The Journal: Cracked Earth (26 page)

John and Guy had slipped away, giving Dawn
the opportunity to ask me some questions.

“Where and when did you meet John? You’ve
been single, unattached, all the years I’ve known you. Tell me all
about him!” Dawn probed, pouring more wine in my glass, and then
she grinned at my embarrassment.

“There’s really not much to tell, Dawn. He’s
one of the miners, and I’ve been giving him a massage every week
for over a year. We’ve been developing feelings for each other for
quite a while, but it would have been improper to have a
relationship. Of course, all that propriety became moot with the
disaster shutting us off from everything. About a month ago he
showed up at my door and he’s been with me ever since.” I shrugged
my shoulders, not knowing how to hide my discomfort in discussing
my private life, even with a close friend.

“Well, I think it’s wonderful that you
finally have someone!” Dawn gushed. “Tell me what’s going on in
town.”

We chatted for another hour, with me doing
most of the talking, filling her in on various events and mutual
friends.

It really was getting late. That’s when I
noticed that Guy and John were still nowhere around. We found them
in the basement workshop. When Guy found out that John knew so much
about guns, he asked for help. There they were, a rifle
disassembled between them. John had just finished adjusting the
trigger tension and was reassembling it when I mentioned that it
was time to go.

I can’t avoid the office completely, though I’d like
to these days. After our morning breakfast of toast and coffee,
John and I left around ten o’clock for town. I’m still thankful I
switched over to almost all battery clocks years ago, so I can
still keep track of the time.

I was delighted to find Anna in her office.
She was still tired, yet managed to give me a weak smile.

“Allexa, I don’t know how to thank you for
all you’ve done this past week,” she said. Then she coughed. I
backed up and pulled up the mask that was already hanging around my
neck.

“It was only a tickle, don’t freak.” She took
a sip of bottled water.

“I’m not freaking, just being cautious,” I
said through the mask. “So what’s the story with Pete? Is he back?
I can understand how upset he was about Agnes’ death, but we need
him.”

“He’s back, with a mega-hang over!” she
chuckled. “The school is now empty of—”

“Okay, that’s good,” I interrupted, having a
flashback of that mattress piled with bodies. “Are there any
messages for me?”

“Nope. Were you expecting something?” She
raised her eyebrows in question.

“I asked Tom about getting us some food out
here. I was hoping for a note that said when it would arrive.
Though, like with the diesel, it might just show up. By the way, if
that happens, it will go to the EMS building next door. Someone is
always still there, aren’t they?”

“Yes, Gray and Patty are taking alternate
shifts. I sure hope something arrives soon,” she said pushing
herself away from the desk. I backed up again. “Okay, I’ll stay
here until you leave.”

I laughed. “Gray’s back then?” Last I’d heard
he went to town with the twenty flu victims.

“Oh, yeah, he didn’t stay at the hospital. He
came back with the drivers. I understand he had a couple packs of
noodle soup and then slept for a day, and is doing better now that
he gets regular rest.” She paused. “That was the right call, you
know, sending everyone to the hospital. They would have all died
here.”

* * *

I climbed in the car, reached across the
seats, and gave John a kiss. “How about a road trip?” I asked.

“Okay,” he said after he pushed his knit cap
back, rubbing his hands over his balding scalp, a movement that is
so
John, and tells me he’s pausing to think. “Where to?”

“Marquette.” I grinned. “I think it’s time
that we see what’s going on, firsthand.”

* * *

A hundred yards before the railroad tracks
that take coal from the docks, there was a roadblock, manned by the
Michigan National Guard.

“Ma’am, your business in Marquette?” asked
the young girl in uniform.

I pulled my emergency management
identification from the visor and handed it to her. “I’m on my way
to see Tom White at the Post,” I said, hoping she would take my
bluff. She nodded, scribbled something down on her clipboard and
handed back my ID. Then she looked into the car at John. Before she
could ask I said, “He’s my bodyguard. Is Washington open, or should
I stick to Wright?”

“Washington is open, Ma’am, but Wright Street
is safer,” she said, stepping away from the car to let us pass.

Washington was open but not safe? My
curiosity was peaked. I followed CR 695 to the end and turned onto
Lakeshore away from the power plant. It was always a pleasant
drive; now it was eerily void of traffic. I turned right onto
Washington Street, Marquette’s main drag.

The movie theater was boarded up and the
marquis still showed a movie from months ago. The bank on the
corner had an armed guard stationed at the door, which meant the
bank was still open. An entire block of stores was now blackened
rubble. I had seen enough. Across from the park, a bookstore was
open and seemed to be doing a thriving business. It also had a
guard stationed at the door, holding an M-16. The guard watched us
as we drove by.

I drove us past more burned out buildings,
more armed guards, and more empty faces.

“I know you still have to see Tom, otherwise
I’d insist that we get out of here,” John said. He was getting
twitchy beside me, and he kept watching the roadside, eyes darting,
looking for any wrong movement.

We pulled into the Post parking lot, it too
was nearly empty. I was familiar with the procedure, having been
there to see Liz several times. I hit the call button located
inside the solid glass vestibule of bulletproof glass. I introduced
myself and asked to see Tom. A few minutes later I was buzzed in,
given a clip-on badge, and directed to his upstairs office.

“You took quite a chance coming here without
an appointment,” he said while leaning back in his chair and eyed
me. There was a time, years ago, that we had entertained the idea
of dating, but his marriage ended that abruptly. “You’re looking
well.”

“You look like you could use twenty-four
hours of sleep and a week-long cruise to the Bahamas. Besides, I’m
finding that just showing up gets better results.”

He laughed. “Gosh, it’s good to see you,
Allex,” he said leaning forward on his elbows. “What can I do for
you?”

“Food, Tom. Moose Creek is starving. You know
that no one can get past the checkpoints without a good reason, and
I doubt that there’s anything in the grocery stores anyway.
Anything at all, a couple cases of soup, Spam— anything!”

He pulled a notepad out, wrote something at
the top, and signed the bottom. He stood up and handed it to me. It
was a request form for the bulk food store! “I still wish you would
consider being my assistant, Allex.”

* * *

After I left Tom’s office with that
requisition in my hand, I felt exhilarated, giddy with excitement.
We went directly to the warehouse.

At the counter, I presented the paperwork and
asked what I could have. The older woman handling the bulk orders
asked how many I was feeding. When I told her seventy-five, she
looked up. I smiled and shrugged, and said, “A whole town. Moose
Creek.”

While John wandered the aisles, I sat with a
checklist: flour, sugar, salt and yeast, cases of soup, veggies,
pasta and bags of rice. I checked off powdered milk, cheese, dried
potatoes, canned meats and fish, along with fruit, cooking oil,
shortening, dry mixes for seasoning and soup base, boxes of cereal
for the kids, cakes mixes and chocolate chips, #10 cans of
spaghetti sauce, chili and taco sauce, oatmeal, eggs, and even
bacon was available.

The lady looked over my list. “You haven’t
put down any amounts.”

“I don’t know how much I can have. We’ll take
anything you can give us.” She nodded. “What about non-food items?”
I asked, then explained about the Stone Soup Kitchen, and our
recent bout with the flu, hoping to get a couple boxes of
food-handlers’ plastic gloves. As I was finishing, John came back
to the counter.

“Can
I
buy something?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He hurried away with a wide grin on his
face.

I was surprised that we could arrange
delivery for the next day at noon. I felt short of breath and felt
like weeping with relief.

* * *

JOURNAL ENTRY: January 20

Tonight I laid awake and thought about that
dream of my house in the woods. Sometimes dreams are just dreams.
Sometimes dreams are our subconscious trying to tell us something.
Maybe it’s time for me to completely forget about that life and
move on. That house will never be mine again and I will never again
have a say in what happens to it. I’ve known this in my head, but
it’s been hard for my heart to accept it.

I read over what I had written about that
dream, and Sam. Sam is tall, handsome, and a charming bipolar
narcissist with a truly evil streak. He no longer lives anywhere
around here. He was a part of my life for nine years and those
years shaped much who I am now and why I feel the way I do.

It’s time to let go of my anger and fear of
him now.

* * *

I wanted to be at the EMS building when the
delivery arrived, so John and I left the house at 11:30 A.M. to
begin setting up. After looking things over, I was really glad we
got there early since the EMS building would not work. All of the
EMS and fire trucks needed to be parked inside, which left little
room for the space that was needed. Back at the township offices,
Pete helped us pull long tables out of the storage closet and line
them up so we could organize the supplies and disperse them. First
we had to move out all the crafts the Ladies Knitting group was
making out of the recycled trash. We moved plant stands that were
made from two oil bottles with the bottoms glued together, and then
flat dishes glued to the top and bottom that created a base and a
place to put a plant. There were pincushions made from tuna cans,
and rugs made from scrap material

While the stuff was being moved, I headed to
the EMS building to intercept the delivery truck. The driver wasn’t
happy about the change in location, however when I explained that
it was right next door, he was okay with that.

At first it didn’t look like much, but when
we took the cases out of the van, they really began to add up.
Several volunteers unloaded the supplies, while I gave directions
where to put things. I signed the receipt and walked through the
aisles to see what we had. When I stopped at the miscellaneous
table, included were six boxes of food handler gloves and a case
each of toilet paper, paper towels and tissues! I wasn’t quite sure
what to make of the gross of gallon and quart zipper baggies,
still, I wasn’t going to complain.

It seemed easier to put one or two cases of
something on the table, and the rest on floor underneath, where it
would still be easy to reach. It was starting to take shape, and
now I needed a way to hand it out. I thought about giving it all to
the soup kitchen, but that defeated the purpose of everyone having
a choice of either sharing it, or fixing their meals at home. First
we needed a count of how many people were still here that needed to
be fed.

Neither Anna nor Carolyn could agree on a
number of residents remaining. It could be as few as fifty, or as
many as a hundred. Those out in the woods were more self-sufficient
and were hunkering down. We probably wouldn’t see them until
Spring. Between the three of us, we decided that the bulk items,
like the three hundred pounds of flour and yeast, cooking oil and
shortening, soup bases, and the #10 cans should go to the Stone
Soup Kitchen for community meals. It would be too difficult to
divide that up. With the remainder, we selected what it would take
to feed one person one decent meal per day, then gathered a week’s
worth so we could hand out one bag per person. They could always
get a second meal at the soup kitchen, which would be more than
most were getting now. We will have to keep track of who came in
and when. Unfortunately, this inventory room will have to be kept
closed and locked except during selected grocery days. Since I
procured the food, I left it up to Anna and Carolyn on how best to
distribute. I was tired, emotionally drained and ready to go
home.

Before leaving, I did a quick calculation.
With the food here, it looked like we could keep fifty people fed
for a month. It was a good start.

* * *

It was a night for comfort food. I mixed up a
large chicken noodle casserole using a jar of chicken thighs I
canned in the fall, with egg noodles, one of the few remaining cans
of mushroom soup, a jar of my garden peas and a mixture of cheeses
on top.

As I put the dish in the oven to heat, John
came into the kitchen with a devious look on his face.

“What are you up to?” I asked with a
grin.

“I brought you a gift,” he replied. From
behind his back, he brought out a bag of lettuce that he had
purchased at the warehouse. He chuckled at my astonished look.
Tonight we could have a fresh salad. It made my day!

* * *

I’m sure John doesn’t know that I remember
today is his birthday, but I do. Alone in our bedroom last night, I
asked him what he missed the most.

“My family,” he answered. I could feel the
sorrow in his voice, and I thought of my Eric in Florida. I
wondered when I would hear from him again and my heart stuttered.
We were silent for a while. I thought he had fallen asleep, and
then he chuckled, “And smokes.”