Nuclear winter book 4 go.., p.17
Nuclear Winter | Book 4 | Going Home, page 17
part #4 of Nuclear Winter Series
Well, his friend definitely seemed to have grown into his role as Mayor. “How'd you get cows, anyway?” Pete asked. “Aren't they super expensive?”
“Super-duper expensive,” little Pete agreed solemnly, to a few chuckles.
Rick nodded, ruffling his son's hair. “It was actually a stroke of insane good luck. A small group of refugees traveling through Wyoming caught sight of a herd of unattended cattle on their way through the mountains. They couldn't manage to herd the animals themselves, and didn't want to risk it with slavers driving around everywhere, so they did their best to determine the location and hurried on to the Rockies and safety.
“From there Aspen Hill's prosperity and good reputation worked in our favor. The group decided their best shot at getting the cattle back here was to make a deal with Matt: half and half, their portion for the location and help transporting the animals, the town's for the vehicles, extra manpower, and defenders for protection. Not to mention barns to house the cows and pastures for them to graze on. It took some doing, but we managed to bring all 31 head back home without being caught by CCZ troops.”
Pete frowned. Rick's pasture alone had boasted at least 20 cows, as far as he remembered. “You must've been growing the herd like crazy since then.”
“Well yeah.” Rick shrugged modestly. “Also me and Wes busted our humps to trade for and buy up more cattle from other people, living like paupers up until recently. It turned out the original group of refugees didn't have many people who actually wanted to be in the business of raising cows-”
“It's a lot of work,” Wes chimed in as he carefully placed a perfectly cooked steak on Pete's plate. “You have to keep half an eye on them 24/7, and there's all sorts of things you need to do to care for them outside of the regular milking. And don't even get me started on grazing them and storing up fodder for the winter.”
“And there they are,” Sam concluded with a grin as she plopped mashed potatoes on Pete's plate, “New Aspen Hill's cattle barons.”
“Worth it all if we can give our friend a steak when he returns from the grave,” Rick concluded.
Hard to argue with that. Pete couldn't remember the last time he'd had a proper steak. It had been a rare treat even before the Gulf burned. The smell of the seasoned meat charring over the coals and wafting up from his plate was almost enough to make him dizzy. “So you killed the fatted calf for me, eh?”
The comment just sort of slipped out, Pete lost in the past and momentarily forgetting how he'd gotten to this point. But to his relief Rick just laughed. “It is kind of like that, isn't it?”
Almost more than Pete was comfortable with, really. The warm homecoming had filled a gulf in him, one he hadn't known he carried ever since abandoning his friends six years ago. But at the same time it filled him with guilt. He almost wished there'd been at least a little recrimination for how he'd acted, a bit of reservation in welcoming him with open arms.
“This sure beats what I'm used to,” he mumbled.
Alice grinned and patted him on the back. “One of the benefits of living in a tight-knit community.” She motioned further down the potluck buffet. “Everyone contributes something special.”
Well it was certainly an impressive spread. Along with the steak and potatoes Pete saw a pitcher giving off the rich scent of gravy. A plate with a large square pat of butter rested near it, along with several seasonings and condiments including barbecue sauce and ketchup, both in familiar bottles but with unfamiliar, homemade looking labels.
So not just a proper steak, but a proper steak and potatoes dinner complete with all the trimmings. In Canada only the wealthiest people ate like this . . . almost literally a meal fit for a king.
And that was just the beginning. Farther down he saw platters of vegetables and fruits, casseroles and funeral potatoes and half a dozen different salads, fried chicken and broccoli smothered with cheese, and so on. The desserts had a table all of their own, with brownies, sheet cakes, cookies, fudge, candied fruit, and pitchers of juice and apple cider.
Honestly, the selection was as good as any neighborhood get-together or community event Pete had been to back before the Gulf burned.
“We'd heard the USA didn't need to trade much with Mexico for food these days,” he mentioned to Rick. “But given how little information gets to us in Canada, with how well you've sealed your borders and with the CCZ and Mexico blocking easy contact with you, we figured it was because a lot of people in the US had died in the worst of the cold. I mean, you guys are living in mountains! In nuclear winter!”
“Actually, most citizens moved down to the valleys to the east and west of the mountains as soon as they could, some even before the First Winter,” Alice said, busy juggling her plate and another he assumed was for Suzy as she did her best to fill them. “Aspen Hill is lucky, since this valley is pretty low elevation even though it's in the mountains. But aside from us not many other people live up here. In some places, especially farther up, the snow didn't melt even in the summer during the first few years after the Retaliation.”
The conversation petered out as they focused on filling their plates and joining their friends at one of the tables. Pete was probably a bit too eager about carving into his steak, getting to work on it the moment he settled into his chair. At that point it was hard to think of anything but the bliss of flavor and sensation.
Rick and Alice seemed pleased to see him enjoying their contribution, although they were slower to join him eating as they got their own kids settled in and helped them get started on their food. “Speaking of mountain winters, I bet you're wondering how we managed to succeed at farming with an effective growing season of a few months, if we're lucky,” Rick said.
“Getting longer, though,” Alvin called from farther down, Lucy nodding in agreement. “The winters are finally getting milder as the climate gets back to normal.”
Rick waved that off. “Still a challenge to tease out a good crop.” He jostled Pete's arm. “If you end up getting some land here I could give you a few pointers on cold weather farming.”
“You'd be surprised,” Pete replied, although he had to hide a pang. “I spent the second nuclear winter stranded on a farm up in Canada proper, and the northern part at that. Saskatchewan. Down around below 50 on a good night during the coldest weeks, and the snow didn't completely melt in the summer in some places.”
Alvin whistled. “And they farmed in that?”
He nodded. “They were pretty quick to adjusting to cold weather crops and more hardy breeds of livestock, and started preparing for what was coming practically the day after the Retaliation. They'd already managed to adjust pretty well through the first nuclear winter, and sitting around in the dark for three quarters of a year there wasn't much to do but talk. A lot. I learned more about farming than I ever wanted to know.”
Most of that was because Jaques had seemed determined to impart what knowledge he could on Pete, whether or not Pete was interested, so if his daughter had to pick a lowlife soldier exiled to the boondocks at least that soldier would be able to provide for her.
Making the best of a bad situation, he supposed. At least before it all went horribly wrong.
It seemed like most of his friends were farmers or at least raised some sort of crops and animals, so Pete supposed he shouldn't have been surprised at how interested they were in this topic. “Serious cold weather farming, eh?” Alvin said, leaning forward. “Let's talk shop, then. What did they do? Dealing with those temperatures they probably came up with solutions we haven't even considered.”
That was a safe topic, far removed from any uncomfortable questions about the people he'd wintered with, or what had happened during that time. Pete was more than happy to dive into it.
About the time when he'd emptied his first plate and was ready to go fill it again there was a minor hubbub of greetings from the tables nearest the parking lot, with Tam and her new husband following their excited children over to greet some new arrivals.
Pete recognized Scott Tillman, looking a bit older and more weathered by the years but otherwise healthy and vigorous, as evidenced by how he hauled Jen up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and began spinning back and forth while she shouted in delight. And with him, smiling and tottering forward on a cane, was an old woman who-
In a moment of genuine shock Pete realized that was Catherine Tillman.
He hated to say it, but Mrs. Tillman looked like she'd aged twenty years in the last six since he'd seen her. That is . . . well, she'd been in her fifties even then, and was probably in her sixties now. But it had been the healthy fifties of a life spent caring for herself, and he'd always considered her more middle aged.
Now, though, for the first time he saw her as old. Her life couldn't have been easy since the Gulf burned, as difficult as everyone else's, and living like that took its toll on the body. More and more as the years progressed he could only imagine. She was hunched with age and weariness, her skin paper-thin and heavily wrinkled where it wasn't stretched tight over an almost skeletal frame. And even though the summer evening was mild she was bundled up in coat and scarves and a knit wool hat.
But in spite of that Mrs. Tillman's eyes sparkled with life, and she wasted no time making a beeline for Pete as he stood to greet her, Scott following close behind. A wide smile scrunched up the wrinkles on her face as she took him by the arm and subjected him to an intense scrutiny he felt incredibly awkward about.
“Peter,” she said, one of the few times he'd heard his full name in almost a decade. “Look at you.” She stepped back but transferred her grip to his hand, squeezing it with surprising strength in those bony fingers. “Lacy and Ian would be proud of how you've grown.”
Pete winced a bit at that, and when he replied tried to keep the guilt out of his tone, keep things light. “After everything that's happened, leaving like I did, I wonder if that's all they'd be proud of.”
The old woman just laughed. “Some people are lucky enough to grow up in a good place, with good people, and can be content to live their entire lives there without needing to experience the outside world. Others have too much impatience, too much fire, to appreciate home until they've left to experience the world and then come back. Only then can they see what makes home special.”
Words of wisdom. Mrs. Tillman had always been happy to share them, although Pete had to admit these were pretty on point. Thankfully Mr. Tillman stepped in to shake his hand, and then Tam gave him a brief hug and introduced him to her new husband, Jerry Bryant, and their new daughter Elisa.
The older couple hit the buffet to get some food, and since Pete had been headed that way anyway he joined them, as did Tam and Jerry, mostly to keep their parents company. Pete was able to ask about Carl, trying to be sensitive to what had to be a painful subject, and learned about the ambush Lewis and his volunteer defenders had suffered in the canyon not long after Pete ran off.
Hearing about something he wouldn't have been able to do anything about even if he'd stayed shouldn't have bothered Pete, but at the sight of the family's obvious grief he still felt a stab of guilt. And the grim turn the conversation took from there didn't help; Mrs. Tillman wanted to talk about the slaves he'd brought out of the CCZ, and what he knew of what they'd been through and their situation following their rescue.
Pete didn't go into gruesome detail, but there wasn't much but suffering and hardship to describe, and he could see the others were becoming uncomfortable.
Not Mrs. Tillman, though, who insisted on keeping the conversation going. “It's a terrible situation,” the old woman agreed, clucking softly. “But they make things harder on themselves with their attitude.”
Pete paused for a confused moment, not sure he'd understood that correctly. “Pardon?”
“Going from one of the most entitled generations in history to privation after the Gulf burned, and finally to slavery when they were captured by blockheads,” Mrs. Tillman explained. “I doubt any of them were mentally prepared for it. Freedom isn't a physical thing: it's possible to be free of heart even while in chains, while I've met plenty of free people who might as well be in bondage thanks to their perspective and attitude.”
Yeah, that sounded nice. Too bad it was all philosophical BS. “Slavery feels pretty physical to the people in chains doing heavy labor while suffering beatings and worse,” Pete said, trying to keep his tone polite. He held up the hand holding his plate and ran a finger around his wrist. “Chainbreaker isn't just a symbolic name for my unit, you know: I've cut more than a few slaves out of shackles, and seen the scars they leave behind. And those pale in comparison to the ones left by whips and other torments.”
Mrs. Tillman looked surprised. Pete had a feeling she probably didn't get contradicted often. “I think you're missing my point,” she said thinly.
“Oh no, I get your point. But even with a great positive outlook on life it's impossible to ignore reality, and reality slices some pretty deep welts.” When he paused for breath the old woman tried to cut in, and he continued firmly. “All due respect, ma'am, but I've been in the middle of it. I've seen the slave camps. I've talked to plenty of freed slaves, and had to carry some of them out of that hell on my back because they were too weak to walk. I've seen how they fare after being freed, and the scars they carry outside and inside even years later.”
For a few moments Mrs. Tillman stewed in silence while the rest of her family shuffled uncomfortably. Then she sighed. “I know a few rescued slaves,” she admitted. “But few enjoy talking about what they went through. I suppose this topic is more outside my area of expertise than I'd thought.” She smiled dourly. “And I guess I sounded a bit smug: the last thing anyone who went through that wants to hear is that their attitude was the problem, not the fact that some monsters kidnapped them and took them to suffer in captivity.”
Since she'd been willing to relent Pete supposed he should too, at least a little. “Determination and a good attitude can keep you alive and sane through some terrible things,” he agreed. “But there are limits to what the mind and body can suffer, and attitude runs into a brick wall when it hits those limits.”
Tam coughed in embarrassment. “I suppose we should all just be grateful that we've been spared that nightmare, and keep those who haven't in our prayers.”
That seemed like a safe place to step away from the topic, and thankfully Mrs. Tillman allowed the conversation to turn to other things.
✽✽✽
The meal wound down slowly as everyone had their fill. Pete certainly didn't hold back; he'd demolished three plates already and was now making his leisurely way through a sampling of the desserts on offer.
Around him his friends had broken off into smaller conversations about the things going on in their lives, some catching up with those they didn't usually get a chance to see during their day to day activities. Pete supposed he could've felt left out, in the middle of it all but only infrequently included, most of his own catching up done and his friends starting to remember that in spite of his joyous homecoming he was still a relative stranger.
But he felt surprisingly content, soaking in the feeling of home and community, the murmur of conversations around him, occasional bursts of laughter, and the laughs and shrieks of children playing on the grass.
“You don't know what you have here,” Pete said quietly to Rick, watching little Pete run by chased by Liv and Luke. “The rest of the world isn't like this.”
His friend smiled and pulled Alice into a one-armed hug. “You'd be surprised.”
Pete smiled too. “About you knowing, or about the rest of the world?”
“Why not both?” Alice joked. “We went through it too, you know. Ferris's occupation, Razor's attack, Turner's siege, the blockhead invasion, the nuclear winters. We know how the world is.”
“And yet in spite of that it's still a beautiful, amazing place to live,” Rick agreed, kissing his wife.
Pete looked away. He'd thought this wouldn't bother him, but such an obvious display of affection was something else. “It's gotten hard for me to see that sometimes.”
Alice's tone became sympathetic. “You're there in the middle of it. Fighting slavers, freeing slaves. You're surrounded by the ugliest parts of this world.”
“Maybe.” Pete looked around the peaceful park again. “But not right now.”
His friends got it. He may have brought it up in the first place, but they respected his unspoken request to drop it. Although he wasn't sure their alternative line of conversation was any better, since they decided to tell him about the birth of his namesake.
“It was a scary childbirth,” Alice admitted, snagging little Pete as he ran by and kissing the top of his head while he squirmed wanting to run and play again. “I suppose all of them are, without proper medical care. But the labor lasted almost a full day. There weren't really any complications, at least no major scares, it just took forever for this rascal to decide he wanted to be born. But at some points it certainly felt like it was much worse than it was.”
Pete sucked in a sharp breath, involuntarily reaching up to grab his ring, as grief swept through him. This was hitting a little close to home. “That-that's good,” he gasped, forcing a smile. “It's always a worry.”
Rick nodded, looking down at baby May sleeping in his arms. “Luckily May's labor made up for it. One of the easiest Dr. Maggy has ever seen, she said. Just slipped right out in a few hours and bawled her greeting to the world.” He chuckled. “I almost didn't recognize her crying for what it was at first. I couldn't believe she'd been born so quickly.”
Although he would've preferred to talk about just about anything besides this, or for that matter go through quite a few unpleasant things instead, for his friends' sake Pete did his best to show how happy he was for them. And he was happy for them, and relieved that the births had gone all right. But it was hard to feel that beneath the waves of grief surging through him, rising up from where he'd buried it deep just so he wouldn't have to feel this anymore.
