SurviRal (36 page)

“Still in the mood for fireworks?” Jake asked Clint.

Clint shook his head. “Maybe we should have formed a volunteer fire department, too.”

The sound of army helicopters coming from the north drew Clint’s attention for a moment. Then he looked back to the growing inferno.

“We’re losing everything we have,” Mrs. Stuart cried. “Everything.”

Greg Stuart kept hugging his wife and kids. “No, honey. Not everything. We didn’t lose anything important.”

Chapter Twenty Six

“Three eights,” Clint said. He spread his hand on the table.

Harold and Cal groaned and mucked their cards.

“You gonna be hot again all night?” Cal asked.

“I sure hope so.” Clint scooped the pot. “Now that money’s worth something again, I might need to build my poker bankroll back up.”

Jenny came into the living room with a box of persimmons and set it on the floor. “Guys, please take some of these home. They’re all going to rot otherwise.”

“I’ve still have some from last time,” Mike said. “Thanks anyway.” A couple of the other guys muttered agreements.

“Well, I don’t know what to do with them. They’re good when they first get ripe, but now they’re just too many. Like autumn leaves—which I love at first, before they get all over the yard and streets.” Jenny left and went to the kitchen.

“I love this time of year,” Randal said shuffling the cards. “The trees sure are pretty. Let’s play Texas Holdem.”

“And football,” Clint said. “Don’t forget football. The Broncos game starts in an hour.”

Randal nodded. “Yasser, half a football season’s a far cry better than none.” He started dealing. “Got a lot of new players getting their first start. Almost reminds me of one of those strike seasons. Mike, you’re the blind.”

Clint won that pot, too. He celebrated by cracking another bottle of Springfield Brewing Company Pale Ale.

Mike shuffled the cards. “At this rate, Clint will have all the money before the kickoff. Maybe that’s his plan.”

“Most of the ATM’s in town are working, guys.” Clint stacked his chips. “You know where to get more cash.”

“That’s not saying much,” Mike said as he dealt. “There’s only half a dozen ATM’s in Springfield, far as I know. More than the number of gas stations, though. But I’m not complaining. I like it down here, especially now that all the businesses have reopened. Filled up my tank at the Mobile station yesterday and only paid $12 per gallon.”

Jake laughed. “Then you’re a chump. I filled the truck up there this morning at $9.75 a gallon. I open for a dollar.”

Mike’s face contorted. “Damn!”

Harold mucked his cards. “Wait a few days and it might be half that. But Jake and I need the gas now.”

“You two leaving town?” Mike asked.

“Please don’t ask Jake why,” Clint said. “I fold.”

“You should be proud of me, brother. Especially considering the lecture you gave me when I dropped out.”

“That was fifteen years ago, Jake.”

“Oh, you’re going back to school?” Mike said as he put a dollar in the pot.

“That’s right. Finally going to get my degree.”

“What are you majoring in?”

Clint put his face in his hand. Jake ignored him and answered Mike’s question.

“Political science.”

Chuckles went around the table.

“I think that’s great,” Mike said as he dealt the next card. “I remember you were the one who pulled us all together as a community when we needed it. If you ask me, you’d make a great public servant. Like Mayor of Springfield or something.”

Jake put three dollars in the pot. “Or maybe Governor of Colorado. I bet three.”

Everyone folded.

Harold gathered the cards. “I actually think you could pull that off, Jake—especially if it somehow ‘leaked’ that you were part of the band of citizens who helped take out Zane’s Savages.”

Jake shook his head. “I don’t see that happening. Tilley’s patrol was pretty adamant about getting all the credit. Remember how the news referred to us?
And a few neighbors who came to help
.”

Half the table grumbled and the other half laughed.

“But Tilley’s patrol wasn’t named either,” Clint said. “All the reports just said the infamous home invasion gang was killed in a shootout with Army Reserve unit such and such, whatever their number is.”

“That’s right.” Jake raised a finger. “Personally, I don’t believe this Colonel Tilley, who was supposed to be their commanding officer, even exists. I think Sergeant Robinson and friends were a rogue outfit. And I’m not done investigating it, either. I’ll have a few more resources at my disposal when I get to Denver.”

Harold started dealing. “Five card draw, deuces wild. Well, I appreciate the ride, Jake.”

“No problem, Harold. It’s on the way.”

“You’re not going back to Denver?” Cal asked Harold.

“I am, but only to gather some …belongings. Then I’m moving in with Arnold, now that the Stuarts were finally able to leave for Santa Fe. But I have a couple stops to make first. Finally located my car. It’s in an impound yard in North Springs. Fully intact, from what they tell me. Then I need to pay a visit to a certain other politician,” he glanced at Jake, “who lives in West Springs. I also want to try and rent my townhouse before I come back, if possible.”

“I’d be your tenant,” Jake said, “but I already have a flop. And my landlords are pretty understanding if I’m late on the rent.”

“No they’re not!” Clint shouted.

Laughs around the table.

Clint shrugged. “Well, we figure we may as well
rent it out,”
he sneered at Jake, “since we can’t sell it. And our complex is in need of a resident handyman. Jake will probably earn more money merely by living there than he ever has.”

Mike mucked his hand out of turn. “I’m surprised you want to stay down here, Clint.”

Clint tilted his head. “Why? You are.”

“I know. I just always pictured you as a city man.”

“As did I you,” Clint said. “In fact, I always saw you as a typical high-rise dwelling computer programmer. The essence of Dilbert.”

Mike laughed. “Touché. Obviously, we’re not alone. Oracle isn’t the only company rehiring hundreds of employees on a work-at-home basis. Part of the reason property values have halved in the cities and doubled in rural areas, I suppose.”

“I think we all know the other part of the reason,” Harold said. “It’s a knee-jerk reaction. Country living is suddenly seen as safer. It will doubtless be fashionable for years to come.”

“That why you’re a convert?” Cal asked.

“Let’s just say I like Arnold’s shooting range better than the ones in Denver, which I have to pay to use. Whose bet is it?”

“Mine,” Clint said. “Hell, I fold. That’s one thing that bothers me about Americans. What you said, Harold, regarding knee-jerk reactions. You know the airlines and rail companies can’t get people travelling again? Planes are flying half-full, and most of the passengers are still wearing gloves and masks.”

“Now wait a minute partner,” Randal said. “How can you blame them for that? After all what’s happened?”

“Clint’s right,” Cal said. “Everyone’s overly-spooked. Those planes have had their insides thoroughly sterilized, right down to the moldings and rivets. They’re safer now than they’ve ever been in the history of commercial air traffic. Same with trains, buses, malls, and most public places, even in the clean states. There’s less than five hundred people still infected with ferret flu at last count. By Thanksgiving it will be zero. By then, they should finally have enough vaccine to distribute to the clean states—only we won’t need it, because the virus will be eradicated.”

“I wonder if it can ever truly be eradicated,” Jake said.

Clint frowned. “If no one has it, the virus can’t spread, so it’s gone.”

“Brother, don’t you wonder if a public handrail somewhere is still tainted with it, or a wrench in a toolbox for sale at a flea market, waiting to be picked up? Or maybe some ferret running around in the woods is carrying it? Or if a child will pick up a dead bird in their backyard and contract it?”

“Unlikely,” Harold said. “A virus can’t live long without a live host. Any host infected with this virus—be it bird, ferret, or human—can’t live long unless it acquires the necessary antibodies for fighting it off. Contact with a host who survived the disease only infects you with a weakened virus, the version the antibodies have conquered. That’s how they made the vaccine, you know.”

“I still can’t believe that one,” Clint said.

“What do you mean?” Randal asked. “I call, by the way. What have you got, Harold?”

Harold turned over a pair of aces and Randal took the pot with two small pair.

“We read about the guy whose blood they ended up making the vaccine from,” Clint replied, “during the height of the epidemic. Some nut who overdosed on magnesium and zinc. He actually contracted the virus, but his body had succeeded in making an effective antibody to fight it off with. The poor guy would have survived, but died from magnesium poisoning.”

“But wasn’t the zinc and magnesium responsible for boosting his immune system to a level where it could produce the antibodies?” Jake asked.

“That’s highly debatable.”

“But it’s why you can’t buy zinc or magnesium anywhere now,” Cal said, “and why vitamin supplement companies’ stock prices are suddenly through the stratosphere.”

“That only proves my point about overreacting Americans,” Clint said. “We’re all a bunch of idiots. Give me the cards. No Limit Holdem.”

Clint dealt himself pocket aces and decided to slow-play. That turned out to be a mistake. Everyone saw the flop, which was all hearts. Clint didn’t have the ace of hearts, dammit. He decided to make a small feeler-bet when they all checked to him. Everyone called the bet.

The turn was the ace of hearts. There it was. Clint now had trips, but of course anyone holding one heart had him beat with a flush. Clint checked along when they all checked to him, not wanting to give anyone holding a flush a chance at check-raising him, and providing himself the opportunity of making a big full house for free.

The river was yet another heart. Clint’s hand was essentially worthless. But when everyone checked again, he decided to try an inspired bluff. This was, after all, his night. He bet half his stack, more than anyone else had on the table at the moment. Anyone calling would have to go all-in. Wouldn’t they have bet the river if they had a better flush than the board?

To Clint’s surprise, everyone called.

“You guys caught me,” Clint said mucking his cards. He knew at least one of them held a playable heart, quite possibly all of them.

Everyone laughed. Softly at first, but then the snickering grew until they were all nearly hysterical.

“What?” Clint said.

“Look at the board again.”

Clint saw it now. The board was a royal flush. Everyone had it. If Clint didn’t muck his cards, he would have had it, too. Now the other guys all got to split up his chips.

“I’m taking a break,” Clint said. “I want to watch the beginning of the game.”

Clint moved to the couch even as the laughter continued.

“What’s so funny?” Jenny said coming back from the kitchen.

“I’ll tell you later.” Clint turned the volume up on the set as the Broncos received the opening kickoff. Jenny sat down next to him.

Somewhere in the background the happy sounds of the poker game continued. The Broncos scored on the opening drive. At least, Clint was pretty sure they did. He had closed his eyes.

* * *

John Reuter heard the car coming on the road from his living room. He’d been waiting for it. Too anxious to remain sitting, he stood up and stepped outside for the sixteenth time.

This time it was them. He recognized the white mini-van. His daughter Sally and her family from Abilene had finally arrived.

Moments later he was kneeling, hugging his grandkids.

“Can we go to the barn, Grandpa?” the boy asked. His granddaughter enthusiastically added her appeal.

“Now kids,” Sally said. “Don’t be rude. Let’s go inside and visit a while first.”

“Awwwww, mom.”

“Why don’t we all go back to the barn?” John said. “I might have something to show y’all there.”

“Oh. All right. What are you up to, Dad?”

“Aint up t’nothing, girl. You always was the suspicious one.” But John knew he was failing at hiding his wide grin, so he turned his back and led them all behind the house to the newly repainted barn.

“You got a new horse!” the boy shouted.

“Yep. That ain’t all, neither.”

“A pony!” the girl said. “Oh, Grandpa, can I ride him? Please please please please please?”

“Of course you can, sweetheart. Bought him for you.”

“For me? Really?”

“Now wait a minute, Dad.”

John turned to his daughter. “She can ride him all she wants when she comes here to visit him. Think of it as bait. Might make y’all come a little more often.”

Sally laughed. “All right. How’d you ever afford it?”

John ignored the question and turned to her husband. “Got something you might appreciate over yonder, son. Come along now.”