The Storm (14 page)

              The day before had seen me on my first guard duty. I was stationed with Nana at the entrance to our neighborhood. Slav had broken us up into several teams of two. Every day, we would have an eight-hour shift and rotate between guarding the entrance and doing a reconnaissance patrol around all the streets and woods. While on recon duty, we were essentially scouts looking for signs of intrusion or resources we could use. Today I would be going back out but with Mohammad, and we were tasked with doing a couple of sweeps around the neighborhood and then pushing into the woods to the north. The previous team had pushed deep into the woods to the east the day before and found a couple of deer and ducks that they brought back for everyone’s benefit.

              The food situation was growing more serious each day as the water problem abated. While in prison, Miller Bradford had taken some classes and learned about home remodeling. The intention was to provide a skill set that could get him employed and facilitate his becoming a contributing member of society as part of the rehabilitation process. While I never would have paid money to employ him or even let him step foot on my property, he at least knew the gutting and tearing out parts of the projects well. The previous day, he had torn out bathtubs from a couple of now vacant homes and set them up to collect rain water from the gutters. Even I have to give him proper credit. He had the foresight to cover the tubs with screen wire found in most sliding doors and windows in order to prevent bugs or mosquitos from infesting our new mini cisterns. Tom was still lugging water from the creek a half mile away for now but would be relieved of that duty once the next big rain passes through. A couple of people even talked about the potential of digging wells if needed, but that was shrugged off as a last resort to be done if we have a super hot and dry summer.

              While the water situation had been a primary concern less than forty-eight hours before, it was now a source of pride for the community that we could tackle problems as they arose. The worry that everyone shared and few wanted to talk about was food. Ancient societies always held granaries and cisterns full for good reason. They never knew when the wrath of God would bestow drought and failed harvests on them. Our modern computers and just-in-time system was so efficient that we could deliver fresh apples from New Zealand to New York in under a couple of weeks. With our advances in society, a collective knowledge and wisdom was built up over tens of thousands of years of early civilization. If pride was truly a deadly sin, it was more so to a whole world that prided itself on the achievements of the previous two centuries.

              It was morning now, and I was preparing for my shift of the day. Stacy had the kids coloring pictures at the table downstairs and would be up to chat in a minute. As I laced my hiking boots up, I was wondering if I should have worn two layers of socks. The storm that had rained so hard two days before brought an arctic chill with it that is known to show itself in spring some years just as everyone is accepting that winter is finally behind them. An Indian spring is what they called this in Kentucky. I would need gloves too, and Stacy was sure to make me take a scarf. At least I could warm up by the fire we had going in our basement upon my return. That was a comforting thought. As I was nearly finished, I heard footsteps coming up.

              “Hey, soldier boy,” was Stacy’s new favorite nickname for me.

              “Hey. Almost ready here. The kids okay?” I answered back.

              As she rounded the door and entered, she was surprisingly relaxed and smiling. “What exactly are you going to be doing again today? Going out for firewood?”

              “Not exactly. More than likely anyone looking for trouble will come in through the entrance to the neighborhood. It’s possible people might walk through the woods, so we have to patrol around each day and make sure it’s empty. We are supposed to look for resources too, but that really just means finding deer. At least whoever shoots the deer gets to keep a bit more of the meat for themselves than everyone else.”

              Stacy was quick in her reply. “Maybe you can shoot a pig or cow instead. That deer meat we had last night was nasty!”

              I chuckled and smiled back at her. “Or maybe I can use some of my Punjabi spices on it this time. Tandoori style?”

              “No thanks!” She was emphatic.

              A nod of the head from me answered her back, and she sat on the bed next to me while we hugged a minute without saying a word.

              A tear emerged from the corner of her eye, just noticeable enough to be seen, and then she broke the silence with a voice choked with emotion. “Please, Josh, be safe. I can’t do this alone.”

              I released a long sigh as I gave her another hug with a tight squeeze. “I will be fine, babe. I’ve got the Murph monster to protect me. You just keep the kids here and check on the fire periodically. You remember how to shoot the gun?”

              “Murphy would run away from a squirrel! And yes, I do remember everything you taught me.”

              “Yup, but at least he will get some exercise and can run free now that we don’t have to worry about cars running him over.”

              “Yeah, old Murphy is a lover, not a fighter.” We had a quick chuckle, and Murphy suddenly showed up at the door entrance with his tail wagging.

              I looked over at him. “Your ears burning, big guy?”

              He responded with a quick panting and what might have been a big dog smile. Stacy then stood up and walked over to pet him. After a moment, she turned and had that wicked look on her face I knew only too well. “Oh honey bunny, can you do me a favor?”

              This was usually how she asked for something she knew I would have to say yes to and not like. “Okay,” was my simple response, and my face probably revealed I knew what was coming.

              “The potty bucket is half full and stinks really bad. Can you go dispose of it and change it out?”

              “Yes, dear.” It’s the simplest of responses, but it’s one all husbands who have a healthy marriage have learned.

              “Oh hun, you remember the plan about the census?”

              She responded with a roll of the eyes. “Yes, Josh. We’ve talked about it ten times. All our food is hidden except a small amount in the kitchen, and that’s what I’m going to tell them we have.”

              I smiled as I looked at her and trusted she would execute everything we had talked about. It was a team effort, and teams have to trust each other. “You could have just said ‘yes, dear.’” She nodded and went downstairs. It was almost time for me to go.

*****************************

              The air was cold, and I could see my breath as it condensed in the chill of the day. Early April suddenly felt like January. The cherry blossoms were wise to wait before blooming this year. I was making my way down the gully and toward the pool house to meet up with Mohammad. The previous day’s guard duty was actually quite boring. Nana and I had just sat around with our guns and frozen our butts off. Only a few people went by the whole day and most of them were from our neighborhood, going out and then coming back. A couple of people with bicycles and backpacks had gone by us, but we never spoke. One man engaged us in conversation about what lay ahead. He had been pushing a shopping cart full of belongings and camping gear. He was pleasant enough but said we were crazy for staying. He was just like Adam Greenleaf, only a few days behind him. Nana and I had questioned the wisdom of turtling versus moving, but in the end we agreed we would do the best we could here.

              Mohammad was waiting for me and looked distinctly uncomfortable in the cold. My ancestors used to run around half naked in the chilled air of Britain. His were in a warm and wet Indian subcontinent. Maybe I had a small genetic advantage there. The body adjusts well to the cold in winter and heat of summer, but this cold was unexpected, and our bodies had already begun acclimating to higher temperatures.
As long I keep moving, I should be fine,
I thought.

              Mohammad was standing in a small huddle with knees bent, hands in pockets, and a small shake that betrayed a chill spreading over him. He hadn’t seen me yet as he stared down at his feet. It was an odd angle, but his face had the same look that Stacy’s had when she was giving birth. His gun sat upright against the wall next to him. I cried out to him as I was now within thirty feet, and he hadn’t looked up yet. “Hey, Mohammad.”

              Suddenly his demeanor changed, and his warm smile greeted me. It was hard to know if he was smiling because he was happy to see me or happy that he could start walking and knew he would warm up. His distinctly Indian accent with an emphasis on proper English that would shame most Americans came back softly. “Good morning, Josh. It is very cold out here. I’m upset that they told us to meet at the pool house, and they locked the doors. I came early and thought I could go inside to get warm and maybe pick up some gossip.”

              Our hands met for a quick handshake. Both of us had gloves on, but his were thick and bulky, like what a person would wear if they were going skiing. Mine were thin and allowed for dexterity of the fingers. It occurred to me that he probably couldn’t squeeze a trigger of the gun to save his life with those gloves on. Still, I didn’t expect to have to shoot at anything other than a big buck and tossed those thoughts aside. My shake was firm, his was either limp or lost in the gloves. I then asked, “Are you ready to get going? You look really cold and need to move. I wish I had one of those heating pads for you.”             

              “Oh yes, please, Josh.” He reached down and picked up what was probably a hunting rifle, and an expensive one at that. It was obviously a loaner or gift to him from someone else.

              Ten minutes passed, and we had already walked at a brisk pace around half the neighborhood. All was quiet, and few were outside. The grass had already started to grow and would need a cut soon, but at least this cold would hold it back several days. That would be another problem for another day. My mind wondered back to my childhood in Kentucky and seeing huge bales of hay decorating fields and sides of hills every summer after the grass was cut. I supposed we could do the same here, but what would we feed it to? We would almost certainly eat the cows, if we had any, before we could feed them.

              The woods lay ahead, and we entered. Most of the trees had only tiny buds, so the forest was still bare from winter, and we could see quite a distance. The ground was covered with a thick coating of wet leaves that mashed beneath our feet as though we were stepping on mud. Again my youth flashed back to me as I spent tons of time walking on trails and hiking on the hills with my friends. For Mohammad who grew up in a city of millions with an apartment that was smaller than many Americans closets, this was a whole new experience. Although he had probably warmed up by now, his face displayed an uneasiness much akin to that of someone who has just learned to swim and been thrown off a ship deep at sea.

              Blennington Estates is an old community built into the state park and woods. It’s rare in that it isn’t surrounded by other communities in its immediate vicinity except for some residences on Plantation Road and Castlewood Ridge. The whole community is shaped like a giant U with the one entrance at the southern end and forest around it. The environmental movement started the same time this neighborhood was being built back in the seventies. Originally there were going to be more communities built around it and maybe one of the first town centers in America, but the native habitats of the squirrels and deer proved to be important, and Blennington has sat alone ever since.

              The air was chilled and our lack of conversation added an additional layer of frostiness to what was becoming an unpleasant mission. Mohammad was either too cold or terrified of the endless bad possibilities of what lay just out of sight. Each night brought new hints of trauma as gunshots and screams were faintly carried across the wind. If we heard what we did with the windows closed, we could only imagine how much else was occurring as society deconstructed itself. Mohammad didn’t have to say it, but his face showed that he was uncomfortable out here for more reasons than winter’s brief reappearance.             

              We pressed on through the woods. There was little to be seen except trees that were ready for spring and a multitude of small hills covered in half-decayed leaves. The remains of a hole with sticks around it was interesting, but we were almost positive it was a teenager’s play fort and didn’t look like it had been used in a year or two. A few old soda bottles and adult magazines were found in the fort. Nothing much of value, but we took the soft drinks and figured we could add them to the food repository.

              As we advanced a half mile into the woods on the north end of the neighborhood, we came across the train tracks and saw a long line of train cars in both directions as far as the eye could see. There were two separate trains heading in opposite directions. One had a dozen large boxes behind it, but the other was enormous. Finally Mohammad spoke up. “Wow, Josh. These trains must have been going by when the storm hit. I wonder what each of those wagons is holding.”

              I didn’t bother to tell him nobody in this country called them train wagons anymore and let it slide. One look in both directions, and I knew the answer without having to climb up and peek, at least at the first one. “This looks like a coal train. I used to see them every day back in Eastern Kentucky. Ha, I bet this train could have come from there and was taking its load up to some power plant in the north east.”