Finest Hour (19 page)

As they approached the porch, a man, easily Tanner’s size, albeit a bit softer in the middle, stepped from the house with a double-barreled shotgun that had more rust on it than metal. The hammers for both barrels were cocked back, but, thankfully, his finger was not resting on either of the triggers.

“Can I help you folks?” he said with a slight drawl.

Tanner looked up at the shotgun.

“Lowering that old gal would be a good start.”

“I’m afraid it’s that kind of world now, friend.”

“Isn’t that the truth.”

The woman came back out and stood beside her husband. She was petite and skinny with shoulders that slumped slightly forward. She had long dishwater-blonde hair and a face that was as tan as it was smooth. In another twenty years, the drudgery of hard work would take its toll, but for now, she enjoyed the simple beauty that young women never fully appreciate until it’s gone.

Samantha stepped around Tanner and offered a little curtsy.

“Excuse us for bothering you. We saw your sign and were wondering if you might have any honey you’d be willing to trade.”

The man looked over to his wife.

“Is that sign still up at the road?”

She nodded. “I never thought to take it down.”

He turned back to face them.

“What we really need is some help fixing a well.”

Samantha reached back and grabbed Tanner’s hand.

“He can fix anything. Can’t you, Tanner?”

Before he could answer, the man added, “I’ve got a pump with a bound motor. Think you could help me get it running?”

Tanner shrugged. “I can take a look.”

The man pointed the shotgun at the ground and carefully lowered the hammers before passing it off to his wife. She immediately set it inside the door, obviously relieved to have the thing put away.

“I’m Barret Jenkins,” the man said, stepping down off the porch and offering his hand. “And that’s my wife Haley.”

“Tanner Raines, and that’s Samantha.”

“Where you folks headed?”

Samantha started to say something and then stopped herself.

Tanner smiled. She was learning not to share her business with strangers.

“We’re headed north to take care of a family matter,” he said.

Barret nodded. “We’ll try not to hold you up too long.” He turned to his wife. “Could you bring us out a little sweet tea when you get a few?”

“Of course.” She held out a hand to Samantha. “Come on, dear, let’s leave the men to their work while we fix something to drink.”

Tanner studied the inner workings of the old one-line jet pump. The good news was that, unlike a submersible, the jet pump was above ground, making it easier to service. The bad news was that its motor windings had corroded and shorted out. The blackened wire now resembled a mound of spaghetti that had caught fire.

“Not good,” he said.

“You can’t fix it?”

“No one can. You’re going to need a new pump.”

Barret sat down on top of a small Honda generator and sighed.

“That’s kinda what I figured.”

“How deep is the well?”

“Maybe thirty feet. Why?”

“We could remove the pump and extract the water by hand.”

“If you’ve got a hand pump and pipe fittings in your car, we’ll be friends forever,” joked Barret.

Tanner grinned. “Sorry, no, but there might be another way.”

“Anything. We’re down to our last ten gallons of clean water.”

“Let’s scoop it out, like they did in the old days.”

“Okay, but how? We can’t very well fit a bucket down a five-inch shaft, and even if I could find a bucket that was small enough, we’d never get it to fill.”

“Do you have a short section of pipe that would fit down inside the shaft?”

Barret glanced over at his barn.

“I’ve got some PVC that would probably work. But I don’t see how that helps us.”

“How about a hand drill and a few nuts and bolts?”

“Of course.”

“A one-way valve?”

He shook his head. “That I don’t have.”

“It’s all right. I’m sure we can rig something up.”

Barret extended a hand and helped him to his feet.

“I don’t know what you have in mind, friend, but you’ve got my attention.”

Tanner looked back at the well.

“Barret, today you’re going to learn how to build a bailer bucket.”

Samantha leaned her rifle next to the double-barreled shotgun and pulled a chair up to the kitchen table.

“I’m sorry that we don’t have anything cold,” Haley said, setting a glass of golden brown tea in front of her.

“Oh, that’s okay. I’ve gotten used to warm drinks. Should we take some out to your husband and Tanner?”

“What do you say we let them work up a thirst first? It makes them appreciate us more.”

She shrugged. “Fine by me.”

“Have you and your dad been on the road a long time?”

“Off and on. We tend to stay on the move.”

“I see.” Haley poured herself a small glass of tea and sat down across from Samantha. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Nope. It’s just us.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, what happened to your mom?”

“She was killed.”

Haley nodded. “By the virus?”

“No, someone stabbed her.” Samantha said it all very matter of fact, like she was talking about a news story that had run the night before.

The woman made a pained face.

“That’s awful. I’m so sorry.”

Samantha took a drink of the tea. It tasted like they had stirred in an entire bag of sugar and then added a jar of honey for good measure.

“Yum,” she said. “This is delicious.”

“Really? It’s not too sweet?”

“Unh-unh,” she said, taking another drink, “but I’m not sure if Tanner’s going to like it. Other than honey, he doesn’t really like sweet things.”

“Why do you call your dad by his first name?”

She shrugged. “We didn’t see a lot of each other when I was little, so it feels weird calling him anything other than his name.”

“Ah, I see.”

Samantha offered nothing more. It was a truth wrapped around a lie, and if she went any further, the lie might shine through.

“What’s he like?”

“Who? Tanner?”

Haley nodded.

Samantha thought for a moment.

“He’s hard to describe. My mom would say that he’s rude to a fault, whatever that means. He also thinks that the best way to settle any disagreement is with a boot to the head. Worst of all, he likes to steal anything that isn’t nailed down. And don’t even get me started on how much he sweats.”

“Wow,” she said, sitting back. “No offense, but your dad sounds absolutely awful.”

Samantha’s eyes opened wide. “Awful? Are you kidding?”

“But you said—”

“I said that he’s a bit rough, that’s all. Tanner’s one of the best fathers any girl could ever ask for.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I don’t understand.”

Samantha studied her, wondering how a grown woman could possibly be so confused.

“The world just ended, and everyone died. You know that, right?” She said it as if explaining why two plus two equals four.

Haley smiled. “Yes, dear, I know that. But what does that have to do your father?”

“Simple. A girl doesn’t need a father who’s willing to take her to ballet practice or fix a broken doll.”

“She doesn’t?”

“Of course not. She needs a father who will never leave her to bad men riding motorcycles, a father who won’t let her be sacrificed to devil worshippers or be eaten by an army of infected monsters. A girl needs a father who’ll take an arrow to the chest just to claw his way to the maniac who fired it.” Samantha took a long drink of the tea, closing her eyes to get the full sugary experience.

“And your father would do things like that?”

“He
has
done those things. Tanner Raines is the bravest, most loving, meanest, and most awful person you could ever meet.”

The woman laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone describe their dad like that. You must love him very much.”

“He’s all I have in this whole world. And more than likely, one day we’ll die right next to each other. So, yeah, I guess I love him.”

Haley Jenkins sat back in her chair, crossed her arms, and studied young Samantha. She asked no more questions, instead keeping her lips pressed tightly together as if she had reached some unspoken decision.

Barret Jenkins held up the contraption, studying it from various angles. It consisted of a three-foot section of PVC pipe, an end cap equipped with a rubber stopper from the Jenkins’ bath tub, and a small metal bracket that allowed the stopper to move up and down without ever coming completely out.

“You’re telling me that this thing is going to pull water from the well?”

Tanner nodded. “All we need now is a long bolt, a few nuts, and a rope.”

Barret set the pipe down and dug through an old workbench in his garage until he found a six-inch bolt and several nuts that would fit it.

“Will these do?”

“Perfect. Now, drill a hole a couple of inches from the top of the pipe to act as the anchor point.”

Barret dug out an electric drill that still had charge remaining and began to bore a hole through the pipe.

As he worked, Haley and Samantha came in carrying glasses of tea.

“Here you go,” Samantha said, handing Tanner a glass. She watched him intently as he prepared to take a drink.

He cut his eyes at her.

“You poison it or something?”

“Of course not,” she said, smiling.

He took a sip, and his face wrinkled up.

Both Haley and Samantha burst out laughing.

“It’s good,” he assured them, taking another small sip, followed by another unwanted facial expression.

Haley reached out and gently took the glass of tea from him.

“Once you get the water going, I’ll make you a nice cup of coffee. How would that be?”

“As long as it’s black,” he said with a grin.

She smiled. “Black it is.”

Barret drank half of his tea with one tip of the glass and the rest with the second.

“All right,” he said, wiping his mouth. “The hole’s drilled. What’s next?”

“Slip the bolt through one wall and screw on two of the nuts to keep the rope centered.”

He did as instructed.

“Now, feed the bolt through the other side and secure it with the final nut.”

He pushed the bolt through, added a washer, and tightened a nut around the end. Haley and Samantha looked on as he worked, and on two occasions, Tanner caught Haley studying him. Each time, he offered a friendly smile, and each time, she did the same. It was the kind of flirty attention that had they been at a singles dance, he would have felt compelled to go over and ask her to dance.

Once Barret had the bolt secured, Tanner showed him how to attach a rope to it using an Alpine Butterfly knot. As he had done with Samantha many times before, he untied the knot and allowed Barret to retie one of his own—teach a man to fish and all that jazz.

With the bailer bucket fully assembled, they carried it out to the well.

“Let me see if I have this right,” Barret said as he carefully fed the pipe down into the neck of the well. “The stopper is going to act like a one-way valve, allowing water to fill the pipe but not drain back out?”