Hidden (Final Dawn) (5 page)

     Once three of the four walls of trailers were in place, their task was almost finished. They retrieved three tankers full of diesel fuel and placed them in the field north of their new compound. They’d have taken all four tankers in the yard, but one of them had a leaky air line and the brakes wouldn’t disengage. So they settled for three. They read the gauges and did the math, and figured that 17,000 gallons of diesel would be enough even without the fourth trailer.

     They knew that diesel would be liquid gold to whatever survivors might come around in the months ahead. So they were careful to place the tankers on the north side of the compound, hidden from view of the truck stop and the highway that ran past it.

     The last step was building the west wall, using the last three trailers they’d picked from the yard. Before they closed the door on their compound, though, they drove all three of their tractors into the center of it. They used one of the truck stop’s yard tractors to place the final three trailers into position.

     When they were finished, they stood back and examined their handiwork. They had a secure compound, one hundred twenty feet by twenty four feet, surrounded by the back doors of thirty six trailers full of food and supplies. The only way in or out was to crawl under the trailers. It would be safe and easy to defend from marauders.

     There was more to be done, but they’d finish the details in the morning. That’s when they would take the heavy tarps that covered the lumber on the flatbed. They would cover the opening at the top of the compound with the tarps, cutting holes for each of the six exhaust pipes to peek through.

     They would take the plywood they’d pilfered from the lumber trailer and lean it up against the bottoms of the trailers, all the way around the compound. They had enough half inch plywood to place it five sheets thick. Two and a half inches would be thick enough to absorb high velocity bullets, and would be too heavy for someone to crawl under the trailer and just push over. However, they could easily lay the sheets down one at a time whenever they needed to leave the compound for any reason.

     Lastly, they needed to set up the equipment they’d taken from the truck stop. A portable pump and two hundred feet of fuel line. They’d run the line to one of the tankers in the north field, and would crank up the pump any time they needed more fuel for their rigs.

     Four portable diesel generators would provide power for the floodlights, which would run 24/7 in the darkened compound.

     Lastly, they set up a good sized campfire in the center of the compound that they’d keep burning for the next seven years, or as long as it took, until they could break out of their self-imposed prison. To keep the fire burning, they’d start with the lumber from the flatbed. Then they’d burn anything in the trailers they didn’t think they’d need.

     They’d offered Lenny, the yard man, the option of staying in the compound with them. But he declined. John, the truck stop manager, had hooked Lenny up by letting him set up home in a stock room. He had a bed and a couch in there, as well as a space heater, TV, DVD player and microwave. To power everything, he had a good sized generator that vented to the outside of the building. When he was finished with it, it wasn’t much different than a college dorm room.

     He’d scrounge food and other supplies from the trailers left at the truck stop. He’d melt snow and boil the water to drink. And Lenny had a secret he didn’t tell the others. In the back of the yard sat a nondescript twenty five foot trailer full of cigarettes and booze. It was headed to a chain of liquor stores in San Antonio when the trucker decided he’d rather spend his last few days with his family instead. So he dropped it in the yard and told Lenny what was in it.

     “I won’t be back,” the trucker had said. “Help yourself to whatever is in the trailer.”

     Lenny had been an alcoholic all his life. And his mouth watered at the prospect of an unlimited supply of free booze.

     It wouldn’t be an easy life on any of them. But it was relatively safe. And home is what you make it, after all.

     By the time the sun set in the chocolate brown sky, the four in the compound were exhausted. But Marty was the leader. So he volunteered to take the first watch. He told Joe, “Go grab a few hours of sleep. Then you can relieve me for the rest of the night.”

     And as the other three cranked up their tractors and let them run through the night, Marty spent the night crawling back and forth around the compound, kneeling down to watch, from underneath the south trailers. Watching for any sign of movement that would indicate trouble.

     It was going to be a long seven years.

Chapter 7

     It was Tuesday evening, and time for the weekly “tribal meeting.”

     The day the group had assembled in the abandoned salt mine to ride out the storm, they had met to decide their form of government. They fashioned it upon some of the Native American tribes. Every man and woman over the age of eighteen would have his or her say on key decisions that affected the group. Children would be expected to watch and learn, but to stay silent. Each adult who had something to say would have the opportunity to say it, and then given a chance to vote once all the talk was done.

     A small group of tribal elders, placed in their positions based solely on their age, would cast ballots to break all tie votes, and would also use their inherent wisdom and experience to settle disputes. As in most Native American societies, the word of the tribal elders was law and could not be disputed.

     As spokesperson for the tribal meetings, Mark was merely a mouthpiece whose job it was to steer the meeting in an orderly fashion and to ensure all protocol was followed. He had no more real power than anyone else in the group.

     “Good evening, all of you, and thank you for coming. I’d like to start off with a personal note of gratitude, if you will allow me, to those of you who have stepped up to the plate and agreed to help fill the volunteer positions needed to keep the mine running. Bryan and I knew going in that keeping the animals fed, keeping the power going, keeping the water flowing, was going to be more than we could handle alone. Thank you to all who have volunteered to help out.

     “You can see on the whiteboard behind me that we only have three more positions to fill. Karen is looking for a backup in the greenhouse, to grow fruits and vegetables, and to care for the fishes. It should ideally be someone with a green thumb. Or, at least someone who doesn’t kill every plant he touches like me. This position is part time, two days a week, and is needed solely so that Karen doesn’t have to work seven days a week.

     “We also have one position left for the water treatment plant. This person will drive a golf court to each of the RVs twice a week, to collect the gray water from each RV’s tanks. Then he’ll drive a different golf cart, with a fresh water tank, to each RV a couple of days a week to fill up the RV’s fresh water tank. It’s not a glamorous job, but it’s a necessary one.

     “Lastly, we’d like someone with some mechanical experience to help Robert maintain the motor pool. The motor pool is the fleet of vehicles we will need to survive after the earth thaws and we go back outside. Even though the vehicles sit most of the time, they still need to be started occasionally to keep their engines and batteries at peak operating levels. Also, routine maintenance and lubrication schedules have to be maintained.”

     A hand went up at a table in the back. It was Sami, Sarah’s childhood friend and confidant.

     “I’m good with plants, I can help Karen. But what will I be doing?”

     Karen spoke up.

     “It’s simple, really. We only have a small greenhouse, so we’re very limited for space. Therefore we don’t grow food to eat, although we will manage to provide an occasional tomato or strawberry for everyone. The primary reason we grow our plants is to collect seeds.

     “Seeds have a short life expectancy. Two or three years, tops. So we can’t just sit on seeds for seven years and then expect them to grow when the earth warms again. They would be worthless. So we’re growing just a couple of each plant, so that we can collect seeds. We’ll take those seeds and replant them a year later, so that we can do the same thing. That way when the breakout comes, we will have fresh seeds that we can use to plant an orchard of fruit trees, and a wide variety of fruits and vegetables.”

      Someone else asked what kinds of plants were in the greenhouse.

     Karen went on.

     “In the center, at the tallest part, we have two apple trees. A Granny Smith and a
Washington Red. Next to those we have a peach tree, a walnut tree and a pecan tree. In the tropical section of the greenhouse, which we keep extra warm with sun lamps, we have a lemon tree, an orange tree, a banana tree and a pineapple plant.

     “All of the trees are kept trimmed so they don’t exceed a few feet in height. The smaller they are the less water they require. That means that each tree will only produce a couple of fruit during any one year, but that’s really all we need for seed collection.

     “The rest of the floor space… the areas between and on each side of the trees, is used to plant all of the various fruits and vegetables. We currently have strawberries, cucumbers, four types of melons, seven types of beans, five types of squashes, three types of tomatoes, two types of wheat, two types of corn and three types of potatoes. Coffee beans and tea plants. Then of course, we have carrots, several kinds of peppers and some assorted herbs and spices. And, oh, yes. Three types of grapes.    

     Hannah interrupted her at that point.

     “Oh, goody!” Hannah said. “That means when we get out we can make our own wine.”

     The group erupted in chuckles, and some of the adults seemed appreciative that wine would be available again sometime in the future.

     Karen went on. “We don’t have the room to grow everything at one time, of course, but it helps that we only grow a couple of each thing. We’ll plant as many things as we can, and when they mature we’ll pull them up, harvest their seeds, and plant something else.”

     Sami said, “Okay, I’m in. Sign me up.”

     Mark wrote Sami’s name on the whiteboard, and addressed the group again.

     “Are there any other issues that need to be brought up?”

     Joe Kenny stood up.

     “Any chance we can get some more water for the RVs? I’m having a hard time getting by on just fifty gallons a week.”

     A couple others in the group nodded in agreement.

     Mark said, “We can put that to a vote in a moment, but let me explain the rationale behind the rationing. Right now we only have the capability of recycling two thousand gallons of water a week. As we get more experienced in the process and get better at it, we might be able to recycle more, but at the present time, that’s the best we can do.

     “When we incorporated the RV water rationing, it was based on that limit. If we use more of our drinking water than we can recycle, we’ll run out of it sooner. Then we’ll either have to stop putting water in the RVs completely or start drinking the recycled water. We could do that, because it’ll be safe to drink. But it will taste pretty nasty.

     “Ultimately, though, it’s everyone’s decision, and we can certainly vote on it if you wish. Does anyone else have anything to add?”

     John stood up to address Joe directly.

     “Joe, try taking a military shower, like they do when the Army is in the desert or somewhere else where water is in short supply. Turn the water on for just a few seconds, long enough to get your body and head wet. Then turn it off while you put soap on your body and shampoo on your head. Then turn the water back on and rinse everything off. That’s what I do and I only have to run the water for about three minutes each day. Fifty gallons a week is plenty for me.”

     Phyllis stood up and added, “When we first got here we were using the RV water to make our iced tea and coffee. The taste wasn’t a problem because the tea and coffee masked the bad taste of the water. But we drank between four and five gallons a week, and that was coming out of our fifty gallon ration. So now we carry water jugs over to the kitchen to get drinking water. Not only does our coffee and tea taste a bit better, but that’s an extra shower we can get each week.”

     Joe nodded at the suggestions. They made good sense.

     Mark went on.

     “Why don’t we take a quick vote first? We’ve vote on whether or not to increase the water quota. If we vote to increase, we’ll then have another discussion to decide how much. Is everyone okay with that?”

     A few heads nodded.

     “Anyone else want to speak before the vote?”

     No one stood up.

     “Very well, then. All in favor of increasing the RV water ration, please raise your hands.”

     No hands went up.

     “All in favor of leaving the water ration as is, please raise your hands.”

     The hands of every adult present went up, including Joe Kenney’s. Joe was a reasonable man. He’d try the suggestions given by his neighbors and was now confident he could live with the water restrictions..