Fire From the Sky: Hostile Fire Page 2
She had expected him to do as she told him, just as he would when he was younger. That had definitely been a mistake for the simple reason that Clay was no longer a child. She had been so happy to see him home that she had often overlooked that.
Her second mistake was similar, which was her belief that she knew best and that Clay should listen to her for that reason as well as the fact that she was his mother. She had ignored the fact that Clay had literally been around the world in the years he had been gone, and had spent a good deal of that time in combat with some truly evil people. Moreover, he had led other men into combat, commanding their actions and responsible for them. It was the height of foolishness to believe he had learned nothing in that time.
She finished drying the dishes she had used for breakfast and placed the last of them where they should be. As she wiped down her counter and table, she reflected on the confrontations she had engaged in with her youngest child. The idea that he should find mattresses for the children in the orphanage was the first real problem. She had hounded him continually despite his reluctance to be off the farm for any reason. She had already strained her relationship with him when Abby had ran off to Peabody, laying blame on Clay for not going to rescue her friend. Clay had lost his best friend going after Abby and even now seemed to harbor lingering resentment toward them all over that.
But then he had to endure her pecking at him at every turn over something so simple as mattresses. In a time when people were struggling for enough to eat, struggling just to survive. Looking back at it now, she could see how petty it had all been. Why couldn't she see it then? Was it that hard to see?
She finished in her kitchen and walked outside, heading for her seed garden. Unlike all the other garden plots, this one was being grown strictly for seed. Heirloom seeds planted in the best soil and receiving the best plant nutrients she could provide would, Lord willing, produce copious amounts of precious seeds for next year and perhaps the year after that. Hopefully enough seeds to part with some of them to others, either as gifts to help them in feeding themselves, or in trade for goods or services the farm wanted in return.
Even as she inspected the first row of plants her mind returned to Clayton. She had questioned almost every decision he had made, ignoring how difficult some of those decisions had to have been for him and the difficult position her opposition to him placed him in as well. Again, she had believed she knew best and had insisted that her way be followed.
When he stopped coming to her table to eat, she knew he was angry, but had fully expected him to return in no more than a week. That had not happened and she saw no sign that it would. It was as if he had forgotten that she cooked for everyone at suppertime most every day.
Even then she hadn't stopped but instead continued to pile on him. She had been incensed over his treatment of the woman that had been captured by his newly arrived friends, and had marched straight to him along with Marla and Malitha, making demands on him that he had cast aside without a thought, reminding them that they were not in a position to make demands. That had made her angry and she had spoken to Gordon, who had reluctantly went to speak to Clayton. Her husband had returned from that discussion appearing shaken, reporting that what Clay was doing was for the best after all and to leave it alone.
Next had been the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back; the situation with those two women, one of whom was working in the orphanage of all places.
She took the time to prune a few leaves from a plant that had begun to shrivel, removing them from the plant so that it would not strain to provide for them. Hopefully the stronger leaves would bloom now that the dead weight was gone.
Angela had firmly believed that there was no place on the farm for a homosexual couple, let alone for one of them to be working with small children, yet Clay had refused to remove her. Then, Malitha George had sabotaged everything with her lie about Trudy Leighton.
Placing her trust in Malitha had left Angela on the opposite side of a vicious argument with not only her son but the remainder of her family as well. She had been unpleasantly surprised at that, and then brutally surprised when she found that Malitha had lied to her in order to get her support.
Angela had faced off against her son over a lie, taking a side opposite of his on the word of someone else. In a grandson who was firmly infused with the blood and teaching of Leon Sanders, that was tantamount to blasphemy. You didn't side with others against family unless you knew damn well what you were talking about. Angela had not, allowing her anger to influence her decisions as well as her overall attitude, and now she was paying for it.
While Clayton might forgive her, and probably already had, it was foolish to believe he would ever, ever forget it. Leon wouldn't, so Clay would not be likely to either.
Angela stopped her work, standing to allow her back a break. She looked over the plot of her seed garden as she considered the last few days. Her decisions had poisoned her relationship with her son, strained her relationship with her husband and the rest of her family, and left her isolated in a way she had not known before now.
If all of them believed her to be in the wrong, then she had to examine her actions. They couldn't all be mistaken, could they?
-
“Today is the last official day of training for your class,” Nate Caudell surveyed the members of what he and the others were calling Class One or First Class. All of them had passed, a few with flying colors even. The looks on their faces as he spoke was a combination of relief and pride. He didn't blame them.
“I want you to listen to me carefully,” he warned, popping their elation quickly and cleanly. “Do not allow the skills and the conditioning you have gained here to go to seed. Continue your physical training, preferably every day. Keep your cardio up as well as your strength training. Carry your weapons and gear with you wherever you go. Remember your assigned emplacements in case of the alarm being sounded and get there as quickly as you can.”
“I realize some of you have children,” he continued. “I have a newborn son of my own. I know what you're feeling. Try and force it down. Some of the most capable among you are in charge of the safety of our children. Trust in them to protect your kids, just like they're trusting you to protect the rest of the farm, including them.”
“It's my hope you'll never have to use the training we've given you, but realistically I know that isn't likely. Don't let your skills deteriorate. We'll have monthly training just like the guard and reserves do, but this is likely the last time you will have been assembled like this as a class. Refresher training will most likely be broken down by fire teams.”
“Some of you have surprised me,” he admitted. “Some of you have purely shocked me, to be honest,” he added with a grin and saw several faces grinning back. “All of you have made me proud. I know, without doubt, that you have the skills and knowledge you need to protect this place. Even if we aren't here, you can do it alone. You can protect this farm and the people who call it home.”
“So be proud of yourselves, and your teammates. You deserve it and you've earned it. Head on off to lunch and then to your normal assignments just like it was another training day. Tomorrow I'm sure the work roster will look different, but for today it's the same. Congratulations.”
He watched the group file out, talking among themselves, proud of what they had accomplished. They had worked hard for a good while, and had suffered through the hard physical training he had put them through to get them to this point. He hadn't been exaggerating. They could most likely defend the farm without the help of the soldier contingent if necessary.
The smile on his face slowly faded as Nate wondered which of his proud, excited trainees he would have to bury first.
-
“Move around here you stubborn jackass,” Gordy muttered as he struggled to get an especially obstinate donkey to clear the way for his horse. Said donkey was using a large cedar fence post as a scratching post and was very reluctant to surrender it, even f
or the man on the horse. It finally decided to give in, if only for the moment, and move grudgingly out of the way so that Gordy could get to the post.
“Doesn't look cut,” Gordy continued to mutter as he examined the broken wire that ran atop the post. He pulled a pair of lineman's pliers from his saddlebags and cut a length of strong wire from the small roll behind his saddle. Cutting the current wire back a few more inches to remove the weaker area that had succumbed to weather induced rust, he quickly spliced the new, stronger wire into the breach, carefully bending the ends of the wire in on itself before snipping them, leaving the wire a bit stronger as well as being repaired and ensuring that no part of the jagged wire was exposed to injure either animal nor man.
“Alright, you mangy idiot,” he spoke to the donkey again. “It's all yours again.”
As if understanding him, the donkey moved immediately back to the post and resumed using it to scratch his flank.
“And I wanted to do this for a living,” Gordy sighed, shaking his head slowly. He goaded his horse slightly with his heels, sending him moving further down the fence line as he continued to check the condition of the fencing.
While Gordy had duties among the security detail, he also had duties to perform on his family's ranch. He had intended to one day manage the ranch anyway, having selected his college destination based on the agriculture degree offered there. The CME had canceled that plan rather effectively, opening a whole new view of the world to the young farmer and cattleman.
The conditions that followed the loss of most powered systems anywhere around had changed a great deal more than just Gordy's immediate plans. His uncle returning as he had and planning for the coming disaster had left the Sanders family in far better shape than they had any right to expect, though it was more from hard work than luck. Well, hard work and great deal of money. Money that Gordy all but knew had to have been ill gotten. His great-grandfather was practically a legend in the whole region around them and Gordy has always looked up to him as someone who loved his family and took care of them. He was also someone who got things done.
Gordy was smart enough to know that there was no way Leon should have the kind of money he had access to before the Event. Likewise, his Uncle Clay could never have accounted for the amount of money he had spent in preparation for the disaster that had beset them. But Clay had easily, almost cheerfully admitted to stealing the money he had spent, taking it from an African warlord and splitting it among his men and the village they had befriended.
Leon would die at the end of a pike before actually admitting to anything other than being hard to get along with as he sang in the church choir. Gordy almost snorted at the mental image of an innocent looking Leon Sanders steadfastly proclaiming his pure and noble heart to all and sundry.
Regardless of what money had come from where, it was thanks to the two of them that the Sanders family and their few associates were not in the same leaky boat that the majority of the world was in this very day.
But that very preparedness had opened the Sanders up to attacks even from their supposed friends. Many had come expecting to just take their cattle and any other food they had, and to no doubt help themselves to anything else they wanted from a family that had worked hard for everything they owned. Those attacks had failed spectacularly, though not without cost.
Even those people that the Sanders assisted had often grumbled that it was 'unfair' for the Sanders to have it so much better than so many others. Never mind that the Sanders had worked hard, never mind that they had paid good money for whatever they had, never mind that the Sanders family had always been generous to a fault with their neighbors and had remained so even in times of crisis.
His Uncle Clay had warned the entire family that it would be that way, but few had listened. Gordy himself had listened, but had not imagined just how bad things would be. He had been prepared for the occasional troublemaker of course, but he had never thought to see so many people engaged in such bitter and vicious tactics. Some were strangers, that was true, but many of them, far too many of them had been people known to his family for years, decades in some cases.
Hardship and loss had changed a great many people it seemed, and it had never been for the good.
“Move over,” he put his foot flat against a cow and pushed. He could never actually move the large beast, but the pressure of his foot was enough to let her know that he wanted by and the cow slowly moved on, looking for another place to stand and chew her cud.
The world may have gone back in time, their neighbors may have turned against them, enemies might threaten them from multiple directions, but one thing had remained constant.
He had to mend the fences and tend the cattle. Just like always.
-
Samantha Walters hummed happily as she hung freshly washed clothing on the line behind Robert and Patricia Sanders' home. Some would no doubt think it odd that she was happy in her present circumstances, what with her parents missing these last six months and her having left her home to take up residence on the Sanders' Ranch rather than her own.
But things were not so bad as they might seem, her parents missing aside. In fact, had things somehow developed the same way had the world not suffered a catastrophic disaster, she might well have ended up living on the Sanders' ranch anyway.
She ran through her memory of her 'date' with Gordy Sanders yet again as she took a bed sheet from the hamper beside her and flung it over the line. The breeze was enough to make the sheet stir slightly even though heavy with water from the wash.
They had gone to the new 'club' over on the old Troy place. There had been music and dancing, food and drink, video games, card games and board games galore and even a Dungeons and Dragons set up that was also open to other, similar gaming. While a far cry from the amenities a young dating couple could have accessed less than a year ago, it was nothing short of wondrous in their new circumstances.
She had never been a dancer, being too much of a wall flower as her mother put it, but Gordy had refused to take no for an answer and she had found herself being whirled about on the small dance floor of 'Deuce's Place' before she knew it. Soon others were dancing, new couples forming up and people their age coming in from all over the farm. For a group of young adults that had seen a great deal of hardship in the past months, 'Deuce's Place' had been a welcome reprieve, however temporary it might seem.
After several hours together at the small club, Gordy and Sam had slowly walked home, hand in hand. Since she literally lived one door down the hall from him, the usual ritual of awkwardness at the front door didn't take place. Instead, Gordy simply held the door open for her and then followed her inside, closing, locking and then barring the door since all the occupants were at home for the evening.
The two had kissed goodnight and then separated, Sam going to the room she shared with Gordy's sister Abigail while Gordy first checked the house, ensuring all the doors and windows were properly secured before retiring to his own room.
Abigail Sanders had been waiting for an hour for Sam to arrive, having left the small club earlier than her friend. As soon as Sam was inside, she had immediately demanded to know 'how it went'. Sam had admitted that 'it' had gone just fine, thank you very much, but then steadfastly refused to give up any more information. Abby tried in vain to trick her friend of a lifetime into revealing anything about the relationship between Sam and Gordy, but Sam had not risen to the bait. Playfully frustrated, Abby vowed to find out as she punched her pillow and settled in to sleep, followed quickly by Sam.
Sam smiled at the memory, and at the fact that Abby had yet to find out anything. It had become almost a game by now, with Sam returning blow-for-blow at times by digging into Abby's relationship with Jody Thompson. It was nice to have her friend back the way she was supposed to be and not as she was immediately following the Event.
Sam finished with the basket she was working on and carried it toward the house. There would be another basket ready to hang in mere
minutes, assuming it wasn't already. They were fortunate to still have working appliances and they all knew it. It was a power drain, but Clay and the Twins had planned for that and done well. It was almost a surety that one day they would have to wash clothing by hand thanks to the solar storm, though fortunately for them, today wasn't that day.
But laundry was still a chore and still had to be done.
-
“I'm not sure I can do that,” Darrell Goodrum said slowly as he read over the list Leon 'Deuce' Tillman had given him.
“Is it too hard to do?” Deuce asked, frowning.
“No, it's not the work,” Goodrum shook his head in agitation. “It's the material. I can make the tool heads just fine. I admit they may be a bit rough, but they'll work just fine. But I don't have the kind of material I need to make these kinds of tools on this scale.”
“What material do you need?” Deuce asked. “And where would you get it if things were still like they were before?”
“Well, for garden hoses, shovels and rakes, plain old cold-rolled steel would be fine,” Goodrum went down the list again. “For axes, wrenches and stuff like that, you would need a higher quality metal. Preferably tool grade steel. As for where you can get it,” he frowned slightly.
“There was always a small supply of workable metals at places like Tractor Supply, Lowes and Home Depot, places like that. Around here, one of the best places was Meecham's Steel Yard. Up the interstate a little ways?” he looked at Deuce, who nodded.
“He'd have pipe, plate, bar, even channel iron and maybe a few I-beams,” the blacksmith recited. “But that was before. I got no way of knowing what he might have now, or what he'd want in exchange for it, neither.”
“So, I need to find out if he's still got anything, and if he does what he wants for it,” Deuce nodded. “I had another idea, too,” he added after a pause. “What about leaf springs? Like from cars and trucks, or maybe trailers? Could you use that stuff? Lot of that laying around now on stuff that won't ever run again.”