100-Days-in-Deadland(33)

The truck lurched forward, buffeted by the wind that seemed to come at us from every direction. “This one’s going to be bad,” Clutch muttered.

Going to be? Spring storms in the Midwest were known to get nasty. But, maybe because I’d lived in a city where buildings tempered the winds, I didn’t remember a storm this bad in a long time.

Hail bombarded the truck, the noise deafening. When we reached the shed, both Jase and I tumbled out to slide open the large door. The hail hurt, and the wind had become vicious. The sky had turned an ominous green. We started pulling the door shut while Clutch drove the truck into the shed. Once in, he jumped out and helped slide the large door closed.

Hail sounded like an atrocious muddle of drums on the shed’s metal roof.

Then the screaming winds mysteriously stilled and the hail stopped.

We all stood and looked up as if we could see through a metal roof. Chills crawled over my skin.

“This can’t be good,” Jase said.

“We should get to the cellar,” I said. I headed to the side door to make a break for the house, but Clutch stopped me.

“No time. This way.”

Jase and I hustled behind Clutch through the winding stacks of seed corn waiting to be planted and to the far corner of the shed. He moved aside a couple empty pallets to reveal an earthen-colored tarp. He lifted the tarp and opened a round steel hatch.

“Cool! A bomb shelter,” Jase said from behind me.

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Clutch said, getting down on his hands and knees and pulling out a lantern. He pressed a button, the light clicked on, and he handed it to me.

The winds picked up again, howling like banshees, touting impending doom.

Holding the lantern in one hand, I gingerly climbed down the ladder into the dark hole. The small light lit up the dismally small space below. It couldn’t have been more than a five-by-five-foot hole, with the walls taken up by shelves of food, water, and a shotgun vacuum-sealed in plastic. A small square fan covered what I assumed to be the only air vent in the bunker.

Jase landed right behind me. “Cozy.”

The walls were rough concrete, but it still smelled of dank earth. “What is this place, Clutch?” I asked.

“My TEOTWAWKI hole,” he replied after locking the door above us. “Made it myself.”

Sudden silence boomed in the small space.

“The End Of The World As We Know It,” I clarified to Jase when he shot me a confused glance. Clutch had used the acronym the day I met him, back when I could still rely on the Internet to get my answers.

“I built it to support one person for fourteen days. But it’s tornado-proof, so we’ll be safe for tonight. There’s no way anyone or anything is going to get in here without a blow torch and several hours of extra time.” He tore open a plastic bag and pulled out a metallic sheet. “I have only one blanket, so we’ll have to share.”

As I sat next to Jase and dried my pistol, I wondered what would await us in the shed when we went to open the hatch in the morning.

****

“We could set up a fenced-in pasture out back,” I offered while we sat around a huge breakfast feast, cleaning out the last of the food from the freezer and refrigerator. Since the storm had blown the power out, the mood was somber. My final bite of steak marked the beginning of rationing. Clutch said we’d get used to being hungry. I wasn’t so sure.

More so, it was an eerie feeling to know that there was no one left to bring the power grid back up. Even though Clutch had a generator, he’d made it clear that it was for winter use only. It was old and loud and would only attract attention. It also used diesel fuel, and he had only a couple hundred gallons left in the diesel tank out back that had been used for his farm equipment before the outbreak.

No more TV, radio, or ice. No more Internet. No more email to my parents.

“Livestock will attract zeds,” Clutch countered, bringing my attention back. “Besides, that’s too much meat for the three of us. It’ll go bad too quick.”

“Not if we find goats,” I said.

“Have you seen any goats around?” Clutch said.

“What if we smoked the meat?” I asked.

“Mm, I love jerky,” Jase added. “Can we try it, Clutch?”

He scowled. “That means we’d have to keep a watch on the fire. If it puts out smoke that can be seen over the trees, then we can’t use it. The smell of smoked meat may also pose a risk. It could attract attention.”