The collapse box set, p.54
The Collapse Box Set, page 54
part #1 of The Collapse Series
They followed the trail all day, making small talk to keep awake. Naomi and Allen kept on task more than the others, but once the others knew how to track, they were a big help. It was late in the day but before sunset when they reached the edge to a cliff and got to their bellies. From the forty-foot drop, they overlooked a vast scrapyard surrounded by thick trees. A chain-link fence enclosed a cluttered scrapyard. Sharp barbs sparkled on the three lines of razor wire topping the fence. At the middle of the scrap yard was a pill-shaped workshop with two sliding doors on the front and another man-sized door on the side. Muddy roads as wide as two trucks sank through mounds of junk cars and rusted metal, eventually ending at the clearing around the workshop and the small house next to it. A half-mile away, a lonely mansion with imposing white colonnades looked down upon the yard. Only its front was visible behind a forest of trees.
On wet dirt and scooted elbow to elbow, Naomi and her party watched for movement.
Conner looked to Allen. “You know this place?”
Allen shook his head as he pulled out his binoculars.
Dean spoke up. “We should go there, finish this, and get back home.”
Calvin clicked his tongue. “That would be easy if we knew that she was down there.”
“She is,” Dean said matter-of-factly. He pointed to the upstairs window of the small house.
Naomi squinted, seeing the feminine-shaped silhouette changing clothes behind the window glass.
Allen adjusted the focus of the balcony. “It’s a woman, all right.”
Conner smiled lustily. “Give me a peek.”
Allen didn’t surrender the binoculars.
Suddenly, the front door to the house opened. Everyone’s attention turned to the man with combed back dirty blond hair. He wore a sheepskin bomber jacket with heavy blue jeans and high-laced work boots. He had a well-defined face with trimmed eyebrows and a thin blond beard. In no particular rush, he made his way to one of the two roll-up doors at the workshop and gave it a rhythmic knock. A moment later, the gate opened. Inside were multiple tables and bunks, where men and women sorted supplies on tables. Some tables had canned foods, some had water, and one had weapons: dozens of firearms of all different varieties, though there was nothing military grade.
Calvin gawked. “They have their own militia.”
Blond--the man who exited the house--approached the weapons table. He talked to one of the dozen or so men inside. The man chuckled and handed him a shotgun. The Blond rolled it in his hands, impressed by the weapon.
Conner scowled. “That’s my gun. He has my gun.”
The arms-manager, if you could call him that, tossed Blond a single shotgun slug. Feeding the ammunition into the weapon, Blond walked outside and looked at a row of birds on the power line. Smirking, he picked up a rock from nearby and tossed it at the birds. They took flight. He took aim.
Boom!
The scatter shot dropped three of the flock.
Blond lowered the barrel, reared back his head to the arms-manager, and said something to make him laugh.
Calvin pointed to the gate at the yard’s entrance. A group of three men biked to the sliding chain link gate. Within the fence, two armed guards appeared from behind various crushed cars and greeted the visitors without opening the gate. Naomi wondered how many more people were hiding within the scrapyard.
Naomi requested the binoculars from her brother. He reluctantly surrendered them.
Naomi pressed them close to her eyes. Her heart quickened as she looked at three bicyclists. “Holy crap.”
“What?” Conner asked.
“These guys are from Madison,” Naomi said and handed off the binoculars to Conner.
He mumbled a curse. “They tried to rob us.”
Naomi set her eyes on the bicyclers. “No, we robbed them.”
The gate opened and three guards were admitted. They reached Blond and got off their bikes. They greeted him with handshakes and hugs. Blond put a hand on Lance--the shifty man who held Naomi at gunpoint in Madison. He guided them into the workshop and toward a table with a map.
Conner turned the binoculars on the table and described what he saw. “It appears to be map at a local area. There’s different locations marked.”
Blond pointed to one of them and tapped his finger.
Conner continued. “He’s pointing at an X. It’s…” His voice trailed for a moment. When it returned, there was fear in his tone. “The X is over our home.”
The three men from Madison jammed their finger down on the map with passionate rage. Blond led them to the gun table and gestured for them to take their pick. He then signaled to a few of the people sorting supplies. They stopped their work and joined them. Blond made an introduction and as the men chose their weapons.
“They’re putting together an assault team,” Allen said with cool calmness.
Naomi’s gut twisted. “I think we know where they’re heading.”
46
The Bell’s Toll
In sobering silence, they watched the colony down below. A million questions raced through Naomi’s mind. Who were these people? How many were there? How did they find Allen’s house? How were they able to get inside? And, most importantly, what were they planning?
The woman who smacked Naomi a night and half ago joined Blond and the others. She was around five foot five inches and walked with the natural grace of a cat. She showed off some of Cathleen’s jewelry and revealed the upper lip of striped panties that belonged to Becca. Why she would wear such a thing was beyond Naomi’s comprehension. Needless to say, the woman had an arrogance that she carried with her. She was more than just a survivor who had forsaken her morals when order died; she was a predator. Laughing, she tucked some hair behind her ear. A few of the men from Madison looked her up and down, pleased with what they saw. The woman didn’t seem to mind. Naomi didn’t know why, but the name Sabrina came to mind when she looked at her. She thought it was a better name than Woman-Who-Pistol-Whipped-Her.
Huddling around the map, they planned their assault. Dean suggested that they go down there. Everyone shot down his idea immediately. They weren’t just dealing with a lone the thief. They were dealing with a colony at least double their size.
Naomi’s posse stayed on the cliffside long after nightfall. The Scrapers--the name they’d given the community--spent their evening around a bonfire. They ate the foods they’d taken from Allen’s basement, drank and shouted. Two of them got into a fistfight while the others laughed and cheered. Eventually Sabrina took the winning man and led him into the house. The cold weather didn’t seem to faze the partier. They continued into the late hours of the night, trying out different drugs and getting hands on with each other.
Allen counted eighteen, but there might have been more inside of the workshop or house, so he made liberal estimate of twenty-three, nearly triple the amount of Naomi’s crew. It wasn’t until the wee hours in the morning that the Scrapers decided to crash for the night. They let the fire die. A handful moved into the house. The rest stepped into the warehouse and shut the roll-up door.
In the quiet dark night, Naomi’s group decided to leave. Naomi shook Calvin awake. He wiped the drool from his lip and followed after the group. When they got half a football field away, they lit a torch. They got back to the house at daybreak.
They decided it would be smart to post a guard. Allen volunteered. Conner wanted to take the next shift, but Naomi said it would be wiser to use Cathleen. It would be better if someone who was well rested keep a look out. Naomi suggested the same to her brother, but he was too stubborn to listen. By the time Naomi and Calvin got to sleep, Trinity was getting up. The color was starting to return to her skin, but the dark circles remained. Naomi hoped this would be the end of the illness. They had much bigger issues now.
After three hours of much-needed rest, Naomi awoke in a cold sweat. She got up without waking Calvin and headed down the well. It was roughly 9 a.m. Naomi worked the pump, filling up three metal buckets of water. When she finished, she started a small fire in the fire pit, danged the bucket hand on a little fork, and let the water boil. The cold nipped at her as she waited, but the small fire radiated gentle warmness. When she finished, she had the choice to hike to the upstairs bathtub at the risk of losing the water’s heat or fill up the outdoor tub. Sighing, she poured the buckets into the ceramic tub nearby. Calvin had dug out a second, smaller fire pit underneath that could be ignited to warm the tub. It was located below the stopper so when the bather finished, the stopper could be pulled and water would douse the flame. Naomi took a certain pride in her husband for his invention and wondered what else he could’ve created if he wasn’t sick for so long.
The wooden gate that enclosed the property, Naomi decided that the coast was clear of any onlookers. She stripped down and climbed into the water. The sudden warmth from the water came as a shock, but after a moment of feeling prickly, Naomi settled. She leaned back and closed her eyes. After a moment of rest, she grabbed the body gel and got to work washing off the dirt on her hands and forearms. She wanted to get the dark crud from her fingernails, but didn’t want to waste any more soap than what was allowed.
As she sat in the water, she noticed the bruises that had cropped up on her body. She hadn’t realized it, but the house chores and other activities had given her a beating. She was always slender, but now she could see the shape of her ribs through her skin. She touched her cheek, feeling the bone and wondering how gaunt she looked. Strangely, she remembered her time on TV. Before all this mess, she was an American celebrity, namely known for her self-help books and therapy. They centered around not conforming to toxic environments, finding comfort in the little things, and thriving in your relationships. It was all happy, healthy advice that helped a lot of people but herself. Her work life had fractured her marriage and her relationship with her daughter. She’d spent so much time helping others that she failed in her own family. The worst part was that she knew she was failing and still did nothing to fix it.
Naomi sank lower in the tub and stayed there for a solid fifteen minutes before stepping into the cool outside air. She toweled off and got dressed. She removed the stopper enough to douse the fire and left the rest in there for anyone who might be interested. She covered it with tarp to keep it from getting too dirty.
Dressed but with her hair still dripping, she returned inside and found everyone waiting at the dining room table. Naomi stood in the doorway, sensing the tension. “Did I miss something?”
Cathleen chuckled dreadfully. “Only that we all might die.”
Calvin held the top rung of the chair he stood behind. “We’re discussing our neighbors.”
Naomi nodded and joined in with the rest. “What’s the plan?”
Cathleen looked at her like she was a complete idiot. “We take what we can and run.”
“Mom, we don’t even know if this is a real threat,” Becca replied.
“Real or not, I don’t want to risk it. There are plenty of other places we can go.”
“I’m with Cathleen,” Calvin said. “The guys we’re facing are bigger in number, have more weapons, and know where we sleep. We can pack up the Rover in hours and start going south. I’m sure we can find another place.” He turned to Naomi. “Maybe your parents’ house?”
“I don’t think they’d like that,” Naomi replied.
Conner looked at them with furrowed brows. “We built these walls, we have the greenhouse ready for spring, and we have home field advantage. To give up this place is like surrendering our queen in a game of chess.”
Dean rolled a bullet between his fingers as one would do with a coin. He glanced up the table, a fire in his eyes that Naomi hadn’t seen since he robbed the men in Madison. “I say we bring the fight to them, and take what they took from us.”
Calvin’s face lost his color. “You’re talking about killing people. This isn’t a game, man. You’re not Rambo.”
Dean smiled with a arrogance and spite.
Allen breathed in through his nose. “We can raid their camp at nightfall. Most of them will be around the bonfire. If we plan it right, we can drop most of them in the first thirty seconds.”
Calvin’s eyes went wide and ran his hand up his hair.
Trinity looked at Allen with fear. “Uncle A, you don’t really mean that…”
Allen turned his sorrowful gaze to her. “I told you the day you arrived that you’re going to have to get your hands dirty to survive. This place is worth fighting for.”
“But it’s just a building,” Trinity retorted. “It’s not like we have any supplies worth using.”
Allen and Naomi traded a quick look, but neither of them said anything.
“I saw we call it to vote,” Conner said.
Allen glared at him. “My house is not a democracy.”
Conner glared back. “It’s not just your house anymore. My family toiled on this ground, too.”
Allen scoffed. “So that’s what you call it when you don’t touch the wall for two weeks and your brother comes back empty-handed from his hunts.”
Both of the Ryan brothers cut him with their eyes. Naomi felt the tension between them rise and interjected. “I think we can all agree that this place is important to all of us. For that reason alone, I think its worth keeping,” said Naomi. Truthfully, she was fighting for the supplies in the basement.
Calvin and Trinity gawked at her. “So you’d bring the fight to them?”
“I’d defend what we have,” Naomi said firmly. “There are no guarantees that the outside world is any better. Here, under the right management, we can turn this place into something that will last us months, years, or however long until power returns. To give that up because a few thugs know where we live would be foolishness.”
Calvin looked at her like she was a complete stranger. “You’d put our daughter in danger for the sake of a greenhouse that’s months away from being usable?”
Naomi felt anger course through her body and to her face. “I wouldn’t run away with our tails between our legs.” She quoted from her book. “Our environment may shape us when we are infants, but as adults, we have a choice. To submit or be submitted to.”
The people looked at her, almost awestruck by her words.
Having their undivided attention, Naomi continued. “I don’t believe instigating violence for violence’s sake. If anything, I’d love it to broker a deal with our neighbors, but they didn’t seem too interested in negotiation when they broke into our home and robbed us. The reality is this. We have an enemy that wants to do us harm, and we have a home worth protecting. Let's pick ourselves up from our bootstraps and started defending what’s worth fighting for.”
The room fell silent as they thought of her words.
Allen broke the quiet with his gruff voice. “What do you propose, Naomi?”
“We build up the wall, put around defenses, and get ready to hold our own. There’s a chance these guys may never come, but who says others won’t.”
Cathleen crossed her arms and slouched. “This is insane.”
Naomi looked at her with a pitying smile. “You aren’t forced to stay. No one here is.”
No one volunteered to step out.
They started with taking inventory of what they had: four hunting rifles, three shotguns, five handguns, and a number of gardening tools. Defending themselves from a range wouldn’t be the issue. What they needed was a something that would keep them from being ambushed in the dead of night. Calvin got to work on designing an alarm system of sorts. Trinity and Becca would help him set it up when he finished it. Meanwhile, Conner and Dean focused their efforts of fortifying the wall. They added diagonal bars to enforce the wall. Dean got a particularly nasty idea of adding a pit of sharp sticks on the inner and outer side of the wall to keep anyone climbing over and if they did, they’d fall into a pit of spikes. Allen scouted the area. When he wasn’t on patrol, he’d teach firearm safety courses to the others. He had a range set up in the back. Dean was the best shot. Allen was the most disciplined. Conner knew his way around a gun. Naomi was a little better than a novice. Trinity, Becca, Cathleen, and Calvin were all beginners.
Naomi was surprised to spend most of the time with Cathleen. While the men were building, Naomi and Cathleen were gathering wood and putting small trees to the axe. By the end of first day, their hands were blistered. The second was tougher. Everyone was still trying to get in the rhythm of things. Dean jammed his thumb under a hammer, Calvin cut his hand somehow, and Cathleen took a nasty fall as she was carrying a bundle of sticks. With a new limp, she stayed within the walls and would sharpen sticks all hours of the day. Naomi would keep a gun close and get what supplies she could from the nearby area. It was hard work, and most nights she went to bed aching. After day three, her head was no longer killing her but she’d still get vertigo. By some miracle, she wasn’t throwing up anymore. It was mainly in part to the medication Allen was sneaking her. She tried to convince him to give out more food during these long days because people needed their energy. Allen refused, and his rationing became harsher. He wanted to give off the appearance that they were running low. Naomi was not happy to part of this scheme, but didn’t push her brother. The last thing she needed was for the Ryans to know they’ve been lied to this whole time. After the Scrapers were dealt with--whatever that looked like--she’d find a way to break the ice.
By the third night, Calvin had finished setting up his alarm system. He had a number of thin strings around the area that connected to tin cans. If any taut string were tripped, it would send the ringing through a small hole in the defensive wall and onto the bundles of cans dangling across the front porch. His favorite addition was a small golden bell he hung just outside the dining room window. He used plastic sheeting to make a windshield around the can closest to the house; otherwise, the breeze might deceive them.
