SurviRal (30 page)

They stopped chatting and watched the news for the next hour. As expected, the current President announced his resignation, giving no other reason than personal issues he needed to attend to at home. The speculation in the media was infidelity on his part, and he was now attempting to save his marriage. So much for the Speaker of the House.

The next in line, the Senate Pro Tempore, happened to be one of the eight-million-and-growing ferret flu survivors, those who had beaten the most severe stage of the disease and were now expected to make a full recovery. He was also one of the many volunteers giving as much of his blood as he could safely spare to the vaccine research facilities, and declined the Presidential appointment for health reasons.

On to the Secretary of the Treasury. An outspoken liberal, she seemed only too happy to be sworn in tomorrow as the next President of the United States. It would be a historic occasion: the first female President. She pledged at length to continue fighting against the spread of the virus, maintain the public food drops, and keep the power grids up. Then she launched into some confusing jargon on how she planned to bring the value of the U.S. dollar back.

Unfortunately, the markets didn’t believe her. The price of wheat reached an all-time high today. A bushel now costs the same as a new car. Well, as much as a new car used to cost, anyway. Right now all the dealerships were closed, so you couldn’t buy one if you wanted. But you could acquire a good used car in some places—with an empty gas tank, of course—for a coffee can full of wheat. Gasoline was impossible to get at the moment, so the price of a gallon was anyone’s guess.

“And now for the latest ferret flu numbers,” the anchorwoman said, cutting away from the Secretary of the Treasury not quite before her speech was finished. “The CDC confirms that approximately 64 million Americans have been identified as infected with the virus. The death toll reached 35 million today, another gruesome milestone. As already mentioned, over eight million have passed what the CDC calls critical apogee and are expected to recover. That leaves only twenty one million who are currently battling the disease in its early-to-mid stages. The majority of the recent contractions have been among health care workers, and the infected state count remains at nineteen—a number that includes Texas, where only two cases have yet materialized.

“But the good news is the growth rate has fallen sharply. According to a CDC-issued statement today, at the current rate of decline we may soon be able to consider the epidemic to have come under control in this country. Public awareness and the strict travel moratorium are credited as the factors responsible for slowing the spread of the virus. They warn us, however, that we still have a long ways to go, and any public lax in diligence at this juncture could give birth a detrimental new wave of infections that puts us right back at square one, or even worse.

“You just heard the Secretary of the Treasury speaking on what her platforms will be after being sworn in as President tomorrow. One of her objectives is to try and bring some value back to the currently decimated U.S. dollar. Many find the details of her plan to sound confusing. Our expert economist has analyzed her statements and believes her intention is to methodically remove billions of dollars from circulation, thus decreasing the money supply. It is our expert’s opinion that the way this will be accomplished, bottom line, involves confiscating untold amounts of wealth and property from the deceased victims of the ferret flu. He’ll be coming on camera in a few minutes with further details on his speculation.

“But first, the riot reports. After several days of relative peace in the major American cities, civil unrest has once again broken out in most of the usual venues after news of the President’s pending resignation spread earlier today—and especially after it became known that the Secretary of the Treasury would become the next President…”

Clint heard enough. He stood, walked to the refrigerator, ate a handful of berries, filled his water glass from the filtered water dispenser, and headed for the master bedroom.

“I’m tired. Goodnight, everyone.”

“Me too,” Harold said. He dropped his plate off at the kitchen sink and began climbing the wooden stairs to the loft. “See everyone tomorrow.”

Chapter Twenty Two

Clint woke up early the next morning and spent three hours practicing with the slingshot. The first few attempts didn’t even hit the board. But by the end of the third hour he was nailing the bull’s-eye every time, and had even chipped a hole through the wood.

“I got this down now!” Clint said when he turned and saw Jake carving one of the bow staves at the picnic table. “I think I can actually kill a bird with a stone. Maybe even with a headshot, if I can get close enough. Ready to go find some?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Jake set his work down and picked up two guns. He started to hand Clint the shotgun—but then smiled, pulled it back, and gave him the rifle.

“Don’t think I can hit a bird with a deer rifle, do you?” Clint said. “Well, if there’s any turkeys around, I might surprise you.” He slung the 25-06 over his shoulder.

“Tell you what.” Jake shouldered the shotgun and picked up the other slingshot. “We find a turkey, we can use one shell to try and get it. One shell. I’m loaded with double-zero buckshot.”

“Now you’re talking!”

Clint didn’t see any birds along the creek bed. What he did see, when they reached the game trail they found yesterday, was one hanging in the air.

“You’re spring-snare caught something, Jake.” Clint turned around to see Jake squatting with his hand in a bush. He pulled out a dead rabbit with a wire noose around its neck. “Guess you caught something on a static snare, too.”

That wasn’t the only one. Two rabbits were snared, and the bird hanging from the sapling was a quail. The other spring-snare had also been triggered, but didn’t catch whatever sprung it. Clint could tell Jake was ecstatic as he reset the all the traps and sprinkled a fresh smattering of sunflower seeds.

“Too bad about your cordage noose.” Clint patted his brother on the back. “Maybe it doesn’t tighten smooth enough.”

“This is a fresh kill,” Jake said holding the bird up, ignoring the comment. “That means a flock is probably nearby.”

It didn’t take them long to find it. Eight or nine quail were rooting around just off the creek bed a short ways away.

Clint took careful aim with his first shot. He was a little nervous. Finally he let his carefully-chosen stone fly.

One quail dropped. The others jostled some, not sure what to make of the minor disturbance. Jake then took a shot. He got one. Clint got one more before the flock spooked.

“This isn’t much meat,” Clint said as they walked back.

“Don’t rain on my parade, brother. It was only our first outing. And you’re the one who scattered them, going for a bird in the middle. We can come back in a few hours and check the snares again. Also, with the garden coming in so vibrantly we might not have to leave the property to get small game. Jenny said she saw a rabbit in the yard yesterday evening. And I’m sure the sunflowers will start attracting doves and pigeons soon.”

“Pigeons?”

“Pigeons are squab, bro. Same as doves. Can’t tell the difference after you dress them. Delicious and meaty. Each bird is a good meal for one person. They’re stupid, too. Easy to trap or hit with the slingshot.”

When they reached the road, a boy’s voice called from the mailbox.

“Hey Jake!”

Clint looked over and saw the BMX bike lying on its side.

“Travis?” Jake answered.

“You caught a bunch of birds in here! A whole flock!”

The smile on Jake’s face was uncontainable as they broke into a jog.

“Wow, you got rabbits, too,” Travis said when they arrived.

Jake peered through screen door on top of his trap. “There’s at least ten quail in here, Clint! Enough for a solid meal for all four of us tonight!”

“Wow.” Clint stared at the wooden box and heard the birds rustling inside. The excitement exuding from Jake and Travis was catching. “I never would have thought…”

That’s when Clint noticed the smirk on Jake’s face. He was looking at Clint the way he used to do when he knew the next move on the chess board was checkmate no matter what Clint did.

Jake then motioned with his head towards Travis. “Give him the rabbits.”

“Really?” Travis said.

Clint hesitated.

“Yes, really. Let him have them, Clint.”

Clint slowly surrendered the rabbit carcasses.

“Thanks, guys! My old man’s gonna flip!” He climbed on his bike and quickly vanished in a tiny dust cloud.

“Well?” Jake said.

“Well what?”

“I didn’t point my gun at him and tell him to scat, did I?”

Clint laughed. “No, you didn’t. Good job, brother. We better field dress these quail, for Jenny’s sake. Harold’s, too.”

“All right. You know for a gun enthusiast, your neighbor seems a little squeamish to me.”

“Only when it comes to animals,” Clint said. “Only when it comes to animals.”

Two hours later, Travis returned—but not on his bike. Neither was he alone. Three horses appeared on the road and meandered up Clint’s driveway. Clint followed Jake, Jenny, and Harold out front to greet them. A man and a woman rode the biggest horses. They looked to be in their late forties.

“Much obliged for those rabbits,” the man said. “We came to reciprocate your kind gesture. Travis?”

Travis slid off his horse. That’s when Clint noticed he was holding a round Tupperware container. Water sloshed out of it when he hit the ground. Travis then smiled at Jenny and humbly presented her with the container.

“Eggs?” Jenny said.

“Farm fresh,” the man on the horse replied. “My name’s Randal Butler. This is my wife, Joanne. We live just up the road from y’all, in the only other house with a green roof.”

“Clint Stonebreaker. My wife, Jenny, my brother, Jake, and our friend, Harold.”

“Please to meet y’all.”

“Why are they in water?” Jenny asked.

“To keep the boy from breaking them on the ride over. He didn’t, did he?”

“No.” Jenny sounded excited. “How clever. Eggs, wow! This is great. I know exactly what I’m going to with three of them. We’re having fresh pasta tonight with our quail!”

“Sounds downright rib-sticking, ma’am.”

“Thank you so much! You can’t know what this means to us.”

“T’aint nothing,” Randal said. “We keep chickens. Got eggs coming out the coop. Thanks to you folks, we’ll be dining on rabbit stew tonight. Will be a nice change. With any luck, maybe we’ll have fish tomorrow night.”

“Going fishing?” Clint asked.

“Up to Turks Pond at daybreak. Me and the boy, along with our neighbors on the other side. Would any of you folks like to join us? We can rassle up two extra horses to get you there. I’m afraid you’ll need your own tackle, though.”

Clint looked at Jake, who quickly nodded back at him.

“Absolutely,” Clint said. “We’d love to go.”

“Great! Come to the green-roofed house at sunup. We’ll wait for you, assuming you don’t straggle over too late.”

“We won’t be late,” Clint and Jake said in unison.

* * *

Clint hadn’t been fishing in years, and it was ages since he last sat on the back of a horse. But here he was, bringing up the rear of a six-horse procession, traveling on small dirt roads northeast of Springfield.

Randal Butler and his son led the way. They set a bit of a fast pace to keep the horses from grazing. That was fine with Clint. He and Jake had no trouble keeping their animals moving at something between a walk and a trot. At this rate, the 16-mile trip would take no more than two hours. And it was a beautiful morning for riding.

The rifle scabbards on the saddles had been a particularly welcome sight when Clint and Jake arrived at the Butler’s home just after sunrise. Even Travis had one for his pellet rifle. That freed the shoulders up, and there was room enough in the scabbard to hold Clint’s fishing equipment—which was nothing more than a spool of line and a small plastic box holding weights, hooks, and nippers. Clint would be hand-line fishing today.

So would Jake, but in a slightly different manner. He stayed up late making enough bramble cordage to fish with, not to mention the three hooks he carved out of the possum jawbone. He’d be using rocks for weights, of course. Clint didn’t like his chances much, but knew better than to argue with him about it.

They were briefly introduced to the neighbors on the two middle horses before leaving: Cal and Barbara Sherwood, a childless couple about the same age as Clint and Jenny. Cal wore a floppy hat that covered his ears, which made Clint somewhat concerned over getting sunburned. He hoped the fishing expedition would be over by early afternoon. Clint didn’t want to leave Jenny and Harold alone too long, even if they were both crack shots.

“That dinner last night was excellent,” Clint said coming alongside Jake. “Three roasted quails with a little pasta is a hearty meal. I’m still stoked over how tasty it all was.”