Deadland's Harves(53)

The four barges closest to the towboat were in good shape, and two of Sorenson’s people had been busy moving enough grain from the barges closest to the towboat to the barges further away so that we could use some of the areas for the general residence and livestock. Finding eight barges of grain, with most of it not rotten, was a goldmine. Of course, Sorenson’s guy immediately claimed one hundred percent rights to the grain, but fortunately, Tyler talked him down to fifty percent more quickly than I’d expected.

Giving up on the idea of sleep, I shoved the blanket off me, sat up, and climbed out from the bottom bunk that had belonged to one of the towboat’s previous crew. Probably one I’d shot.

From the top bunk, Jase rolled over. “What’s up?” he asked, sounding wide awake.

“I’m going to check on the Number Three barge,” I said softly so I wouldn’t wake anyone in the crew quarters. “Something Nikki said earlier. I just need to make sure everything’s secure. Then I’ll be right back.”

Jase sat up. “So it wasn’t just me. Yeah, I got a bad vibe, too. How about I join you.”

“Thanks.” I reached up and grabbed my belt that hung off the corner of my bunk and latched it around my waist. By the time I’d finished fastening my holster and sheath, Jase was armed and ready to go. We headed up the stairs and into the galley, which made up the entire first level of the towboat. A lantern was lit on a table in the center, and Frost was reading a paperback that had seen better days. Diesel was missing and likely serving as a bed for Benji like the dog did every night.

“Where are you two going?”

I turned to see Clutch watching us from the couch that he’d turned into his bed. It was too much hassle for him to sleep downstairs in the crew quarters. He had regained minimal coordinating movement in his legs and still struggled with stairs. Every day, he made it a few more steps with crutches than the day before, but it was clearly exhausting for him.

I rolled my eyes. “Is everyone awake on this boat?”

“We’re going to check out barge Three,” Jase said.

He sat up. “Barge Three? Why?”

“We both had a feeling,” I said simply.

“I’m coming, too,” he said, tugging his legs over the edge of the bed.

“You don’t have to,” I said. “It’s probably nothing. Just a suspicion that’s been nagging me.”

Clutch slid onto his wheelchair and grabbed his crutches. “And if it’s not?” He took the lead, and wheeled out of the galley. Frost never even looked up from his book, though I’m sure he’d listened to every word.

As we crossed the deck of the towboat, I looked up at the bridge to see Tyler drinking coffee as he went through papers. He should’ve been sound asleep by now, but he was one of those folks that felt the need to always be in control. He bore all the weight of Camp Fox on his shoulders. Sometimes, I thought he was afraid the community would collapse without his leadership. Maybe he was our white knight. But maybe he just needed to have faith in the community we all had a hand in building.

I tripped over Clutch’s chair and barely caught myself from tumbling over him. “Oomph. Sorry,” I muttered.

“Graceful,” Jase teased with a grin, his white teeth easily seen in the starlit night.

With a sigh, I saw the large, rectangular-shaped barges in the night sky. The general residence had been set up in Number One, the barge closest to the island and in the row of the four closest to the towboat, making it the safest barge from any bandits who might come across the highway bridge and notice us. Makeshift wood plank bridges had been built from the towboat to each barge. None of the barges were cozy by any stretch, but they would work.

Next to One, Number Two was our commons area. Numbers Two and Three were the easiest to get to from the towboat for a reason. As we crossed the manmade bridge of two-by-sixes to Number Three, Clutch’s wheelchair made a nearly-silent rolling sound over the wood, while Jase’s and my boot steps made thumps in the night.

Number Three held all our stockpile of canned and dried food, weapons, and other supplies. It was our own Fort Knox, making it critical that we could get to it easily from the towboat. To its right, the livestock was set up in Number Four, the barge facing the highway bridge. Cattle mooed softly in the night air. If the livestock were any closer, people would constantly complain about the smell.

The second row of barges wasn’t used except for storing grain. Number Five, on just the other side of Number One, had hit the island at the wrong angle, and its hull had been compromised. Grain had dumped out onto the ground. The remaining three viable barges were full of precious grain. When we’d discovered it yesterday, we danced like maniacs and whooped like fools. For the first time, we knew with confidence that we’d get through the winter, let alone spring and summer, without starving. We’d get sick of grain and likely have some serious nutritional deficiencies, but we’d survive.