Shortage (Best Laid Plans Book 2) (9 page)

Chapter Five

Storm

Lewis's leg had healed slowly but steadily over the last week.

The swelling had gone down, the bruises fading to brown and yellow, and his cousin removed the tape over the wounds regularly to let them drain, until eventually they closed and scabbed over. Although he could move around after the first few days he avoided doing so, giving his body a chance to recover, and when he did need to get on his feet he made liberal use of the crude pair of crutches Trev made for him and did his best to keep his weight off his leg.

As for Trev, he alternated his time between patrolling, gathering food, and building the outhouse he and his cousin had talked about. He also kept his rifle handy at all times, not only in case he needed to defend himself but in case he encountered another deer and the opportunity presented itself to bag more meat.

He'd seen no sign of the last two bandits since the gunfight on Halloween, and the refugee group they'd saved seemed to be long gone. He did glimpse other refugees heading along Highway 31, and just as Lewis had predicted the few groups he saw were divided into those heading northwest and those heading southeast. He wondered what the refugees said when they passed each other: no good news, he was sure.

He always watched the passing groups, but so far all had stayed to the road and traveled along it at the best speed they could. If there were any more bandits preying on the poor people he saw no sign of them.

In spite of his caution he never looked too closely at the refugees, unable to witness the constant display of human suffering. The guilt of wondering if he shouldn't be doing something for them constantly warred with the knowledge that there wasn't really much he
could
do, not for so many people. And anything he did risked giving away their presence on the mountain and could potentially put them in danger.

As for the bandits he and Lewis had killed, on the day after the fight Trev had taken the time to go out and bury them, noting when he did that the refugees had stripped them of any useful supplies Trev had left behind. Trev didn't begrudge them what they'd found, and in a way almost regretted taking the weapons and depriving them of that added defense.

He and his cousin now had more firearms than they needed, especially considering Trev hadn't found much ammo for them, and the refugees might have found better use for those guns. He had a hard time picturing that group of mostly women, an older man and teenaged boy, and a few children turning to banditry, while if better armed they could deter any more bandits they encountered.

Hindsight. They'd had a good reason for taking those guns, in case the other bandits came back. And while the refugees had been less of a risk to them, with Lewis wounded they couldn't afford to take chances.

The burial had been an unpleasant task, reminding him of the lives he'd needed to take, but he couldn't very well leave them sitting on the mountainside to rot for multiple reasons. Not that he necessarily thought they deserved to be buried: he'd contented himself with digging a big hole as deep as he could manage in the clearing behind the log, dumping the bodies into it, filling it in, and leaving it unmarked.

Trev had done other digging that week, a much deeper hole at one end of a slightly larger hole with a ramp leading down to it where they'd put the outhouse. At the moment he was spreading a few final dabs of mud on the stick thatch he'd tied over the outhouse frame, both for insulation and to make the structure more sturdy. It was nearly the last touch to finish the structure.

The day was chilly and windy, with ominous clouds building to the northwest and around the mountainside above them, but Lewis had still made his way outside to sit on a camping chair with his leg propped up on one of the larger logs from the firewood pile watching Trev work. Both for the company and to get out of the cramped space in the lean-to for some fresh air.

After a bit of discussion they'd agreed to dig the entrance to the outhouse facing southwest, away from the prevailing winds. For the door Trev had built a simple log frame with a tarp wrapped around it., which would just sit in the opening and could be easily moved aside. To prepare for deeper snows he'd built another frame with more tarps, as sturdy as he could manage, to go over the ramp leading down to the outhouse and prevent it from getting snowed in. Using rope hinges he'd tied the top square of the frame so it could open upward like a cellar door, which would hopefully keep it accessible even during snowstorms.

The outhouse was constructed inside a copse of trees a bit north of the hideout that would further keep off the snow, as well as hiding it from unfriendly eyes, especially on the logging road above. It was also on a slope that curved the other way so any runoff would carry the refuse in the opposite direction of their home and the icehouse.

Trev finished slapping on another bit of mud near the peak of the conical roof, then threw the prepared plastic and tarp over the structure and nailed them to the log frame against the ground. With that final task complete he was happy to call the job done.

When he turned to get his cousin's approval he found that Lewis was looking past him at the looming clouds. They were quickly darkening to an ugly color. “That's looking like the first major snowstorm of the year,” his cousin said grimly.

He nodded and looked back at the outhouse. “We got this done just in time.”

“And thank goodness for that. If I had to lean back against a tree one more time because I can't squat with this leg I'd be tempted to stop eating.” Lewis levered himself to his feet, grinning. “I've already got some rocks heating up on the stove, so if you don't mind I think I'll take it for a test drive.”

“Go for it,” Trev said, but he couldn't share his cousin's levity. Those clouds really bothered him because he'd never been through a major snowstorm on the mountains. And even if the weather cleared up a bit after the storm and the next one was a while in coming it meant the easy time they'd had fishing and gathering edible plants was over. It might drive deer farther down the mountain and into his sights, but then again it might've already done that and they were all in the valleys now, well out of reach.

They still had about 50lbs of meat from the buck Lewis had brought down, as well as another 30 or so of frozen trout. Most of the edible plants they'd foraged wouldn't store well and they'd been eating them as they found them, but they did have a roughly 20lb bag of frozen currants from some bushes he'd found. They could hope to find more game even after the snows fell, but as far as Trev knew what they had would have to last them until the spring thaw.

He hoped it was enough.

By the time Lewis emerged from the outhouse, holding the heating rocks in his gloved hands, large flakes of snow had begun to fall in swift flurries. Higher up the mountain and farther north they could see signs of thicker snows already falling. His cousin looked up, blinking away a flake that landed in his eye, then sighed. “Better go bring as much firewood as you can manage to pile against the lean-to before the snow really starts falling. We'll want it handy if this storm turns out to be as bad as it looks. Sorry I'm not in any shape to help.”

“Don't worry about it,” Trev said, hurrying ahead of his cousin towards the woodpile. As he was gathering his first load he also checked to make sure the icehouse was still locked. More to keep out any animals that came sniffing around than because he expected thieves to show up during the storm.

The snowfall quickly thickened from flurries to a constant howling blast that drove snow into his face and sent it swirling all around, to the point that everything beyond thirty or so feet became blurry silhouettes or was completely obscured. He managed to get in a dozen or so loads in ten minutes, piling them beside the door where they could be quickly retrieved, before he was forced to flee to the warm sanctuary of the lean-to.

The storm came in with him, bringing snow and noticeably chilling the room in the moments it took him to close the door. Trev dusted snow off his head and shoulders beside the stove, shivering slightly, and glanced over at his cousin. “We built a protected entry for the outhouse, but maybe we should think about one for the hideout too.”

Lewis snorted. He was reclined on his cot, scribbling in his journal. “I brought the tools in while you were gathering up wood. You're welcome to get started on that right now if you want.”

“Yeah, no thanks.” Trev shucked off his winter gear and settled into one of the chairs in front of the stove. “So this storm could last anything from hours to days. What now?”

“Settle in, I guess.” His cousin tucked his pencil into his journal and closed it, then awkwardly moved over to the other chair. “I got some playing cards from Matt. Want to play Speed?”

Trev nodded, although he wasn't exactly ecstatic at the suggestion. “This might be a boring winter.”

“Hopefully.” Lewis's expression darkened. “Shame about the terabytes of entertainment I had back at the shelter. It's probably all still there, but without the solar panels those hard drives might as well be paperweights. And without us there to take care of things damp might set in and it'll probably all be ruined by spring.”

There wasn't much to say to that. Lewis started dealing, and as the wind howled outside the shelter, rustling the few exposed corners of tarp near the door, they settled down to wait out the storm.

* * * * *

The FETF soldier finally stepped back, lowering his crowbar to rest at his side as he wiped sweat from his forehead with his free hand. That made a dozen holes he'd punched in the walls around the room looking for hidden compartments, which of course he hadn't found.

“Satisfied?” Matt's dad asked, trying not to let his hostility show. He stood with his wife, Matt, and Sam, huddled in the corner as they did their best to stay out of the soldier's way.

Ferris must've heard it in his tone anyway because he turned from the hole and frowned at him. “You make it sound like this is personal, Larson. This is just a standard inspection, same as we do for everyone else in town.”

Sure it was. Matt was sure everyone else in town had their couch cushions torn open, walls smashed into, and floorboards ripped up, not just the family living in one of the only households in Aspen Hill that had held out and refused to voluntarily allow an inspection even when the administrator made them mandatory. Not to mention the fact that Matt was friends with the cousins who'd had a treasure trove of supplies for Ferris to loot and the man was probably hoping for more of the same here. If so he'd be disappointed.

It was probably not a good idea to mention any of that, although he couldn't keep completely quiet. “So now we're eligible to go through the ration line?”

The bureaucrat's eyes narrowed. “You are. Once the inspection is complete. Although I should inform you that we've had to go to half rations.”

Matt tried not to show his alarm. That was a bad sign. “Even people going through the line are already starving. This is going to make it worse.”

“And whose fault is that?” Ferris snapped. “Hoarding food while others are starving is a crime against the law as well as a decent person's conscience. We're trying to keep everyone alive here.”

Yeah, and making sure everyone starves in the process, just like Dad and the cousins warned at the meeting a month and a half ago
, Matt thought. “Why are you talking like there's a bunch of food out there? You're gathering every spare scrap you can find to hand out in the ration line, so if there's not enough that means there's more mouths to feed than food to feed them.” Ferris just glared at him, so he continued. “If you're satisfied we don't have any food maybe you can let us get back to trying to survive.”

For a moment he was afraid he'd pushed the FETF administrator too far, but before Ferris could say anything one of the soldiers who'd been investigating the yard burst into the room. To Matt's horror he was holding one of the sacks of root vegetables Sam had harvested weeks ago. “Found some food hidden beneath the gardening tools out in their shed, sir!” he said excitedly.

Sam grabbed Matt's hand in worry as Ferris slowly turned to look at them, as well as at his parents. “So much for not having any food,” he said sarcastically.

Matt's dad stepped forward. “We never said we didn't,” he protested.

“No, you never said anything. You've got to be the most uncooperative people I've ever met.” Ferris looked each of them over for an uncomfortably long time, expression slowly darkening. “You might have other hidden food, so permission to go through the ration line is denied. Including the refugee staying with you, since it looks as if she's been double dipping from the line
and
your hoard.” The bureaucrat motioned to the two soldiers with him and stormed out into the yard to investigate the cache in the shed.

Once they were gone Matt's mom and dad started quietly picking up their scattered possessions.

Sam broke away from his side to join his parents in cleaning up. For a moment Matt continued to stand where he was, shaken by what had just happened. Their home invaded and trashed, their food taken, all within less than an hour. And even worse, not only did they not get access to the ration line as a consolation but Sam had been barred from it because of them.

There was nothing to be done about it, though. It was what it was. Matt stepped forward to help, but before he could begin his mom stopped him. “You were going to go out, right?” she asked gently.