Second Chances (12 page)

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The spring rains made for mud slides in the surrounding area. The hills were slick with mud and muck making the community concerned about being on top of a potential mudslide. Adam, Quincy and the other horse owners were more worried about their animals getting thrush or pneumonia.

When the rains stopped they took stock; then those who had put it off swung into action. They began to work on more permanent homes and better defenses. John pitched in explaining how to do it right. Those who wanted a permanent home set up foundations by first digging out the loose soil or compacting it. Then they used rocks, clay, sand and gravel to form a proper foundation.

One of the first things they did the day after burning the dead was set up solar powered spotlights. John had a few; he set his three up in a triangle around the perimeter. Each had a sensor and battery; the sensor would trip if an animal or person came near and then turn the lights on. He kicked himself for not thinking of doing it sooner. It was the lights that had kept the predators off balance; the sudden light startled and confused them.

Eric and Earl got a couple other people to reluctantly dig through their stashes to come up with a couple more. They eventually ended up with eight in a ring around the base's outer wall.

“A bit like shutting the barn door after the horses got loose and the barn is burning down...” Earl said, voice rough with emotion.

John just shook his head. “We can't do anything about the past or the dead, just learn from it and try not to make the same mistake twice,” he said. He indicated the lights and stakes in the ground. “This is a start.”

“Yeah, so?” Loni snarled. He turned to her. “Why the hell are you bothering now? Why didn't you do it earlier! You had the stuff! Why did you wait?” Loni berated him, voice rising into a shrill snarl. John just stood there, fists clenched.

“He did what he could,” Eric said softly. “We all did. You did your best,” he said softly to her. “Stop blaming him; we all feel it. There's nothing we can do about it except move on and make certain it doesn't happen ever again,” he said.

Grimly John nodded.

“That's what he's trying to do, all of us,” Trisha said. Loni looked at her, then at the others. Some nodded, some looked at her and then away. Even the kids were quiet as they stood around. Finally she turned on her heel and stormed off.

“Man, that lady has some serious attitude,” Hector said.

“She's right. I should have thought of it sooner,” John admitted.

“What's done is done. Don't blame yourself,” Bert said gruffly. “For the record, I thought of it, but even I refused to donate my lights. I should have. Heather might still be alive if I hadn't been so damn stupid and petty. She was right. I'm not going to make the same mistake again,” he said, holding out a box. John looked at it and noted it was a box of lights and other gear. “Come on,” Bert said, “Lend me a hand?”

“I'd be glad to,” John said. Earl, Eric, and Hector joined them.

Chapter 7

Twice before summer hit Bert and the others had to use vehicles to chase off marauding herbivores from the farm fields. They killed a few, but most were driven off back the way they came, honking in theatrical aggravation over the eviction. When the crops were judged ready, they had an all-hands harvest. Cutting the wheat was a pain without power tools, and pulling the produce was back breaking, but it went well.

Chung had cleared a part of his building for storage. He was a bit put out when Carlene made certain everyone got a share once the harvesting was complete and John got his tithe. Trisha organized a group of teens and ladies to cook, boil, dry, and contain the small harvest. John stored the root vegetables in sand, then had a few of the ladies preserve the remainder for him taking 10 percent for themselves.

John judged they had about two months of food from the harvest, more or less. Maybe a bit more if they used it right. He wasn't sure how much spoilage was going to factor into things though, despite Trisha's best efforts to preserve what they could.

He laid in his truck, staring out through the spider web cracks in his windshield to the sky. It was humid, warming up still. He thought about it as he watched avians fly overhead in the night's sky. Finally he came to a decision. If he was right, it was still early summer and they had time. If he was wrong...well, they were all screwed. One way or another they'd find out in time.

John surprised them by moving out to plant the next day after harvest. First he bartered compost from Trisha and others with animals, then he spread it over the farm land and garden. Adam came out to see what he was doing as he bent to plant.

“What do you think you're doing?” Adam demanded, spreading his hands.

“You think it's summer?”

“Or maybe fall,” Adam admitted.

“I don't know. But, one way to find out,” John said, indicating the fields. “And I'd rather chance using half my seed and maybe losing it over not doing so and losing time,” he said.

Adam nodded thoughtfully. “Need a hand?” he asked. John smiled slightly and nodded. “Right,” Adam drawled. “I'll go hitch up the team,” he said as he left. John waved him off.

He looked up a few minutes later to see everyone out, either working on the wall or on the fields. Fresh stones that had been dug up were being hauled off. He sat back on his haunches and smiled slightly, then nodded to Adam. “Hey, what are you looking at?” Adam growled when John's eyes lingered a bit too long on some of the fine female rear ends. “Back to work,” he mock growled.

John snorted and went back to work.

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They judged it was mid-spring when the dinos and aliens started giving birth over the course of two weeks. Suddenly predators were coming out in droves to pick off the babies. The herds were even more protective of the young, encircling them whenever possible.

“Funny, not many raptors. The little ones but not the big ones,” Bert reported after another dry day of hunting. He was a bit put out; he'd come close to a kill but some six-legged monster had driven him off. It had looked sweet too; some sort of animal that looked like a rhino but with a split V for a nose horn. Instead of making the kill, the monster thing had. He shook his head.

“Count your blessings,” Doc said and shivered. Her husband patted her on the arm. She leaned into him for the moment.

“The babies are on their feet almost right out of the birth canal. Really, it's the only way to survive here,” Bert reported. Quincy nodded thoughtfully. “The babies are camouflaged well. The mothers pick out a secluded spot that matches their babies’ colorations before they give birth.”

“Interesting,” Quincy murmured thoughtfully. They had found that most of the females had drab colors, browns, greens, and tans. A few had black or white specs, spots or stripes. Some of the adults stood out though with bright blue, red or yellow. Bert had done a bit of under-the-skirt checking with his kills on them. He had found and reported that a lot of the male dinosaurs had display colors on their throats and tails. They fought each other constantly and were easily picked off due to their injuries and bright colors by predators.

“I'm wondering about inbreeding and other genetic issues,” Quincy mused, rubbing his chin as he sipped some blueberry tea. “If the aliens held true for the animals as they did to us, they brought over ten thousand or so. I wonder why that number?” he asked, then shrugged the thought off. “Of course not all of the animals survived to pass on their genes, just like here,” he said, voice going dark.

Bert grunted.

“The females are critical,” Quincy finally said, eyes lost in thought as he looked up to the sky. “The males...really, once they've played sperm donor, most don't serve any real purpose other than to feed the predators and keep them away from the females,” he said.

“Or protect the females, either with numbers or size,” Bert said.

“That's...certainly true to some extent. But most matings would be fleeting, not permanent,” Quincy said.

“I've seen both parents feeding chicks,” Bert said. “Some of the duckbills and others have nests. They raise the young for a couple weeks, taking turns bringing in food to feed the young. Once they are large enough, the young join the herd, usually as family units,” he said.

“Fascinating,” Quincy said. “Do you think you can get me some video? I believe you,” he said hastily, hands up. “But I'd really love to see it,” he said.

“I could take you along,” Bert said slowly.

“I'm a total klutz in the bush,” Quincy said, grimacing. “And my wife wouldn't let me,” he said. That earned a snort from Bert.

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Pets were increasingly used to help out around the base. The other people slowly learned what John and others from the north had known from the beginning, the animals weren't pure pleasure pets. They had a purpose, whether to sound an alarm, pest control, or to pull a sled. The dogs helped pull items or guard the compound. Quincy checked their paws every few days to make certain none got any cuts in the pads. When lizards moved into the area, they followed alien bugs and other small animals. The cats and dogs killed some, but some cats wandered off and were never seen again.

Sophia's Maine Coon stuck by her side and left nightly presents on her doorstep. She wasn't certain about the...gifts, but Bert took them. “Hell, protein is protein lady,” he said. Anything new he ran past Quincy first. She made certain not to question what he put in his beef stew.

Over a month they hunted the area clean; those animals that survived learned to stay away. Bert didn't make a single kill for two weeks forcing them to break out the meat they had carefully smoked or stored away. “The death of most of the raptor pack must have created an upsurge in population, but they are being smart. It's taking us out further and further away to hunt. We need to think of something else,” Bert said at the community meeting.

“We should kill some of the chickens,” Adam said.

“No, each one we've got means a layer. The more we've got, the more eggs we've got. We can slaughter a few of the roosters, but each time we do we'll lose genes,” Quincy warned.

“In other words, the time for fried chicken isn't quite yet here,” Trisha interpreted. That got a chuckle.

“But it's fast approaching if we don't figure something out,” Guy said. The chuckle turned into a laugh.

They organized a truck group to go out to the herds once a week and make as many kills as possible, then haul the meat back for final dressing and cooking. But rains kept them in for several days the remainder of the week.

When it finally did dry out, the groups went out to check the area. Nothing was in the immediate area, so they came back near lunch time with plans to go out again.

The hunting party was forgotten when they noted one slope of their hillside was “iffy.” John and Guy led a party to move stone and drive stakes to shore it up. Bert announced it was just as well; the Northern fields between them and the main herds had been flooded by the river. It was a marshland, and he didn't want to cross it and get bogged down. Detouring around it would be troublesome and use precious fuel. Instead they decided to wait it out and let nature dry out the ground.

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“You up to no good?” Sal asked Kevin.

“Not yet,” Kevin said, sounding bored. He lounged back on the hood of his mother's Chevy Impala, hands behind his head. He didn't like the planet; he hated having to bust his ass all the time. He couldn't believe he actually missed Earth and high school. “I'm hungry though. Got anything?”

“The hunters have come up dry. Again,” Sal sighed, shaking his head. “We're into the reserves,” he said. “If this keeps up, we're not going to have anything come winter,” he said darkly.

Darion hunched his shoulders. “Hey man, we're trying. It's not our fault the animals have cleared out of here.”

“Yeah well, there is always Miss Piggy,” Kevin said idly, pointing to the little porker tethered to the front bumper of Ginger's jeep.

“You are kidding!” Darion said, eyes flashing. “Don't even joke about that,” he said. “She idolizes that pig.”

“She'll get over it,” Kevin said, getting to his feet. “Darion, keep an eye out. I'll do the rest,” he said, pushing Darion away.

Darion watched him for a moment then turned away.

Ginger came back to the base a few hours later. She found the harness empty. She was puzzled at first, then fearful. She walked around, calling to the pig until the scent of pork brought her to the back of Pat and Kevin's shelter.

She heard the crackle of the fire and the murmur of teenage voices. She saw the pig and immediately teared up. She stormed into their midst, exhaustion forgotten in her anger. They had done it when she was out of the base she realized, locking eyes with Darion, Sal, Kevin, and the others. Sal and Darion looked guiltily away immediately. She felt betrayal and rage.

By the time she had come back, they had done the deed and spitted the pig over the fire. “You want a shoulder?” Kevin asked, getting to his feet, clearly amused.

She turned and decked Kevin with a solid round-house punch. He wiped at his mouth as Sal held the woman back from ripping his eyes out. “So, I guess you're not going to have a ham sandwich?” he demanded snidely as others came to see what was going on. She snarled and dropped the carcass directly into the fire. “Hey!” he said, moving to stop her.