Second Chances (7 page)

Carlene nodded grimly. She rubbed his arm. “People are people. Some are afraid. I'm afraid,” she murmured.

“Group them. Those that want to work on shelters, those that want to work on fire, water, whatever,” John said. “See if the tourists can scout for us, maybe map the terrain, get a feel for our new neighbors. We're going to need hunters, gatherers, wood cutters....We're going to need more wood soon.”

“You've got what, eight or nine cords of wood there?” Eric asked. “I think we're good,” he said. “I mean, you cut a lot too but...”

John shook his head. “Don't count on it. This many people? And it's
my
wood. I'll share to some degree, barter, but I'm not going to be the community’s round bottomed boy. I prepared myself for this. I'll
help
, but I'm not going to be left out in the cold come winter because no one wants to stick their own hide on the line,” he said.

Eric gave him a long look then nodded slowly.

“First thing though is get this mess sorted out. We can't spend all day on something that is so basic,” John said, indicating the group. “Though we probably should experiment to learn the other methods,” he said grudgingly.

Eric snorted. “Make up my mind,” he grumbled. “You're worse than my wife,” he growled.

“Hey!” His wife said, looking up in annoyance. He waved her off.

They spent an hour of time figuring out how to light fires with other methods, including the sunlight through a lens one, using electricity...and fire starting material such as birch fire starter fungus and cattail fluff. Eric made certain everyone who was interested watched and got a chance to try it for themselves.

~~~~~~(@)~~~~~~

“Um...”

John turned the next morning to see Carlene behind him. “Yes?” he asked, finishing up with Fergus.

“Can I um, shit,”

“Ah...yeah, you can.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Yeah, like everyone else,” he waved to the front gate.

“Not what I meant,” she said darkly. He turned to look at her. She was practically doing the pee pee dance. She pointed urgently to the outhouse he had near the back of “his” property.

“I'd love to accommodate you, ma'am, but it's not set up yet,” he said.

She gritted her teeth. “You're not serious,” she finally said.

“Sorry,” he said, spreading his hands. “I've been sort of busy with other stuff,” he said lamely as she stormed off in a huff.

Eric found him a little while later. He fumbled around for a bit before he finally got to the point about the outhouse.

“So, what do you want me to do?” John asked.

“We need...hell, everyone needs a community outhouse,” Eric finally ground out, “and a place to wash.”

“We've, I've got a cast iron tub and a couple toilets. I think we can rig something up. I was planning on doing other stuff though,” John admitted.

“Um...”

“Tell you what, If you can rustle up a few hands to dig and to move it, I'll let everyone use the outhouse,” John said magnanimously.

“I thought you could use your backhoe to do the digging?” Eric suggested. John just looked at him. Finally he sighed. “Right. Fuel. Okay...” he said and turned. “I'll get the people.”

“Find a location. One away from the water. We can run a pipe or hose for running water,” John said. “See if Earl or Hector or one of the other guys can rig up a couple stalls next to them,” he said. Eric nodded. John looked over to where Trisha and Adam were busy mucking out their corral. They did it quickly and efficiently, but the mulch was starting to pile up in a compost heap. They and Guy Roberts had a proper plastic outhouse, blue, but probably getting full. They jealously guarded the place, keeping it and their TP under lock and key. He made a mental note to remind Eric and the population that he was providing the shed, it was BYOTP—Bring Your OWN Toilet Paper.

It took hours for them to get the pits dug, then another hour of grunting to get a crew to move the outhouse shell to the holes. The girls teased the guys about lifting the outhouse, and of course they lined up to be the first to use it. John snorted softly and left Earl and Hector to argue over how to hook up the shower.

John realized what they had was a bit more than an American western fort. It was a colony town; one they'd established in blood, sweat and tears. A lot of all three, though he didn't mind the sweat. They also had a long way to go to finish; hell, they'd barely scratched the surface of the basics.

He looked over to Denise and the other kids playing. They were laughing and having a grand old time, kicking a ball around. He vowed to do better; they had to get it right, for their sakes if not for their own. He wouldn't settle for second rate, he thought.

He wasn't the leader; he was glad Eric and the others were taking over that slot. People were finally listening to Eric and not bucking everything he tried to get them to do. Suspicions and cynicism was starting to be set aside. They had to pull together to survive; that much was now obvious to even the most hard headed among them. His eyed fell on Loni.

He frowned though. Obviously his water solution wasn't enough, he noted, as people vied for the limited water his pump provided. Hector had tried to accommodate everyone, rigging a manifold up so they could tie in their garden hoses to it. But that only dropped the pressure to a trickle, and no one was happy.

Eric finally ruled that they had to have a community system. Water would be delivered to the center part of the base, the open area public to all. The water was free for everyone to use, but they had to take their turn to get it.

John agreed. He rigged a second container though, so water would fill it and they'd have some water on hand in case of an issue. Also, so he could heat it, though he had to put that plan off for a time. He and a few other people had water heaters of one sort or another, but they didn't have enough for everyone. He wanted hot water though, for washing if nothing else.

It sounded petty, something for himself, but he knew others felt the same way to varying degrees. Oh, they were working together, but not as much as Eric or the others would like. Even John divided his time between community projects and at least an hour a day on his own shelter and needs.

Eric, Earl, Adam, and two other people had generators. None provided power for the community as a whole or even for individual projects. So they had no right to complain.

He remembered something about his history class, something about churches during medieval times. How the people, serfs, would work in the fields and farms five days a week providing for themselves, their family and to pay taxes, while the sixth day they worked on community projects, like a church. And the last day they rested...when the farm chores were done, he thought.

He spent at least a half hour moving the stuff he'd left behind in. He knew some people had picked over it, but he had an inventory, and anything they took he took back or shamed them into returning. For now the trommel and other mining gear could remain where it was; it wasn't like he could use any of it.

He did help Victor Chung get his stuff in though. Victor was a general store owner; he was a California Asian who'd headed north to set up shop after a stint in the Army. He'd made a name for himself in the Yukon with his “Chung can get anything, and if he can't it ain't worth getting,” slogan. He was a short guy, balding early, in his forties, and a chatter bug. He had a lively squinty face though, and made certain John knew he had a permanent “10 percent off for the rest of his life”...before he quickly changed it to just one year.

Chung was setting himself up as he had been on Earth, a general store manager. Hector and Earl had the handyman market cornered though they took on Miguel and worked with others. Eric and Carlene were shaping up to be good leaders. Doctor Brown and her husband, Quincy, were covering medicine for man and animal alike.

John wasn't sure what his role here would be. Miner...maybe. Doubtful though. Hunter? The more he thought about it, the more he wasn't sure about it. Sure, he could hunt, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to lay his life on the line daily to do it like it seemed they'd have to do. He definitely wasn't cut out to be a farmer. Right now construction and wood cutting were all he could do. But, those he did well or to the best of his ability.

John found out he, Victor, Eric, Carlene, Trisha, Adam, Earl, a twentyish girl named Melissa Hart, both Roberts, and a couple other people had received care packages just before their trip. Most thought the survival gear had come from the government condoning their trip. A few grumbled about it; it wasn't fair that the better-off people had extra. John reluctantly turned over the first aid kit to Doc Brown, then divvied up the rest between a pair of families. They said reluctant thank yous. After he did he found out that only Eric and Carlene had shared their gear. No one else did.

Despite their stinginess he fully intended to still do stuff for himself in the long term and the community. He knew Trisha was shamed by the act; her husband, Adam, was holding her back. The others he could care less; they all had their own lives to concern themselves with apparently.

He worked with John, Earl, Guy Roberts, and other people to set up the palisade wall improving it with what they had on hand. Wood was one thing, stakes of course, but he also hauled rocks to help buttress the soil and base of the wall. He donated a couple bags of concrete and his mixer to the wall. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

A series of rain storms kept them confined to the base for two long days. They quickly ran through their fresh meat and then into their canned and boxed goods.

Adam their resident amateur blacksmith had a ball. He had been an apprentice blacksmith back on Earth, moving up the level to own his own forge where he'd made various things for clients. He was also the owner of one of the horse herds. He flat out refused to leave the base or allow his wife Trisha or animals to go out either.

He had their resident vet, Quincy Brown, all over the herd daily, checking for stones in their hooves or colic. He babied them until his wife got him off his ass and told him to get his hobby in gear. That earned a chortle from the gossip vine.

He set up the smithy next to his motor home with Earl and Hector and took both on as apprentices. Together they pounded out basic tools from recycled material or raw metal. At first they were put out by John's lack of support; he refused to give them his firewood for the forge or any of his scrap metal.

But they worked out a method to make charcoal from hardwoods John and others felled with his chain saws and axes. The green wood didn't burn well. It was wet, but it did a pretty good job of smoking meat once a fire was hot or baking slowly into charcoal. Then John won them in their good graces when he delivered clay and rock for the forge, then improvised a set of bellows and gear driven hammers for them to use for the traditional forge. Adam had two electric forges as well, long rectangular boxes that were heated by induction, though both required a lot of power to use. He also had a jig table with a lot of bars and a dozen or so anvils. Once they had a functional forge, Adam showed the duo other tricks like fabricating horse shoes so John moved on.

Chapter 4

All of the self-designated hunters had a weapon; most were a rifle of some sort. Some had more than one rifle. Ten of the twenty hunters had .22s; one or two had a .30/06 or a shotgun. Most of the hunting rifles were all wrong to go up against the animals around them; they were just too low a caliber or were shotguns. A third of the remaining adults had pistols for home defense.

One husband and wife pair, the Gummers, had done a lot of hunting in Alaska. They had even done a bit of moose hunting years ago, winning the state hunting lottery. They had a full set of hunting gear for each of them including compound bows and other weapons stashed in their motor home. It was a veritable mobile armory and survival center, which Bert was quite proud and protective of.

The trailer that the big camouflage painted vehicle towed was supposedly stuffed with ammunition and even a full-on rebuild setup to reuse ammunition. Both of the Gummers were after everyone to not only save their brass but on firearm safety and digging the rounds out whenever possible.

Both had acted as hunting guides years ago but had moved back to Seattle to care for the red haired Heather's ailing mother. Together they took charge of the hunting expeditions when it became clear that individuals, with a few exceptions, just weren't getting the job done. Eric came back twice empty handed and pissed; he'd made a kill but had been driven off by scavengers.

Scavengers and other predators were much on the mind of everyone who left the safety of the walls all the time. Bert Gummer was concerned about leading a predator to them if they injured but didn't kill an animal. “A wounded animal isn't a quiet one. It'll thrash about, make noise and it's damn dangerous. Not to be toyed with,” Bert said shaking his head. “They'll leave a blood trail. The smell will be picked up by anything in the area, mark my words,” he said brandishing a bowie knife he'd been sharpening. “The airborne scavengers will be on it first; they'll lead others to the kill.”

John nodded. He'd been scared off one kill already. It worried him, Heather, Eric, and Bert. Making a kill was only the easy part. Once they made the kill, they couldn't lower their guard as they slaughtered the animal.