Lamp Black: Second Edition, Disaster, Preparedness, Survival, Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 2) (26 page)

John stirred in bed and sat up. The room was dark, so he reached over to feel for Jenna only to find that she was no longer in bed with him. He picked up his phone and saw that it was after eight. John
couldn’t remember the last time he slept so late, even with the disaster. He dressed quickly and followed his nose into the kitchen. Jenna was standing over the stove, and the sound of sizzling bacon added to his cheer. “Now I know what woke me up. How much more do we have before we use it all up?” he asked.

“None, if we don’t keep the freezer cold,” she replied with a snort. “Things are starting to defrost already, but I think I can stay on top of most of it. I was planning to can most of the ground beef and chicken today, and maybe some of the other beef cuts. Are you going to start the generator again? I also need the sink . . . and I want to do the dishes.”

“I’ll go start the generator right now,” replied John, as he stretched after placing his hands at the small of his back. “What time did you get up?”

“I was up by seven,” she replied, as she turned the bacon in her well-seasoned, cast-iron skillet. “Do you want some eggs?”

“Sure.”

“How many?”

“I’ll take three. But do I have time to run out and take care of the generator?” asked John.

“It’s your breakfast,” she said with a smirk, as she glanced over her shoulder at John. “But you better hurry. You know how Adam is with bacon.”

John kissed her cheek and headed to the laundry room to suit up. He was taping up his coveralls when he realized he forgot his pistol. “Jenna!” he yelled.

“Yes?”

“Can you grab my pistol? I left it on the nightstand. But be careful . . . it’s loaded,” John hollered from behind the plastic curtain. He saw her walk through the kitchen and return a moment later with his pistol. She sat it on the floor near the plastic curtain and returned to the stove to manage her cooking. John strapped on his pistol belt and slid the pistol into its holster. “I’ll lock the door on the way out. Same code to enter, OK?”

“OK. Be careful,” hollered Jenna from the kitchen. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” said John, as he passed through the plastic and into the mud room. He put on the rest of his protective gear and pulled aside the heavy curtain that hung over the window. He didn’t know what he expected to see, but everything was gray in the dim light of his oil lamp. John thought it didn’t seem as dark as it was the previous day, maybe because the ash wasn’t as thick and heavy in the air. He looked left and right to clear his exit, unlocked the door, and quickly stepped out into the gray. He didn’t like locking the door with just the handle, but it was better than leaving it completely unlocked.

John stepped off the landing and walked to the front of the house to get a clear look to the east. The sky was brighter. It looked like the sun was trying to make an impression through the hanging ash cloud that covered his part of the world. Far on the horizon, John saw the sun was just able to penetrate the ash with enough light to make everything look alien, a sort of grayish-green color. There certainly wasn’t enough light to read by, but it was comforting, and hopeful for the future. The rising sun was just barely able to illuminate the landscape by a few points above a normal starlit night. If John were to guess, he’d say the illumination was about twenty-five percent, or something similar to how a full moon would look through a nighttime cloud layer.

John walked to the back yard and surveyed his property with new eyes. Though still greatly defused, the sun’s subtle illumination provided an interesting visual backdrop. Everything low to the ground was almost completely buried in ash, making it hard to distinguish its true purpose. Everything above the ash line, such as yard furniture, the shop, and trees, was covered with ash, but still distinguishable, and merged with the monochromatic landscape in varying shades of gray. It still looked like the moon, but his back yard on the moon.

He walked around the pool, his helmet mounted flashlight sliced a relatively clear beam through the still air. The ash remained committed to the ground until he stepped forward, or bumped into something coated in it. Ash had accumulated heavily along the bottom edge
of the tarp, and John knew it was exerting tremendous strain on the cover. It still looked solid, but he was worried. When he competed his circuit of the pool cover, he was surprised to find the tarps untorn, or pulled from their anchor lines. Still, he knew he would have to sweep off some ash if he wanted to continue counting on its protection of the pool water below. He went to a lot of trouble to protect the water, and he wasn’t about to give up on it now.

John saw a flash of movement and took a knee. He flipped off his flashlight with practiced ease and moved a few feet from where he first knelt. He didn’t feel danger, but he realized he’d been careless with his security and movement around the property. Nothing looked out of order, and after scanning the area for potential threats, he stood and moved more cautiously. The low light seemed to be playing tricks on his eyes.

Deciding he wasted enough time inspecting the pool cover, John headed for the shop. He remained ever watchful for any sign that someone was or had been lurking around his property. When he approached the shop he saw his and Corbin’s earlier tracks. There were no fresh tracks to be seen. The ash had back-filled the earlier tracks enough to make them look like little more than game trails.

After inspecting the exterior of the shop’s large roll-up door, John made his way to the side door. He cursed himself for not bringing a carbon monoxide detector, but he wasn’t about to return to the house to get one. He knew the generator had run out of gas several hours ago, and that there shouldn’t be a dangerous amount of carbon dioxide in the shop, but he wasn’t willing to bet his life on it.

John unlocked the side door and propped it open with a large rock. The exhaust pipe for the generator was vented, but John didn’t think it was vented enough to keep the shop’s air safe. At least not well enough to guarantee safe breathing in the shop while the generator was running. Holding his breath, John walked over to the roll-up door, unlocked it, and pulled on the long chain until the bottom of the door was about four feet above the shop floor. That gave him about
two feet of clearance over the ash. Ash spilled into the shop when the door was lifted, but that didn’t concern John. There was already ash on the floor. Between the two open doors, John figured enough air would pass through the shop to exhaust any remaining gas that might be lingering. It was well worth the extra ash on the floor.

While the shop vented, John grabbed a shovel and went to inspect the fuel pit that he and Adam had constructed before ash fall. The pit was easy enough to find, it was the only smooth raised surface in the yard. After shoveling the ash off the top of the fuel pit cover, John flipped the plywood cover over. It plopped onto the ash and forced out a cloud that completely engulfed him. John stifled a curse and held his breath under the breathing mask, momentarily forgetting he was protected.

The pit was relatively free of ash, which pleased him. It seeped in on the exposed sides, but it did nothing to harm the closed fuel cans. John grabbed two gas cans and carried them into the shop. After recovering the fuel pit, he returned to the shop to fill the generator’s tank. He checked the engine oil, then pushed the starter button. It came to life with a satisfying roar.

After rolling down and locking the shop’s steel door, John gave the windows a security check and grabbed a broom. He locked the shop’s side door, and with the heavy shop broom in hand, he returned to the pool cover. He wasn’t excited about moving the ash off the pool cover, thinking he might actually tear the tarps by brushing it away, but he had to do something about it before it collapsed. The longer he waited to deal with the ash, the more likely it would tear and allow ash to contaminate the pool water.

Using the heavy shop broom, John pulled ash off the lower edge of the tarp. When he finished, he was surprised to see how much ash was piled around the edge. A four foot dune of ash now surrounded the pool. John would have liked to move the ash farther from the pool cover, but he dared not spend any more time on the project than he promised to Jenna.

He worried the ash would hinder the flow of rain water off the tarp, when and if the rain did come, so he cut several large channels through the dune. If it rained, at least the water would wash into the yard and away from the pool cover. That’s what he hoped, anyway. He looked up at the dark gray sky and actually wished for a nice, heavy, Texas downpour. Something big enough to wash all the ash away would be nice. He also needed rain to wash the ash off his solar panels, and save him a dangerous trip up a ladder and onto the roof.

Sweating under his helmet and coveralls, John rested against the broom. After catching his breath, he made his way to the side door and knocked loudly. Surprised by an immediate response, John wondered if Jenna had been worried about him. Perhaps she had been waiting for him at the door since he stepped out. John leaned the broom against the side of the house and responded with the correct reply knock sequence. The door opened and Adam greeted him with a grin. “Hey dad,” said Adam, as he adjusted his grip on the shotgun, “mom’s been worried about you.”

“Yeah. I figured as much. I didn’t think I was going to be out that long, so I didn’t take a radio with me. We’ll have a routine worked out soon enough. I had to move the ash off of the pool cover before it ripped through. Anyway, go tell mom I’m OK, and that I’ll be cleaned up in a minute,” replied John.

Adam nodded and left as John began to remove his ash covered clothing. He stepped into the clean-room to remove the remainder of his clothing and then wrapped a bath towel around his waist. Abby and Jenna were already preparing to begin a day of canning. “Hey babe. Sorry, I’m late, I was moving ash off the pool cover. Did you save my breakfast?” he asked, as he kissed her cheek.

“It’s in the oven, but it’s probably cold by now,” she replied, with a mildly annoyed tone of voice. John figured he’d hear about it later. “That’s OK. Thanks for saving it for me,” he replied. He grabbed his plate from the oven, and was about to head to the bedroom when he saw Adam looking desperate and forlorn. It was obvious to John that
his son wasn’t interested in getting caught up in the canning operation. “Hey Adam, can you get my pistol from the clean room and clean it while I shower?” asked John.

“Sure dad. Where’s the cleaning kit?” asked Adam.

Adam knew where John kept his cleaning kit, but John figured he wanted Jenna to hear about his new mission, so John said nothing to spoil his plans. “It’s in the garage. On the shelf under the rag boxes,” he said, with a wink.

John’s cleaning kit was more of a cleaning footlocker. And it was loaded with an assortment of oils, solvents, brushes and cleaning patches. When combined with his weapon’s toolbox, John had enough supplies to maintain every firearm he owned for several years. But the footlocker also held a small field cleaning kit in a green, metal, fifty-caliber ammo can. That box alone held everything John needed for routine weapons cleaning. It was his go-to cleaning box for the range.

As they parted ways, John added, “Just use the cleaning stuff in the fifty-cal can. And go very light on the oil . . . just the slide rails. I don’t want ash sticking to my gun.”

“Got it, dad. No problem.”

The aroma of cooked ground beef reached John’s nose all the way in the master bathroom. He wasn’t sure what Jenna was cooking, but it smelled really good, and hot. He finished his cold breakfast, but something hot and spicy sounded really good to him at the moment. The ground beef was practically calling his name, and he wondered if that same smell was being carried outside.
I’ll have to guard against that in the coming days and weeks
, thought John. He quickly dressed and went to catch up with his family in the kitchen, but as he stepped into the hallway he heard a clear voice say, “
The Hernandez family needs you!
”

John stopped in his tracks and considered the message.
Was it Sarrif? No, it sounded like my own voice. How could I expect it to sound
like Sarrif if it’s in my head? Just because it sounded like my voice doesn’t mean it’s my voice. And the voice came out of nowhere, and it was helpful, not destructive. Besides, it was for a good reason, so it has to be from a good source
. John nodded and said, “Thank you,” aloud, and headed for the kitchen. He didn’t know what was going on with the Hernandez family, but he knew it was something he had to act upon, and quickly.