bottom of the bottle and shattered it. The gang erupted in
hooting and hollering, exhorting their man to meet the challenge of Bud’s shot.
Bud sighed audibly; he might have just saved his life.

The gang’s shooter lay down and quietly took aim. After a
long moment he took his shot. The bullet whistled past the bottle which
remained standing. There was silence for a moment as he got up cursing and
making excuses about someone stamping their feet. Then the group erupted in
laughter and ribbing, with the shooter cursing them all in return.

Big Jacks looked at Bud, “This seems to be your lucky day,
runt. I’ll let you join us for now. But you’ll still have to prove your worth
if you’re gonna stay.” He pointed to one of the gang. “Go with him to get you
one of our sniper rifles. Looks like you know how to use one.” Pointing to his
captain, Big Jacks said, “He’ll tell you the rules. Follow’em and you’ll be
okay; don’t follow them and you’ll be in trouble with me.”

By late summer, Jason, Anne and the girls had made much
progress. The house was set up with concealed and sandbagged firing positions
on the second floor. The rooftop observation and firing platform were completed
and sandbagged. They had hauled sand and dirt until they were totally sick of
the task. They had trekked over the ridge to shoot pigs down at the pond. The
pigs proved to be a great resource, not only providing meat to smoke and cook,
but fat to use for making soap. They now had a homemade version, scented with
crushed flowers they gathered from the fields. It was crude, but it worked.
Life was not easy, but it was improving. Jason often thought about what else he
and Anne could do to return more normality to their lives. They talked about
traveling to the school to scrounge up some books for home tutoring, but the
day to day needs of gathering food, preserving what they gathered, and
repairing their equipment and clothes seemed to take up all their time and
energy.

“No wonder kids dropped out of school early on the
frontier,” remarked Jason one day.

“And I can now see why, in spite of the dangers, women had
lots of kids,” she replied. “It certainly helps with the work.”

Their day would start at first light. Anne or Jason would
get the wood stove in the kitchen going to boil water, while the other would
harangue the girls until they got out of bed. After a breakfast of herb tea,
some fruit and left-over meat or grains, they would all set about doing their
chores. Some days would be spent on the house defenses; some days would be
spent with the girls going hunting, either alone or with Jason. Anne spent much
of her time gathering food and repairing clothing.

Part of the day was always allocated to gathering and
splitting wood. They needed a constant supply, not only for each day’s cooking,
but to build up a winter reserve. And there were always repairs to be
made—windows, door latches, roof leaks and the continuing work on the rooftop
shooting platform. Every five or six days, Anne insisted they all take the day
off. Sometimes they went on a picnic, sometimes they hiked down to the pond to
swim and collect marsh plants and sometimes they just relaxed at the house with
the girls taking long baths in the tub outside.

No one stayed up very long after the sun went down. They had
kerosene oil lamps that still worked but they didn’t provide good light for
reading. And by the evening the family was generally spent from the day’s
activities. Before retiring to bed, they always went through a routine of
locking down the house.

Jason’s work on defenses now focused outside. He had dug a
ditch in the front yard partially circling the house. On the house side of the ditch
he put up a chest high barbed wire fence from the supplies he found in the
barn. As he explained, the point was not to stop, but to slow down any rush on
the house, giving the defenders more time to fire.

Catherine was the best shot besides Jason. She even took up
the bow, practicing every time she could. Jason encouraged her, as hunting with
the bow saved ammunition and was quieter. Her skill developed to the point she
could bring down a deer. Even though Jason and Anne were a bit nervous,
Catherine would take Sarah out to hunt, sometimes leaving before dawn. They no
longer feared the woods like they had when Jason arrived. They moved with
quietness and confidence, often bringing back substantial game. If they bagged
a deer, they were not squeamish about field dressing it. After the gutting,
they would tie the carcass to a pole and carry it back to the farmhouse.

No one left the house without being armed. When the girls
went hunting, they took the appropriate weapon for the game they were after,
and always carried 9mm pistols on their belts.

Jason had not grown up with sisters. Some days he learned
that he had to just take it easy as task master. The girls wanted to dress up,
to do domestic things with their mother and to not concern themselves about guns
or house defense, or splitting firewood. On those days, Jason learned to give
in and work on projects alone or go hunting.

At other times the girls, especially Sarah, would flirt with
him. They would make him the center of attention, practicing their skills on
the only male around. Even Catherine flirted with Jason at those times. She was
certainly more reserved than Sarah but more mature in her approach. Anne
watched as these scenes played out, intervening when she sensed Jason needed
help.

Nights were for sleeping. Jason and Anne rarely indulged in
making love at night, preferring the privacy during the day, when they could be
apart from the girls. It didn’t help that most nights everyone was spent from
the day’s activities. Life had its routine and that mostly consisted of manual
labor. Jason often worried if their idyllic situation would continue. He knew
gangs like the one that had attacked Sam and Judy were still out there.