The Journal: Ash Fall (11 page)

“All done.” He reached out his hand to help
me sit up. “I still need to give you a tetanus booster. I’ve also
got a Z-Pak of antibiotics for you. Do you want pain meds?”
Interesting that he asked, rather than just assumed I would want
pain pills.

“No, I’m pretty good with pain,” I snickered.
Then I paused, knowing having a few pain pills on hand might not be
a bad idea. “On second thought, maybe just a few in case it gets
too bad.”

“Okay and I’m going to give you a couple of
sleeping pills for the night. The next few days are going to be
very uncomfortable and you’ll need the rest.” I saw him unlock
another cabinet, remove some packets, then lock it up again. Even
in a small town like this, it was best to keep narcotics under lock
and key.

“And as for the town, they shouldn’t depend
on me so much. That makes me really uncomfortable. I was trained
for short term disasters or problems, not for this,” I flipped my
hand toward the township hall. “Not for problems that last for
months and months. I’m not that strong, Doc.” I could feel the
tears prickle behind my eyes. It must be adrenaline shock.

“But you are,” Mark said softly.

I slid off the exam table and finally had a
chance to look around the office to admire my son’s handiwork.
“Jason did a nice job with the rooms,” I commented, changing the
subject.

“Nice? He’s a wizard. It was a delight to
explain what I needed and he just went to work. He was done in half
the time it would have taken a whole crew.” The good doctor was
obviously impressed. “And the upstairs looks even better. Would you
like a tour?” he offered.

“I think I’ll take a rain-check.” When he
looked disappointed, I added: “I’d rather not tackle the stairs
with fresh stitches.”

“Of course not, what was I thinking?” He
laughed, then got serious. “What is your home situation?”

“Excuse me?” I’m not sure what he meant.

“Are there many stairs to deal with? Can you
move your sleeping to the first floor? Is there someone to check on
you?”

“Ah, I see. It’s all one level once I get up
the three steps to the door. My older son lives just across the
road. I’ll let him know about my little mishap.” I hobbled toward
the door. “Thanks for seeing me so quickly, Mark. It’s good to have
you in town. What do I owe you?”

“We’ll discuss that another time.” He smiled
gently and walked me to the car.

I’m not sure I liked being in his debt, then
again I was glad he was here.

CHAPTER 10

JOURNAL ENTRY: May 31

I woke this morning to the faint sounds of peeping
and realized I had baby chicks hatching! It’s an exciting thing to
watch as they force their way out of the shell. As much as I get
tempted to help, I know the baby chicks need to do this for
survival. I checked on their progress, disappointed that John
wasn’t here to witness this event, so I sent him a text with the
news.

Not all of the eggs have hatched, because they were
started at different times, spread out over several days, and so
far so good. I’m hoping for a good turnout. It will be hard to tell
for sure the sex of the chicks for a few weeks, and they are all
active and look healthy.

* * *

I called Eric as soon as I had dressed for
the day. “We have chicks hatching! Do you and Emi want to come over
and watch?”

Eric used to have chickens down in Florida
and showed me an old-time trick for sexing baby chicks by holding
the chick in cupped hands, with the chick on its back: a female
stays there, passive, while a male will struggle to right itself.
It’s looking like we have more hens than roosters. I was
pleased.

I then had Eric retrieve a large cardboard
box from the barn that would be their temporary home for the first
week. Spread with old newspapers and a lamp positioned overhead,
they would be cozy and protected. In a few days I’d have him get
the brooder cage down and sterilize it. The chicks would stay in
there for a month, letting them acclimate to the older hens. They
grow really fast and will be able to defend themselves quickly. In
a month, Jason can take his pick, and I will keep some and then
offer the rest to the town. As soon as all the chicks finish
hatching, I’ll start another batch right away. With three dozen
eggs in the refrigerator, it will be easy to start saving new eggs
without restricting our own egg usage.

* * *

The same urgency about hatching more eggs hit
me as I surveyed the garden. The first row of greens beans that
survived the hail storm are several inches tall now and the second
row is pushing up through the soil. Although I had told John I
would do a wide staggering of plantings, I feel the need to plant
the rest right away. It might be a foolish mistake. The worst that
could happen was I had a lot of work all at once to can them for
the winter. It also occurred to me that I should plant a crop of
something for the chickens’ winter feed.

June 1

I limped into Anna’s office and sat down
across from her. I had already driven by the new community garden
to check on the progress and noted that it had been plowed several
times. Two teenagers were raking the ground level and were followed
by others planting something.

“Bradley’s Back Yard is really taking shape,
Anna. I see it’s being planted now. That’s great!” I winced when I
bumped my shin into her desk.

She sighed. “What did you do now?”

“Just a small cut. Mark stitched it up for
me. Its fine.”

“Stitches? How many?”

“Sixteen,” I murmured under my breath.

“Sixteen stitches is not a small cut! You
have to be more careful, Allexa,” Anna admonished.

“Why is everyone getting pissed at me for an
accident?” I retorted.

“Because we need you, and you of all people
should know how even the smallest of injuries can be major in these
times.”

She was right, of course, things were still
bad. The only thing that had changed from six months ago was we’d
had our power restored and the outside air was now warm instead of
bitterly cold. We were still short on food, we were still short on
medical supplies, and we still lacked many of the normal things
that we were used to for civilized living. And our safe little
community was still in danger from those who would take what little
we had.

I looked down at my bandaged leg. It was a
harsh reminder, and I looked up at her, contrite. I admit it was
hard, I know I’m a stubborn person. “Okay, Anna, I agree to be more
careful.” For some reason that left a bitter taste in my mouth.
“Aside from that, Anna, the people of Moose Creek need to rely more
on themselves and less on me. I can’t always help them! I need to
be helping myself and my family right now. Besides,” I looked her
straight in those soft gray eyes, “long term disaster planning is
not part of my job description. I may know a lot about prepping and
food storage, except that’s personal prepping, not mass prepping.”
I leaned back and stared at the white and black speckled ceiling
tiles for a minute, the silence pounding in my ears.

“You know I will do whatever I can for Moose
Creek, however, it might not be enough, Anna, not without everyone
pitching in. There are no more free rides. We will need every
person helping.”

She was startled to hear that, although I
think she understood what I was getting at. We lost a lot of people
in the past seven months, and I hope those that were left were
strong and were survivors.

* * *

I cut away the gauze bandages to inspect the
wound. It sure looked nasty, though I didn’t see any signs of
infection. The antibiotics and pain meds Mark gave me were safely
stored away in my medical bag. If I didn’t use them then they would
be available for someone truly in need of them. However, I also
didn’t want to risk an infection myself. I went outside to the herb
garden and plucked off several leaves from the comfrey plant to
make a poultice.

In one of the boxes I have for medical
supplies, I had stored several poultice bags. They are just new
washcloths folded in half and sewn on two sides, leaving a pocket.
I used white for these so they could be boiled and bleached. When I
pulled two out, I spotted the red washcloths, also washed and
stored in zipper bags to keep them sanitary. Mostly for children,
it was discussed that cloths already red in color would be less
traumatizing if saturated with blood. I smiled, knowing several
adults who would need the red cloths too. Though I’ve never had to
use them, there were at least a dozen in the box, and a couple in
my medical bag.

I tore the comfrey leaves into pieces and
stuffed them into the white bag, setting the bag into a shallow
bowl. I poured boiling water over the bag and let it sit for
several minutes to release the healing oils. Wringing the cloth
gently, I captured the water in the same bowl. It would make a good
infusion for a second application. I set the timer for a half hour,
got my current book, and a notepad and pen. I set my injured leg to
rest on a second chair and covered the wound with the now warm
poultice. It instantly felt soothing. I read maybe five minutes,
then set the book aside and started making notes. I know I’ve got a
few extra bean seeds I can give to the community garden, just not
as much as I planned since I had to replant what was destroyed.

June 3

It occurred to me that I hadn’t received any
calls from my clients at The Resort. In the past I’ve always had at
least one busy week in May before things picked up in June, so I
gave the gate a call this morning. I was startled and disturbed to
discover that The Resort was not opening this year, not until
things normalized in the country. I suppose that made sense, since
most of the members were scattered across the nation, however, it
also meant that the recovery wasn’t going as well as the government
was telling us, not if the wealthy were so restricted.

* * *

I was washing dishes while the bread was
rising and heard engine sounds getting closer and closer. Eric had
decided to cut our lawns with my brother’s riding mower. I stopped
him just as he was starting on mine.

“I don’t want the front part cut, Eric.” The
desperation and near panic in my voice caught his attention.

“You weren’t here yet when the neatly plowed
roads and driveway attracted the attention of that gang, and it’s
what got your uncle and his wife killed. I don’t want us to look
too lived in.”

Visions of that day sent a chill up my spine.
I’ve tried hard to block out the sight of Don on his porch, falling
backward from the impact of the .223, and of the red blossom on
Nancy’s yellow shirt, her heart ripped apart by the next bullet,
while we watched helplessly from this side of the road.

“That’s over, Mom,” he assured me. “Things
are getting back to normal now.”

“Don’t be lulled into a false sense of
security, Eric. Things are not back to the way they were, and they
may never be that way again.” Maybe I was overreacting. Still, it
had to be said. “Eric, listen to me. The only thing that is back to
normal is having the electricity on, and even that we can’t be sure
of. It could go out again any minute. Food is outrageously
expensive when it’s available; gas prices have gone through the
roof; and any city of over a hundred thousand is still under
martial law. You think that’s normal??”

He cast his eyes down and away.

“Tell you what. Why don’t you cut the grass
near the house and the side yard? That will help keep the bugs and
ticks down.”

My brother’s yard was well hidden from view
with lots of mature trees and underbrush, so keeping it cut was now
Eric’s decision.

“Besides, gas is too expensive, and cutting
the grass is wasteful.” That point he didn’t argue with. After he
was done cutting, I raked up all the clippings to mulch down the
garden; the extra nitrogen would also help build the soil.

* * *

“I don’t know what to do, Mom,” Jason said.
“I’m thinking we might be better off scrounging around some of the
vacant houses and salvaging windows for the greenhouse. In fact,
that definitely would be better. It would give us more options for
the ventilation.”

I was delighted at how quickly Jason worked
once he got started on the greenhouse. He laid the entire area
under the floor with heavy plastic and stones to keep any weeds
from growing up through the slatted wooden floor. The joists were
strengthened to handle the weight of the water for the fish tank
and the tons of soil needed for the growing boxes, and then covered
with closely spaced decking to allow any water spillage to seep
down. It might be chilly on the feet in the winter, then again,
maybe not, we just don’t know yet.

“I’m holding off doing any more on the area
around the grow boxes on the south side until the dirt is
delivered, which should be this afternoon,” Jason told me. “I
figure it will be a lot easier shoveling the dirt ‘through’ the
wall as opposed to walking one wheelbarrow at a time through the
door just to fill up the boxes.”

He’s so smart. It’s a very logical order of
doing things, and I told him so.

“We’ll use as much of the load of the
composted black dirt as we need for the six, 12” deep 4x4 beds, and
the rest we’ll bank against the wall from the outside to insulate
against the snow.”

“There’s certainly no hurry on the fish pond,
but what’s the plan?” I was more than curious, and wanted to make
sure I had some input this time. I looked over at the new pond
sitting empty in the corner.

“I don’t want to wait too long, because
finding some aquatic plants might be difficult. Once we have them
though, I’ll need to do something with them.”