SurviRal (29 page)

“Practice sling-shotting.”

“Yes.”

“With rocks.”

“That’s right. We can’t count on continuing to have ball bearings or even marbles, as we’ll eventually lose them all, so we should learn to use renewable resources.”

 “I don’t know if that’s my thing. And maybe I’d rather go deer hunting.”

“We’ll need to make archery equipment, then. And that will take practice, too.”

“Make bows and arrows?”

“Yes.”

“Out of what?”

“We can build decent bows from the birch saplings that grow along the creek, and use yucca or pine tree root cordage for the bowstrings. Good arrows can be fastened out of small pine branches, bone, and feathers.”

“Come on, Jake. We can’t make archery equipment from plants and trees.”

“Of course we can.”

“Even if we can, it’ll be pathetic, like something a cub scout would make, and isn’t going to kill a deer. For one thing, we’ll never get close enough.”

“Now how do you think the Indians did it?” Jake said.

“They knew what they were doing.”

“So do I. Learned how in the forest service. And both of us have more than enough hunting experience to get close enough for a kill shot—or at least be able to down one and then finish it off. Come along with me now. I saw a flock of quail hopping around by the mailbox two days ago. Help me put the trap there. Then we’ll go looking for saplings to cut for staves.”

Clint noticed Jenny smiling widely. She was undeniably enjoying herself listening to Clint and Jake argue. Worse, she had developed an annoying new habit of taking Jake’s side on these kinds of matters. This started four days ago, almost as soon as they arrived at the cabin. Jenny forming a household alliance with Jake was the last thing Clint expected. The violence they experienced on the road must really have affected her.

She wasn’t the only one who changed. Clint owed a debt of gratitude to whoever stole Jake and replaced him with this new version. Perhaps the army reservists who plundered his house were the ones to thank. Yes, Clint and Jake still argued most of the time. That’s simply the way they interacted. But it was no longer heated. More like friendly banter now. Clint had yet to hear a wacky conspiracy theory since they arrived, and he was surprised that Jake wasn’t rubbing the situation in Clint’s face—having finally been proven right about a pending breakdown of society, and, more significantly, the need to have been prepared for it.

Clint figured he knew why. This was a dream come true for Jake. When you prepare for something most of your life, it must be at least a little disappointing if it never comes to pass. Jake was firing on all cylinders now, and busting his butt in a proactive effort to set the four of them up as self-sufficient homesteaders. Jenny stood right beside him in that position. It seemed to alleviate some of her survival fears, so Clint tried not to rock that boat too much.

 But Clint didn’t know if he was ready to live like the Flintstones. He liked using his rifle for hunting. Keeping it aside for self-defense needs only was an antagonizing proposal. Having survival supplies stored up for emergencies meant you should use them when the emergency arrived, not hoard them away for an even worse emergency. That’s what Jake wanted to do with the remainder of the canned food, too, so it was time to go hunting for meat—only without a gun, which seemed absurd. Making twine from brambles when you have a two large spools stored seemed ludicrous as well. But Clint was quickly becoming a minority vote on such issues.

Clint looked around at the yard behind the house. It was quickly turning into a survivalist mini-farm. Jake put the finishing touches on the greenhouse this morning. The oat field was now six inches high and adding an inch daily. Same with the green beans and cucumbers. Sunflowers were sprouting everywhere else. Up against the house sat Jake’s solar generator. He hadn’t yet devised a use for it, as the power it stored was minimal, but Clint knew he would. Jake was on a mission to make efficient use of every resource they had, natural or stored.

Clint couldn’t argue with the results. Tonight it appeared they were actually going to have fresh baked bread with dinner. That was an amazing thought. Clint watched Jake and Jenny start preparing for it the day after they arrived. First the two of them tightened the setting on Jake’s grain roller so they could mill some of his oatmeal into flour. Thank God Jake was smart enough to hide a few buckets of his oats—both in grain and flaked form—from the army reservists. Then they cut up a potato into small chunks and dropped it into a jar of warm water, along with a spoonful of oat flour and a pinch of sugar. For the next two days it bubbled away. Yesterday morning, the bubbling stopped and the jar went into the refrigerator to settle the yeast to the bottom. It came back out last night so Jenny could pour out the top portion and mix the sediment in with a pan full of oat-flour and water. She then added a pinch of salt and kneaded it all into bread dough. Overnight the dough rose to fill the pan. It worked. She put it back in the fridge this morning and would bake it tonight. They didn’t want to take a chance on a power outage occurring while baking, so Harold was planning on building a fire ring in the yard later. The bread pan would be set next to the fire to bake with hot coals piled around the sides of the pan.

Jenny already had another yeast starter going. This one was earmarked for making a batch of berry cider. That would take several weeks and require the use of a few spoonsful of their sugar supply, which Jake initially objected to but soon wisely acquiesced. He had a big bag of the stuff, and since Jenny was championing most of his causes Jake knew better than to pick that battle. Besides, what better use of the sugar supply than creating libations?

“Coming?” Jake said. He picked up the wooden box he’d been working on with one hand. The other held a machete and a small hand-shovel.

“Right behind you. Beats slingshot practice.” Clint followed Jake up the gravel road towards the mailbox.

“Too bad about the water situation,” Jake said as they crossed over the runoff creek.

“What water situation?”

“The water table is like 200 feet down here. Can’t drill a groundwater well for irrigation.”

“We have a well, Jake. All the water we want.”

“Unless the power stays off. The pump is electric.”

“It’s hooked to the backup generator. That’s why we haven’t run out of water during the blackouts.”

“The backup generator runs on propane. We can’t get that anymore, either. As soon as the tank is empty, the only way we can continue to get water is by the electricity staying on. I don’t like that. As you know, this creek will run dry in another month or so.”

“What about your solar generator?”

“I’m not an electrician. Don’t know how to hook that to the well pump circuit.”

“Maybe you and Harold can figure that out. If not, we can always hike to Bear Creek, not to mention the water company reservoirs. Those never dry up, and are only three or four miles away.”

They came to the mailbox. As they did, a kid on a BMX bike rode up.

“Hey Jake!” the kid yelled. “Watcha doing?”

“Hi, Travis. Setting a quail trap.”

“Can I help?”

Jake glanced at Clint before replying. “Sure. Take this hand shovel and dig me a small hole. Down here, between the bushes on that flat ground.”

“Cool!” Travis threw down his bike and dug the hole.

Jake then set the box as flat as he could, with one edge over the middle of the hole. Taking the hand shovel from Travis, he sealed the rest of the perimeter with dirt.

“There. That ought to do it.”

“What’s the screen on top for?” Travis asked.

“It’s a hinged door. See?” Jake opened the small screen door and put his hand inside. “To pull the birds out through.”

“What’ll make them go in?”

“This will.” Jake reached into a pocket and produced a handful of sunflower seeds. He sprinkled some inside the box before closing the lid and spreading more in and around the hole.

“Can’t they just go out the hole again after eating the seeds?” Travis said. Clint was glad this kid showed up to ask all the questions he would have otherwise.

“They could, but they won’t. Not in the daytime, anyway. Quail are stupid. Once in a dark place, they only look to the sunlight. They’ll follow the seed trail through the hole into the box, eat the seeds, and then just sit in there looking out the screen in the top towards the sun. Hopefully.”

“Let me know if it works,” Travis said getting back on his bike. “My dad said he’ll trade for any kind of fresh meat.” He rode off.

Jake turned to Clint. “All right, brother. Let’s me and you take a hike.”

Clint smiled and walked with Jake, impressed with how he handled the neighbor boy. They followed the creek eastward. This was the way to avoid trespassing on neighboring property while getting into the wilderness a little. The creek bed was considered public land, whether full or dry. It wound its way through brush and hills as it divided the land plots, most of which were still undeveloped. A neighbor’s house occasionally came into view in the distance, but Clint’s cabin was near the western outskirts of civilization here.

“Jake, there’s something I need to get off my chest.”

“About what?”

“Everything.”

Jake laughed. “You got something on your chest about everything?”

“Yeah. About the world, the country, the virus, society, everything. I want to officially acknowledge you were right. I wasn’t prepared for it. And I should have been, having this cabin and all. So, you were smart, man. I was stubborn. And stupid. I should have listened to you.”

“Don’t sell yourself too short, brother. You managed to get down here all right, despite formidable obstacles in your path. Brought some decent supplies, too. And we’re doing okay. I have to take my hat off to you, truth be told.”

“I appreciate you being so gracious about it. A lessor man might be tempted to say I told you so.”

“I’m not being all that gracious,” Jake said. “I didn’t do everything right. If I did, we’d be at my house, not here. There were things I didn’t consider.”

“Such as?”

“When the shit hits the fan, you’re better off not having too much stuff hoarded. Not where others can see it, anyway. That includes all possible aerial views. Makes you a target. You want to be able to provide for yourself, but without storing up noticeable excess. It’s the excess that draws the thieves. So you were right about the hoarding, Clint. That’s no good. I like what we have going on now. Should be just enough for the four of us to comfortably subsist, if we go about it right. Look here.” Jake pointed to some dung along a small trail.

“Rabbit poop.”

“Yep. This is a perfect place to set some snares.” Jake removed a coil of wire from one of his pockets.

“Wire?” Clint said. “That’s not a renewable resource.”

* * *

“This oat bread is fantastic, Jenny.”

“Thank Jake, too, Harold. He’s the one who grew the oats, and showed me how to make yeast cultures.”

“I’ve been doing nothing but thanking Jake since we arrived,” Harold said with his mouth full. “Right, Jake?”

“No need,” Jake said as he continued working his round file on the odd object in his hand. “But I want us to get off the canned protein. Tonight is the last night, okay? Tomorrow Clint and I will bring some fresh meat home.”

“Without guns?”

“We’ll bring guns with us, but only for protection. Right, brother?”

“Um …yeah. Whatever you say, Jake.”

“Clint, you’ve got to promise me you won’t shoot anything.”

“If your snares catch something I won’t have to, will I?”

Jake frowned at Clint for an uncomfortably long time, causing him to fidget.

“All right. I promise.”

“What are you filing?” Harold asked Jake.

Jake lifted the object in his hand. “Looks like the jawbone of a possum. Found it when I was setting snares.”

“What are you making from it? Arrowheads?”

“Yeah. And maybe a fishhook or two.”

Clint rolled his eyes. Thankfully, Jake didn’t see it.

“So how do you make snares?” Harold asked.

“It’s a lasso,” Clint said. “Nothing more. Tied to a branch. Simplest thing you ever saw.”

“But it works,” Jake added. “You just need to lay the noose open over grass or brush on a game trail. We found an active one. Set a half-dozen static snares along it. Should have rabbits tomorrow.”

“Don’t bring me any dead rabbits,” Jenny said.

“But honey, that’s what’s for dinner tomorrow,” Clint said. “Hopefully.”

“You can bring me rabbit meat ready for cooking. Nothing more attached to it. Just the meat. And I’d prefer it not to still be in the shape of a rabbit, either.”

Harold laughed. “I don’t like dead animals, either. But that snare trap does sound kind of neat.”

“Tell him about the other one,” Jake said.

“You tell him.”

Jake shot Clint a quick scowl. “I made a spring-snare. Baited it with seeds. Might get a rabbit in that, too—but also maybe a quail, or even a pheasant or turkey.”

“How’s that work?” Harold asked.

“I’ll admit that one is pretty slick,” Clint said. “He made two of them, from the sapling stumps he cut our staves from.”

Harold smiled. “Look at you, calling them staves. Getting excited about making your own bow now?”

“No.”

“He’s coming around,” Jake said. “So what I did was cut off a piece off the sapling trunk, carved it into an L-shape, and also the end of the stump still in the ground into an L-shape. You know, so they can hook together, like this.” He hooked his two bent index fingers together. “Tied the free piece to a string of bramble cordage and tied the other end to the top of nearby sapling. Bent the sapling way over and hooked the L-pieces together.”

“Then you connected a wire lasso to the piece tied to the sapling,” Harold said.

“On one of them, yes. On the other one I made a noose from my bramble cordage.”

“My money’s on the one with the wire noose,” Clint said.

“Quiet everyone.” Jenny turned the volume up on the TV. “They’re talking about the President now. Hope the stupid power stays on long enough to hear the report.”