SurviRal (25 page)

Five minutes later, the trunk was out of the hole. Clint dug around in the loose ground a while longer, but struck nothing else. The sense of relief was overwhelming and he almost broke down again. What a day this has been.

They opened the trunk. Some dirt had gotten inside, so they cleared it off.

Food. Clint had uncovered a cache of canned food. Tuna, chili, canned pears, green beans, tomatoes. The trunk was a veritable treasure chest in the current times. Canned tuna and tomatoes in particular were impossible to find, being Asian imports that were now cut off. This must have been part of Jake’s stash from well before the pandemic.

They cleaned the trunk up and carried it in the house.

“You know what this means,” Clint said.

Jenny only smiled at him awaiting his explanation, obviously delighted by her husband’s improved demeanor.

“Jake is probably okay,” Clint continued. “What you and Harold were saying is now a lot more likely scenario. He probably packed up whatever he could and left, for whatever reason. And buried the rest of his supplies—what he didn’t have room for.”

Harold came out of the kitchen with a can opener. “How about a celebration? Looks like we can eat well tonight after all. Figs and crackers just weren’t going to cut it. I say we cook up some chili.”

“I want tuna and tomatoes,” Jenny said.

The three of them had a proper dinner, sitting at the counter behind the stove this time. Clint and Harold ate their chili directly out of the two small pans they heated it in. Jenny shared some of her tuna with Clint as well. She had always been a light eater. As the house became dark, they turned on the kitchen and dining room lights. That’s when Harold pointed to the gun cabinet in the dining room.

“Strange place to keep that, even for a bachelor.”

Clint laughed. “Not for Jake. I suppose we ought to open it now and see if he left anything behind. That’s where the extra ammunition would be. Hope there’s something for my new .38 special in there. Where did I put that key ring?”

Clint found the keys in the living room, came back, and opened the gun locker.

“One rifle left,” Harold said. “Looks familiar.”

“It’s the same 25-06 you have. “We use them at the canyon ranch property. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s the one responsible for the buck head mounted in your living room.”

Harold nodded. “Quite a bit of ammo, here, too. What’s this bucket of dirt and weeds doing in his gun locker?”

“Those are potatoes. He grows them in buckets in the garage. Strange he would put one in here. Unless…”

“There’s a note,” Jenny said coming over. Clint saw it now, too. It was taped to the inside of the cabinet door. Jenny removed it.

“What’s it say, honey?”

Jenny cleared her throat.

“Clint and Jenny, I hope you find this soon. Had to bug out. Went to the cabin. Phones not working here. Frequent power outages. Please come down and join me ASAP. Took supplies. Here’s some potatoes. There’s more food buried in the backyard—should be obvious where. Merry Christmas.”

Harold tilted his head. “Christmas?”

“Inside joke. Is that it, honey?”

“Love, Jake. PS. Don’t trust the military—especially the army reserves.”

“Thank God he’s all right,” Clint said. “This makes things a lot easier. All of us being together at the cabin, I mean. You’ll have to sleep in the loft, Harold—but we have tent-trailer mattress up there. It’s comfortable.”

 Harold smiled. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Looking forward to a good night’s sleep here tonight, though.”

“Yeah.” Clint stretched. “I’m sure we all are. Probably should go to bed early. That way we can get an early start in the morning.”

“Early start for what?” Jenny asked.

“Going to the cabin, of course.”

“Wait a minute,” Harold said. “Perhaps we should talk about this first. Discuss our options.”

“What do you mean?” Clint asked. “We can’t stay here.”

“Why not? For a short spell, I mean. At least a few days. We’ve got food, ammo, the house is secure—”

“Because Jake’s at the cabin! Waiting for us!”

“I understand that, neighbor. And we’ll get there. He’s not expecting us tomorrow, though, right? What difference does it make if we show up, say, next week?”

Clint thought for a second. He looked at Jenny, who was only watching them and offered no opinion on the matter. Clint had just assumed they would both feel like he did. Now he realized his sense of urgency in hooking up with his brother wasn’t necessarily shared by Harold and Jenny.

“I guess I thought it would be best to get off the road and situated as soon as possible.”

“Let’s examine our circumstances.” Harold plopped down in one of the torn-vinyl dining room chairs. “It’s roughly fifty miles from here, right?”

“Correct.” Clint took a seat across from him.

“I didn’t see a bicycle in the garage, so I assume Jake doesn’t have one, or took it with him.”

“I don’t think he has one. Wasn’t planning on bugging out. His home was his survival retreat.”

“All right. That means the one bike we have left is essentially worthless. But we have a golf cart. Those things typically have a 30-mile range or so. Ours is a bigger 4-seat model. Carrying the four of us, with our packs fully loaded, I’ll be surprised if it gets us halfway there. It’ll be a shame to have to ditch it, but that’s the reality. Maybe when we feel it slowing down we can find a place to hide it, by covering it with brush or something.

“That’s a good idea,” Clint said.

“Which leaves us a literal marathon we have to hike, carrying weapons and heavy packs. How long do you think that will take?”

“I don’t know. Honey, how long?”

Jenny looked at the ceiling. “That time I walked the Rock and Roll Marathon it took me a little over seven hours.”

“You set a fast pace?” Harold asked.

“Yes, for the most part. Stopped and fooled with my shoes a few times.”

“Well,” Harold said, “we’ll be going a lot slower with the packs on and an old guy in tow. There’ll be some stops and possible detours, plus getting off the highway behind cover when vehicles come by. I think we should plan on the walking part taking at least ten or eleven hours. Add the hour for the cart ride, and that’s another twelve-hour day of hard travelling ahead of us. Not sure I’m up for that in the morning. We can’t carry all these cans of food, so maybe the smart thing would be to hang out here a week or so and eat them—you know, to get our bodies ready for the hike.”

“Something tells me that’s a bad idea,” Clint said. “And I might go stir crazy waiting here a week when every fiber of my being wants to head south and join up with Jake. If you had a brother, you’d understand.”

“I understand, Clint. I do. But sometimes emotions should be set aside so wise decisions can be made.”

 “There’s something else to consider.” Clint raised a finger. “As we’ve discovered, travelling isn’t all that safe. And it seems to be getting worse. The longer we wait, the worse that situation may become.”

“I’ll concede that point.” Harold grabbed ahold of one of his shoulders and winced as he moved his arm around in circles. “But my body needs a break. And it could go for a period of nutritional build-up. If you were my age, you’d understand.”

Clint looked at Jenny. “What do you think, honey?”

“You both have good points,” she said. “After today, the thought of getting right back on the road tomorrow isn’t appealing in the least. Especially with us having food and comfortable beds here. Yet, I know we have to do it, so I’d prefer to get it over with. I’ll defer to whatever you guys decide.”

They discussed it another hour before reaching a compromise. Spending two or three days here seemed like the best solution. Almost on cue, the lights went out as soon as the decision was made. The three of them fished the flashlights out of their packs and retired to the two bedrooms. Jake’s bed wasn’t as big as what Clint and Jenny were used to, but it was comfortable. Clint fell asleep instantly. He kept dreaming that he was golfing, and trying to choose a club from his bag—which held an assortment of rifles and shotguns in addition to the clubs.

The power was back on the next day when Clint and Jenny got up. They slept late. Harold had already eaten breakfast and was out back doing yard work.

“Might as well try to fix the place up a little,” Harold said when Clint joined him there.

Clint picked up a pair of clippers. “I actually miss doing yard work.” He began trimming the grape vines growing along the fence. “That’s one drawback to living in a townhouse. I know most consider it an advantage. But I like tending yards. Jenny, too. That’s why she takes care of our patio. It’s all hers. I’m not allowed to touch it.”

The two of them trimmed and weeded while Jenny cleaned the inside of the house. After a few hours, they all enjoyed a lunch of tuna, figs, the rest of the crackers, and canned pears. Clint was relaxing on the couch afterwards when he heard a knock at the door.

Clint stood up and looked back and forth. He must have dozed off. Neither Harold nor Jenny were in sight. He cautiously approached the door and looked through the peephole. A touristy-looking couple stood the porch. The man wore a straw hat, sunglasses, and an open Hawaiian shirt over a long-sleeve t-shirt. The woman appeared younger. She was also wearing sunglasses, and had her hair in a ponytail behind a baseball cap. Her right arm may have been injured, as it was wrapped in a bandage. There was nothing in either of their hands.

The man reached up to knock again just as Clint opened the door—only a couple feet, ready to slam it shut again if need be.

“Oh,” the man said. “Wasn’t sure anyone was home. Sorry to disturb you. We live on the east side of La Junta. Our car broke down a few blocks from here—”

“There’s a bear on the road,” the girl interjected, pointing to her right. Her voice was raspy, like a smoker’s. “We’re scared. Do you have anything you can …shoot it with?” The man glanced at the girl upon being interrupted and seemed annoyed for a split second.

“You mean a gun?” Clint asked. “You’re asking if I can shoot a bear for you?”

“Yes!” the girl said. The man nodded, but not all that enthusiastically. For some reason Clint didn’t trust them.

“No. I don’t have anything to shoot a bear with.”

“Oh,” she said. “All right. Well, as long as we’re here, do you have any food you can sell us? Or trade, maybe? We’re hungry.”

“No,” Clint replied. “There’s a food shortage, you know.”

“We know. But it looks like you have a big yard with some fruit trees, so we thought you might grow your own, and, since you live outside of town, maybe you have some canned food stored up.”

The door suddenly flung all the way open, tearing out of Clint’s grip. Harold appeared next to him. The girl stepped back, startled.

“They took it all!” Harold shouted.

“Huh?” the man said.

“Those damn army reservists! They stole everything from us! Left us nothing! We have nothing now! Please, do you have any food you can spare?”

“No …no,” the man stuttered. He stepped backwards off the porch. “We can’t help you. Sorry to bother you.”

The couple walked away, but not before the man turned one last time and gave them a slight scowl.

“What was that act?” Clint asked after bolting the door again.

“You can’t trust anyone, Clint. Especially people who look like that.”

“I wasn’t going to give them any food. I noticed the girl scratching her arm under the bandage and saw ink. I think the bandage was to cover her tats.”

Harold held up his right hand, which had been behind the door. It held his .45 revolver.

“Knocking on doors to find vacant homes,” Harold said as he carefully de-cocked his pistol. “That’s what squatters do. If someone answers, they start asking questions—questions designed to find out whether there are guns or food in the house. They could be acting as scouts for home invasion robbers.”

“You’re right.” Clint glanced at the gun cabinet in the dining room. “So what’s better? Not answering, or giving dumb-sounding replies?”

“I don’t know if there’s a right answer. And I don’t like the look that guy gave us as he walked away. Maybe it’s best we get out of here tomorrow.”

“Now you’re talking.”

Harold set his gun down. “We need to figure out the logistics. We can only carry so much, so should probably bury the extra food again. I’m thinking of leaving my takedown rifle here, much as I hate to do that.”

“Why?”

“To make room. We’ll take some cans of tuna with us, and the .25 rounds are bulkier. You should also leave the snub nose here, being as Jake doesn’t have any .38 shells.”

“Won’t it also fire .357 rounds?”

“No! Very dangerous suggestion. You got it backwards. A .357 will fire .38 shells, but not vice versa.”

“Oh. So, you’re going to hike with Jake’s rifle?”

“I think that’s best. It’s tempting to load the cart with more than the three of us can carry on our backs for 25 miles, but not prudent.”

“I hear you, Harold. I guess we’ll have to sort this out.”

They spent most of the afternoon packing, unpacking, repacking, and strategizing for the journey. Jenny agreed to the new plan of leaving at daybreak. By evening they had everything pretty much worked out.

Fresh baked potatoes for dinner was quite the treat.

“I never knew you could grow potatoes in the dark,” Harold said. “That makes them an impressively efficient survival food. Hate to leave them.” He spooned some heated tomatoes on his, mashed them in, and then piled green beans on top before dousing the masterpiece in salt and pepper.

“We have plenty more at the cabin.” Clint scooped chili high on top of his. “I have them in the ground, plus it seems Jake hauled most of his supply up there. I’m surprised you aren’t topping yours with chili.”

Harold took a bite and shook his head. “No chili for me before a long travel day. You’ll understand when you’re my age.”

Clint looked at his potato for a moment before pushing half the chili back into the pan and reaching his spoon towards the green beans.

“I see the wisdom of your thinking. And I’m not that young anymore.”