Will to Survive (16 page)

“Positive. You take care of business here and we'll take care of business there. It's probably nothing at all and certainly nothing to worry about,” Herb said. “I'll leave you this.” He leaned his rifle against the fence.

“But what about you?”

“I have my pistol and lots of other people have rifles. Besides, it's often better I don't appear armed,” he replied.

He and the others quickly left. A few more guards were still posted at the vehicles in the driveway, but now Lori and I were alone by the barn. I would have readily gone with them had I been needed, but truthfully I was happier to stay.

Lori had ducked under the wreckage and was scraping away with a shovel in the dirt.

“How close do you think we are?” I asked when I joined her.

She dug the shovel in again and there was a dull hollow sound. “I think we're basically on top of it.”

I grabbed a shovel and we both continued excavating until a section of wood was revealed. Together, we cleared off an increasingly bigger section until the handle of the cellar door became visible. I reached down and grabbed it, but it didn't move no matter how hard I pulled.

“It's still stuck. I think we have to clear it a little more,” I said.

Lori continued to scrape away dirt. I tossed my shovel aside, grabbed a rope, and attached it to a last beam that covered a corner of the door.

“Come on, you have to get out of here,” I said.

Lori dropped her shovel and we walked over to the truck. The other end of the rope was already tied on to the trailer hitch.

“I'll drive,” Lori suggested.

She got into the truck and I went off to the side, well out of the way. She started forward slowly and in a moment there was a loud snapping sound. The section broke loose and was dragged across the courtyard clear of the pile.

That did it. We brushed aside the remaining dirt and uncovered the whole of the trapdoor.

Finally Lori grabbed the handle once more and gave it a little pull, enough to raise the door an inch or so. I got a grip on it and helped lift it up.

The door groaned in protest as we opened it all the way, and dirt and light tumbled onto the first few stair treads. Lori took a few tentative steps down and then turned and looked back up at me.

“I can see the barrels at the bottom. I think it's all here!”

I felt a wave of relief wash over me and was about to follow Lori down.

Then we heard the gunshots.

 

15

There were three shots, followed by a loud silence.

“What direction did that come from?” I asked.

Lori shook her head. “I couldn't tell.” She climbed back up the steps.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I'm going to investigate.” She walked straight to the fence and picked up the rifle. “You don't have to come, but I have to do it. It's still my farm,” she said as she started off.

“Neither of us has to go, but let's at least go in the right direction.”

She gave me a curious look and I pointed up at the sky. My father was doing a tight circle off to the right. Whatever was happening would be taking place beneath him.

“He's over the western fields, right?” I asked.

“Of course. I wasn't thinking.”

We ran across the rough, broken soil of a field. Although it had been plowed, clearly nothing had been planted here. A string of trees separated one field from the next.

“How about if we go along that line of trees before we head into the open?” I suggested.

We worked our way through the trees, using them as cover. We hadn't gone far before we ran into one of our guards. He was lying on the ground hiding behind a stump, and we surprised each other. He swung his rifle around before he recognized us, and for a brief second his deadly weapon was aimed right at us.

“Get down!” he whispered, and we both dropped to the ground and crawled to his side.

“What's happening?” I asked.

“Out there in that stand of trees,” he said. “We have them surrounded on all sides, but they're armed and already opened fire.”

“We heard the shots.”

“Not as close as I did. That first round whizzed right by my head.”

“Do you know how many there are?” I asked.

“I saw close to a dozen.”

“Were all of them armed?”

“Not all of them. Some were just kids carrying water containers.”

“They were probably just headed to our well,” Lori said.

“Maybe. It wasn't like we could ask them.”

“Where's Herb?” Lori asked.

“Over there.” He pointed to a narrow part of the field; there wasn't much space between the stand of trees where the strangers were hiding and the cover along the edge.

“Thanks.” Lori and I retreated across the field we'd first crossed and moved in a wide arc toward Herb.

“If they just want water, we should let them have it,” Lori said.

“If they just want water, they shouldn't have shot at us.”

“What would you do if you suddenly bumped into a bunch of strangers with weapons?” she asked.

She had a good point.

We could hear Herb before we could see him. He was yelling out across the opening, trying to establish contact with the other group.

“Sorry if we got off to a bad start there!” Herb called out.

Even though he was yelling across a field he still sounded calm and reassuring.

“We must have surprised you, and for that I'm sorry. We don't wish you any harm.”

There was no response. I settled in beside him on one side, and Lori on the other.

“I hear there were at least a dozen of them,” I murmured.

“Could be a lot more than that,” Herb answered. “We only know what we have seen.”

“And some of them are children,” Lori said. “They might just be trying to get water.”

“Let's find out.” Herb got up but stayed behind cover. “If you want to get water from the Petersons' well,” he shouted, “we won't stand in your way!”

For maybe thirty seconds there still wasn't a response. Maybe they hadn't heard him or maybe they'd fled. No, with my father up above and the open fields all around the stand of trees where they were hiding, there was no way they could get away without being seen.

“How do you know the Petersons?” a man's voice finally rang out across the field.

“That voice,” Lori said to Herb. “I know who it is!” She scrambled to her feet. “It's me, Mr. McCurdy, it's Lori Peterson!”

“Lori, is that really you?” the voice called back.

“It is, Mr. McCurdy, and my parents are here, too. Over in the eastern fields!”

There was no immediate response. I wondered if the other group was talking things over.

“I'm coming out!” the man announced. “I'm not armed.”

An older gentleman stepped out from the trees. His arms were in the air.

“Is that Mr. McCurdy?” Herb asked Lori.

She nodded.

“I'm coming out, too!” Herb replied. He stood up, placed his arms in the air as well, and walked into the field from our side.

Slowly the two men approached each other. They lowered their arms as they met and then they shook hands. Herb turned back toward us and called for Lori. She took a step and then realized she was still carrying the rifle. She handed it back to me, and I placed it on the ground. Then I followed her from the trees.

Mr. McCurdy threw his arms around Lori and, as she hugged him back, burst into tears.

“It's like seeing a ghost,” he sobbed. “I thought you and your father and mother were just gone, dead.”

“We're fine, Mr. McCurdy. Is your family okay?” she asked.

As if on cue, a woman and some children and another man came out of the woods—the man and the woman both had rifles.

“Everybody, hold your fire!” Herb called out. “We're all friends here! Rifles aimed to the ground, and everybody come on out … slowly … No need to be worried!”

All around us people started to emerge from cover, many of them our people from the neighborhood, but about another half dozen I didn't recognize. I did a quick count of their weapons. Among them they had two rifles and two shotguns.

Lori greeted the women and children, and there were lots of hugs and tears. She pulled me over.

“This is my boyfriend, Adam,” she said.

I exchanged handshakes and nods with everybody. Other than Mr. McCurdy's, the names went in one ear and out the other.

“Are you still staying on your farm?” Herb asked Mr. McCurdy.

“We're on the farm property, but not at the house. We were driven out of that long ago. We've built a small shack in the woods about a half mile that way. We've even been using some of the wood from your barn.” He looked over at Lori. “Sorry, we would have asked if we could have.”

“That's all right. I understand, and so will my parents.”

“And you've been safe there?” Herb asked.

“It's hidden and well off the road. Nobody has noticed. It's not much, and winter is coming, but we'll manage.”

“It'll be tough,” Herb said. “Even if you can keep yourself warm, the smoke rising from any fire will draw attention.”

“I hadn't really thought of that,” Mr. McCurdy said.

“And this is all of you?” Herb questioned.

“There's another five. They're guarding the homestead. Are you all coming back here to stay?” he asked.

“No, we're just here for a day,” Lori said. “We've come to harvest potatoes.”

“From the field in the middle of the forest?” Mr. McCurdy asked.

“Yes, that's the one.”

“Did you plant that field?” I asked.

He shook his head and I felt relieved.

“We've been digging there anyway, though. That's how we hoped to get through the winter, with those potatoes. But now…” He let the sentence trail off.

“There's enough for all,” Herb said. “Why don't you and some of your people come on over? I'm sure Mr. and Mrs. Peterson would be happy to see you again.”

“Really happy!” Lori exclaimed.

“Lori, why don't you take them over?” Herb said. “Mr. McCurdy, take a couple of your men with you, and we'll radio over so that your appearance doesn't startle anybody. Surprises can lead to bad things.”

“They almost did,” Mr. McCurdy said. “I'm sorry we took a couple of shots at you.”

“We would have done the same thing,” Herb replied. “But enough. This is not about bad things that could have happened but about good things that did happen.” He shook the man's hand once more, and then Mr. McCurdy and Lori and the others left to find her parents.

Herb made the radio call and then reassigned the guards back toward the farm and vehicles. Herb and I stood alone for a second.

“I was wondering—” I began.

“Yes, it probably would be the smart thing to do,” Herb interrupted.

“What?”

“To invite them to go back with us. Our new neighbors to the west could certainly use a farmer or two to help them with their crops come spring.”

I smiled. “How did you know I was going to ask that?”

“It's the thing that makes the most sense. Even more, it's the kind thing to do,” he answered.

“Do we need to get the committee's approval?”

“This one is preapproved. We've been hoping to find somebody else with agricultural experience, and the timing is perfect. We have a new area that needs help, and because of the potato crop we have the resources to feed them,” Herb explained.

“Do you think they'll come along?”

“That'll be their decision. All we can do is extend the invitation. Do you want to do that yourself or do you want me to talk to them?”

“I think it would be even better if it came from the Petersons,” I suggested. “How about if I talk to them first?”

“Perfect. And then you can get back to excavating the root cellar.”

“We're already done. The cellar's open and filled with things we can use.”

Herb slapped me on the back. “This might just be the best day since this all started.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Which day would be better?” he asked.

“Some people might say the day we blew the bridge.” I pictured the vehicles plunging into the gorge as the bridge collapsed around them.

“True, we wouldn't be here if it wasn't for that day,” Herb said. “But today, well, this is just so much better. That day was about surviving. Today is about
living
. Survival isn't enough anymore.”

 

16

The backseat of my car was stuffed to the roof with personal things from the Petersons that we'd recovered from the root cellar. There were dishes, a couple of paintings, and winter clothing. We'd even squeezed in some of Lori's favorite books and souvenirs from their travels, which didn't take up much space and made her happy.

That
made me happy, as did the potatoes in my trunk. There had to be six or seven hundred pounds of them, and my springs and shocks sagged under the weight. There wasn't a lot of clearance, so I'd have to take it slow along the lane leading out of the farm or I'd leave my muffler behind. It wasn't like I could stop at the muffler shop and get a new one, though I was pretty sure that, between them, Mr. Nicholas and the rest of the engineers and the mechanics would come up with something if it was needed.

Every vehicle, including the hay wagon, was filled to capacity with potatoes. Mr. Peterson did a rough estimate. He thought we'd pulled out close to thirty-eight thousand spuds. Everybody was sore and dirty, and their fingers were blistered and bleeding. Despite it all, there was almost a euphoric feeling. These weren't just potatoes—they were survival. A person could live on four potatoes a day even if he or she had nothing else to eat. What we'd done today was expand the basic diet of everybody in our neighborhood, and provide survival for the other two satellite neighborhoods.