100-Days-in-Deadland(16)

“We need to get you gloves if you’re going to help hang boards over the windows. Those hands of yours will get all sliced up otherwise.”

It took me a long moment before his words sank in, and my clenched jaw inched open. Without thinking, I squealed and hugged him. “Thank you!”

I let go about the time he pushed me away.

I held out my hands. “I won’t let you down. I swear it.”

“It’s just for another two days,” he said, holding up two fingers. “As I told you before, I don’t have the supplies to take in an orphan. Then you’ll be on your own. Got it?”

I nodded, hoping, praying that I’d be able to convince him otherwise within two days. “Deal.”

“Okay, Cash,” he drawled. “Let’s get this place secure.”

****

Three days later…



Clutch and I got along just fine. His clothes were huge on me, but it was nothing that an extra hole in one of his tactical belts couldn’t fix. He liked things quiet. When he did talk, he barked out military jargon and acronyms I didn’t know. I felt the nervous need to fill the silence. Even with a bad shoulder, he was a hell of a lot stronger than me. Without caffeine, headaches shortened my temper. When Clutch ran out of chewing tobacco two days ago, he got cranky.

But I never complained. Not once, even though more than once I had to walk away to cool down.

After all, Clutch was the only thing that stood between me and a world full of zeds.

“When the power goes out, we can’t count on the generator. It’s damn fussy and works only some of the time, and when it works it’s noisy as all hell,” Clutch said while we worked on setting up an early warning system around the perimeter. “As soon as we use up the perishables in the freezer, we’re going to have to ration.”

I strung another tin can on the wire. “I’ll start inventorying food and supplies tonight, and I can start planting in the garden in a couple weeks. My mom and I had just picked up supplies for expanding her herb garden last weekend.”

I swallowed a lump, remembering that had been the last time I’d been with my mother. Focusing on surviving kept me busy enough to not dwell on Mom and Dad, but I still thought about them. Often.

“We’ll have to make a run into town for seeds.”

“Oh. Okay.” Until the outbreak, I’d never realized how dependent I’d been on stores for everything. While we could set up the farm for long-term survival, there were some bare essentials, such as seeds, that we needed from town to get us started. Once we had a garden, we could prep our own seeds for next year, though I had a lot to learn.

Not that I could even think of everything I’d yet to learn without stressing. Surviving each day was enough of a struggle. “How about all those bags of seed in your shed? Can we use those?”

“The seed corn and soybeans?”

“Yeah.”

“We can, but we won’t want to depend on them. Seed corn is bland. It doesn’t taste anything like sweet corn, but it would provide some basic nutrition at least. Soybeans are a solid option. But no matter what we plant, we’re going to have to go old school and plant by hand. The tractors and combine make too much noise.”

I nodded in acceptance. Funny thing, before all this, I’d always been the leader with both coworkers and with friends. Now, I found that I could follow just as easily. Strange how quickly people can change.

Clutch’s life before the outbreak had been completely different from mine. He knew his stuff. He’d served two tours in Afghanistan and became a doomsday prepper when the economy turned to shit a few years back. I had complete trust in him, even though I’d known him for only a few days. To be honest, I trusted him more than I had anyone in my life, maybe even more than my parents.

I still couldn’t reach them, though I continued to send them an email every day. The email became my journal, proof that I still existed. I’d never gotten a reply, so I could only hope that they were hunkered down somewhere safe without access to the Internet. I knew it was a weak hope, but I held onto it nonetheless.

The last news channel had gone offline yesterday, leaving nothing on the TV. We’d scanned radio stations every few hours. Nothing was left on FM, and only random updates were sent through AM, and most of those came from folks holed up like us. No one reported anything on Des Moines, and I had to assume that whatever was left of the military had pulled out. Each night, I prayed for my parents’ safety, even though in the pit of my stomach I suspected I’d never see them again.