The Journal: Cracked Earth (23 page)

* * *

Ken decided to take the first shift of guard
duty so Karen could go home and catch a nap. He was caught unaware
when a dozen men stormed the building.

“Get out of the way, Ken. We want Junior. We
don’t want to hurt you,” Buddy sneered, leading the group of
locals.

“Carl,” Ken said, using Buddy’s given name,
“you don’t want to do this. Just go on back home now, all of you.”
The crowd was forming in the store. When nobody moved, Ken racked
the twelve gauge shotgun, chambering a load, making it ready to
fire. The liquid courage Buddy had fed his friends faded fast with
the resistance to their demands. A second shotgun was heard racking
from behind and Karen appeared in the doorway with her shotgun
ready. Then Lenny stepped around her and leveled
his
gun at
the mob.

“This isn’t over, Ken,” Buddy threatened,
encouraging his followers to leave. At the last minute, Buddy
turned back and fired at Junior, who was curled up in a corner. Ken
used the butt of his shotgun on the back of Buddy’s head, knocking
him out. The shot, which echoed through the building, ricocheted
off the old walls, sending out a shower of plaster and dust, missed
its target.

Once the first shot rang out, the crowd
started to stampede, and someone tripped or was shoved and his gun
discharged, sending the round wild, hitting Karen. No one really
knows yet who fired the third round that hit Ken.

* * *

Karen staggered out of the gift shop and
leaned against the door jamb. Once she recognized us, she slumped
over. Lenny, a former member of the EMS team, was tending to Ken,
who had taken one in the shoulder. Karen had a graze on her calf.
Junior was still curled up in the corner, and Buddy was now
handcuffed to the bars.

Inside the Down Riggers, I used the still
working landline to call our fire chief, who used his 800 radio to
call Gray. Since Gray was taking a rotational turn sleeping in the
Fire/EMS building, he arrived in minutes. He took over working on
Ken, while Lenny cleaned and dressed Karen’s calf.

“Karen, what the hell happened here?” I
yelled frantically, no longer containing myself.

* * *

I borrowed Gray’s radio to get to dispatch
and demanded to talk to Tom White, and I was pissed enough that I
was put right through to him.

“We now have both of our officers down and
two
prisoners instead of one, because
your
dispatcher
wouldn’t take an
arsonist/murderer
off our hands! And you
want me to
leave
here?” I yelled, trying to explain what
happened here.

I was mad, really mad.

“Have Gray transport Ken to the hospital. I’m
sending two scout cars. I’ll find out about dispatch on this end,”
he said after I explained the situation. Then he hung up.

Karen was shaken, but doing okay otherwise.
When the backup arrived, she went home. One police cruiser took the
two prisoners to Marquette, while the other parked himself at the
EMS building.

“I’m correcting an oversight,” I said as I placed a
long Styrofoam box on the kitchen table.

John unfastened the tape to reveal an AR15 in
its original Cosmoline packing grease, and still wrapped in
plastic. He looked like a kid being handed the keys to the candy
store.

“You’ll have to clean it up of course,” I
said. “Considering yesterday, I think we should have the heavier
firepower, don’t you?”

While John cleaned the rifle, I worked at
putting a casserole together for Karen.

John leaned over my shoulder. “Looks good,
when’s dinner?”

“This one is for Karen. Want to take a quick
trip with me?”

* * *

Not only was Karen home, so was Ken, which
surprised me. He sported a sling and she had a limp. They were both
in good spirits, and also pissed off, so this was a good sign.

“Ken, can you shed any light on who shot
you?” John asked.

“Not at all,” Ken frowned. “Once I saw Karen
there, I knew that I was good. Lenny was a bonus. You were right
about him, Allexa. Anyway, my attention was drawn to Buddy and
Junior. I didn’t see anything. They definitely pulled a .38 out of
me. It’s not something that
we
use anymore, only .357’s, and
the shotguns.”

“I’ve got a question that has been puzzling
me, Ken, please don’t be offended,” I said carefully. “I’m
wondering, considering the scope of the offenses, why didn’t you
just execute Junior right away? Obviously, that’s what the
townspeople expected, or they wouldn’t have confronted you
yesterday. Way out here, we’re in a ‘wild west’ situation, and on
our own. No one questioned the Harris situation, have they? It was
justified. Wouldn’t it also have been justified to terminate
Junior?”

There was a long pause before Ken answered.
“I’ve been thinking about that all night. Perhaps it would have
been the thing to do, but I spent twenty-eight years on the police
force, arresting those who took the law into their own hands. It’s
a hard thing, a
very
hard thing to be on the other side now.
It crossed my mind when we first arrested Junior, I’ll be honest
about that. I couldn’t do it though,” Ken replied while nervously
shifting his weight in his recliner. “What if I had shot him? And
what if the world comes back to normal next week? I would have that
boy’s death hanging on me for the rest of my life. Yes, he’s crazy,
right now
, without his meds, but with them he was a ghost in
this town, quiet and unseen, and not bothering anyone. I went to
school with his mother. I’ve watched him grow up,” his voice
hitched. “I just couldn’t do it, Allexa. Can you understand
that?”

“Yes, I can, Ken. You might want to think
more about it, though, because it’s bound to come up again, maybe
soon. People are getting hungry, real hungry, and with the deeper
snow now, hunting is sporadic at best. There’s bound to be more
violence, more theft, and then what are you going to do? What are
we
going to do? Stealing food could become a hanging
offense.” Our two new officers had nothing to say. “We should go so
you both can get some rest. Tom will want his officer and cruiser
back soon.”

I left the casserole on the table, leaving
them to figure out how to heat it.

* * *

On the morning of the 7th, I made some quick
calculations regarding a five-gallon bucket of rice. It holds
thirty pounds, which equals seventy-five cups of raw rice, which is
one hundred and fifty cups cooked. At one-quarter cup of cooked
rice per serving, that’s six hundred servings in a bucket. With
fifty people left in town that doesn’t cover two weeks’ worth of
food. They will just have to make it stretch even further. I took
one more bucket of rice and a one pound carton of salt to Pastor
Carolyn and told her it was the last, that I had shared all I
could. She said she understood and thanked me for all I had done. I
decided against adding the pasta or bouillon and I’m confident
Carolyn will keep my donations a secret. I know I could give her
more, however, that would only encourage dependency on the part of
the town. They now needed to stand up on their own, leave, or die.
Many of them would indeed leave when this bucket ran out. Would it
be too late to go to the city? Would they even be allowed in? I
should ask Tom White about that next time we talk.

* * *

I walked into the house after my visit to
Pastor Carolyn. Jason and Jacob were there visiting with John and I
swept Jacob up into a hug, which made him giggle.

“Where’s Amanda?” I asked Jason when I saw
the sadness in his eyes. “She went back to Marquette, didn’t she?”
I asked flatly.

“This morning. I begged her to stay but it
didn’t do any good. She hates it here. Sometimes I think she always
has. She’s gone to stay with Lori,” he said with a tear in his
eyes. “I’m out of wood to burn and the snow is too deep now for me
to cut more, plus I can’t leave Jacob alone. The house is really
cold, and Amanda took the bucket with the last of the rice. I
didn’t know where else to go, Mom. Can we stay with you for a
while?”

“Of course you can. We can use the extra
security, too, right John?”

“Actually, we can. Did you bring your .308
with you?” John asked. He was really getting into the guns,
ensuring that all of our weapons were cleaned and ready for
possible use. It was a huge relief to me.

“It’s out in the truck. I brought some
clothes, more of Jacob’s things and his school books. I wasn’t
really sure…”

“Jason, you know me better than that. I would
never turn you away.” I gave him a hug before retrieving the linens
and bedding for the futon that he and Jacob would share.

“If Jason is going to be here, we need to
redistribute the chores,” I said to John, and then turned to Jason.
“Right now, John shovels, brings in the wood, gases and starts the
gennie and maintains the guns.” I looked back at John. “Which
chores do you want to give to Jason?”

He smiled. I knew giving him the choice would
make things go much easier. “He can have the generator duty and the
shoveling. If it’s a heavy snow, we can share the shoveling.”

John’s choice didn’t surprise me. I know that
he really likes hauling in the wood for me. Maybe that’s it; it’s a
chore that’s a direct benefit to
me
. That’s sweet. In all
this violence, this mayhem, this
change
, my heart swelled
with pride at the generosity of my new mate.

“I will give him the chickens to tend too,” I
piped in. “I’ve still got plenty to do with the cooking, baking,
laundry and housework, though I do expect you to take care of yours
and Jacob’s room,” I said to Jason. “We all pitch in during the day
to keep the stove fed.”

“I think this is more than fair for what
you’re giving me in return. Mom, John, thank you,” he said, giving
me a big hug.

Jacob came into the kitchen and asked for
Sponge Bob. Jason got up to take care of that. “Mom, the TV isn’t
working, no cable signal,” he called out from the other room.
That’s one more thing for me to look into at the office when I have
access to a real phone.

By the time I had washed two loads of laundry
and hung the wet clothes on the wooden racks to dry, it was getting
dark. I refilled the water buckets that I had emptied then put
their t-shirts and underwear in the dryer while Jacob watched the
end of a movie. I began to fold clothes and asked Jason to shut
down the gennie.

John’s remark about all of that pasta keeps
creeping into my head. I took out a box of multi-shapes from the
back and made macaroni and cheese for dinner. Even Jacob ate
some!

* * *

JOURNAL ENTRY: January 7

The past couple of days have been full, even
traumatic, for most of us, and we were all exhausted. John put wood
in the stove for the night. When we snuggled into bed, he told me
the snow is still falling, and is already at a good six or eight
inches in only a few hours.

I’m beginning to wonder if the earthquakes
have had some kind of impact on the weather.

Over coffee and toast, the three of us discussed the
snowstorm that was still swirling around us with an intensity I
haven’t seen in years.

“I think we should start melting some of this
snow for our water needs,” I suggested. I’ve been through this
before, years ago, and there is nothing like experience to show
that a full pail of snow renders only two inches of water when
melted. It’s a harsh reality for those who think it’s easy, and a
dependable method of having water.

“I suppose when I shovel the back deck I
could shovel into buckets and bring them inside,” Jason offered.
“Since I have to clear the deck anyway to access the generator, I
might as well make it useful.”

The first pail of snow took hours to melt
down and produced very little water. I did this intentionally so
John and Jason could see firsthand how little was gleaned from the
melting.

“If we start with hot water,” I said, pouring
warm water from the pot on the stove into the kettle with the snow,
“it speeds things up a bit. Once it comes to a boil, we will add
snow.” It melted almost immediately. I added more and more again,
until the snow stopped melting on contact. Then I let it heat and
come back to a boil. Heating warm water takes a lot less time than
trying to heat the frozen water we call snow, but it’s still time
consuming.

“Say, Mom, what if we now start using two
pots? We can double the production.”

Melting snow gave my guys a new project and
kept them busy while the wind howled outside. It made me smile to
see them work so well together. It then occurred to me that they
weren’t too far apart in age.

The storm raged on. It’s been thirty hours
now.

* * *

The plows came by around 4P.M. on the
afternoon of January 9th. There looks to be close to twenty-four
inches of snow. It’s hard to tell truly how much because of all the
drifting, and the winds are still blowing.

The guys are continuing to melt snow, but are
losing interest. It’s a lot of work for a small return. They’ve
realized the benefit of having the generator for our water
needs.

Shortly after the plows came by, so did
Karen. She waded through the drifts and got within twenty feet of
the house. It startled me that she was wearing a face mask.

“Karen, what’s up? Why the mask?” I asked
while staying on the porch.

“I needed to warn you,” she said. “Ken is
sick. We think that he picked up a virus when he was being treated
in the hospital.”