Silencer, p.23
Silencer, page 23
Waving a bit, making a silly face, trying to make sure Burt wasn’t too bummed out from talking to him, he walked away.
The next few days he made a point of staying busy, and away from the house when he could, trying to avoid confrontation with anyone. Mainly Tipper and Heather. That meant over-nighting in town, hiding in an empty house one night and emptying one the next. Two zombies, both in that rough stage between shambler and crawler. No one that he knew, thankfully. It wasn't a huge town, only about two thousand people, or it had been, so he recognized a lot of them. Not these though.
By tearing apart a chimney, chiseling it first, then just wailing on it with a sledgehammer for a while, he got a large load of brick and some grating from the fireplace inside to use as screens for the air vents. They'd need bellows too but those would have to be made. No one had those just sitting around anymore. Just to be safe he waited another day and took out a second fireplace, this one newer and harder as well but also with better bricks. The metal sheets from the store were easier to get than he thought, being in eight-to-ten-foot lengths as a rule. He got as many as would fit on the cart, the big metal one Burt had made first, and took the load back on the third morning. He got in just in time to have breakfast.
It was, Sammi informed him with her arms crossed, the very first real harvest day, and he had to stay and work, not go play in town anymore. She laughed, her little arms a bit thin for eleven. Everyone was too thin, mainly. He nodded.
“Of course. Not a problem.”
Except the being there part. With them. The off-putting Holsom ladies. They looked at him, staring, some afraid, some just to glare. It was an oddly hostile thing that he couldn't have honestly earned with at least half of them. He hadn't done anything to them, not most of them. He should be the one judging them, for their behavior and lack of work, not the other way around. It even made some kind of sense, that way. Thinking about it, he realized it really did. Finally he caught one staring at him, an unhappy look on her unpleasant face. More than just angry at him it seemed. So he gave a sympathetic smile to her. He even felt for her, which was probably a sign he was truly an idiot. Everyone was having a hard time though and he didn’t want to add to their burdens.
“What's wrong?” He asked, his voice almost sincere sounding. Pleasant-ish, at the very least, without seeming glib. “Other than the being trapped in a zombie infested world with a bunch of people you never would have picked to be your friends, I mean?”
She looked at him, seeming well and truly shocked. He felt that way a bit himself, since, really, he'd intended to snap at her and tell her off for staring. Maybe even insult her a bit and make her feel bad for being a lazy and useless person.
For some reason she actually told him what the deal was. Probably just taken off-guard by him seeming nice.
“It's September seventh... My birthday. I'm thirty-one today. Unmarried, childless, and living in a zombie infested world. That part kind of sucks every day but the getting older part just hit me, the whole what am I doing with my life thing. I'm a lawyer for God's sake. I mean I was. I studied all that time, sacrificed a chunk of my life and now all I have to show for it is a diploma I keep under my mattress. In a room I share with fifteen other people. I was doing fine. Good even. I had my own practice at thirty, and it rocked. A nice car, a decent house that had running water, a fridge and everything. Even a cat. Sure, the lonely cat lady but the only thing good to come out of all of this is the weight loss. Only everyone else did that too, and no one cares. If I weighed forty pounds more still, I'd be exotic but no, now I'm just saggy and too thin like everyone is.”
Jake looked at her, probably for too long because she looked down, clearly embarrassed. Maybe expecting him not to get what she was saying. Her good life had ended and the new one was simply not an even trade. His life had sucked before, in a spoiled, first world way, and he would have traded his left arm to go back and do it again. Just to get a package of Oreos.
“I didn't get you a present, and singing is out of the question until we can set up under ground... Want a hug?” It was a joke, he meant it as one at least, smiling and holding his arms out but she nodded and accepted it happily enough to make him feel good about offering.
Tipper came in and stared for a second. As if she figured he was mugging the poor woman, or possibly about to do something even worse to her, right there in the common room of the house.
“Um...” She said, as if she couldn't decide whether to say something or not. Her look was odd, as if she wanted to order him away from the woman or something along those lines, not shocked that someone in the place would bother hugging him. Basically she just looked pissy really. Like she actually hated him for some reason.
Jake ignored that. All of what it might mean.
“It's her birthday. She's thirty-one.” Jake said it warmly, trying to convey that the other cleaner had better act pleased, or there would be... problems. Maybe not shoot someone in the head level but he could sulk at her or something.
The woman smiled when Tipper murmured happy birthday and hugged her too. It was the living room, so a lot of people decided to do the same thing then. The woman, Susanne, still didn't get any presents but she didn't seem to care as much after all that.
Jake had his own bed back, not having to share it with anyone just using him to... He didn’t know what the girl had been up to, to be honest. Something crazy. Possibly psychic. She’d been right on a few issues that had clearly shown real talent that way. Still, Heather could have found another place to sleep if she wanted, or a better-looking guy to sleep next to or whatever. She'd done it instantly when she decided to. Not even hesitating for a second to consider him. Probably just to screw with his head as a game.
The girl wasn't that well connected to reality even. She still went around telling everyone how the cannibals were coming in the winter all the time. It wasn't that he didn't believe her, since it actually made sense but he had no clue what else he was supposed to do about it, other than get ready. Even a wall would only help so much. What they needed was more ammo, and guns that didn't make as much noise. Ones that magically had at least the knock down power of a forty-five. That would be good. He'd have to ask Burt if he had some tucked away in his shed.
This whole thing would be so much easier without zombies.
Or women.
People.
Yeah, he'd be better off alone. After the winter he'd do that. Just move somewhere else. Have his own farm and a little place to live. With no one around to bother him but some occasional looters and undead looking for a snack. If he could learn enough and use the tools they already had, he might be able to do that. It was a thought and a better dream than the nothing he’d had for the last months.
For a while he'd hoped that he and Heather might be something but that had been foolish. The truth was that he could see that. She wasn’t the woman he loved. Just some random girl who had been near him, that part of his brain had decided might be good enough for sex. That wasn’t a good enough reason to use her that way. Yes, his hormones were normal, but it was, in the end, fine enough for him not to be with anyone. It had to be.
Smiling into the dark, a forced grin for no one, he curled up and fell asleep. Eventually. He didn't dream, not that he could recall in the morning. That always cheered him up. Dreams were seldom good things anymore.
Before breakfast he climbed up on the frame of the greenhouse and used short fat nails and a claw hammer, covered the new structure with the huge sheets of plastic. The interior space was forty by thirty feet, and they had to cover the west end of it, the east side being snug against the house. That meant it had to be smaller than the amount of plastic they had by a good bit. It took several people to hold each sheet in place correctly. Justine climbed up on the log beams with him, Burt, and some guy he didn't care about on the ground.
The other man was whiny.
Quietly, thank goodness but he complained about having to get up so early and then about not having coffee. No one had any for months and he was going on about it as if a civil liberty had just been stolen from him. The fellow had brown hair, round cheeks that still were lean somehow and nicer clothing than anything Jake owned at all.
He wasn't even a new guy. Clint. He'd been around since the first month. Jake still didn't care about him, which either said something about him, or Clint, as a person. Given everything it might just be both.
Normally the man avoided Jake like the plague. With good reason too, since there had been an incident early on when one of the women had claimed that Clint had felt her up while she slept. Jake hadn't even said anything at the time, letting others handle it, and Clint had denied it but the guy apparently thought that doing anything even mildly annoying again would get him killed.
Really, he didn't care if the man wanted to feel some woman up in his own bed. If she was sleeping in bed with him, that seemed correct enough. Maybe not in her sleep, but before that. The offer was implicit. They'd had a lot of bed space back then and only twelve people. She could have slept alone if she wanted. Or with another woman, or she could have talked about Clint not touching her first. In most places that would have been called normal, the guy making a move, and the woman wouldn't have been there if she hadn’t been at least a little interested. True, a lot of the rules had changed over time, but back then it had felt like the woman was being kind of evil, on purpose. Trying to get Clint beaten or killed for some reason. If the woman had honestly minded that much she could have just killed Clint anyway. Jake would have lent her a gun.
Later that same woman had gone around claiming that most of the men were doing similar things, including their leader, which finally got her invited to leave. Nate didn't do it, either, being too kind for that. Vickie had. In the old world she'd been raped, a pretty gruesome gang thing it seemed. She'd mentioned it but only in passing and Jake hadn't pried. It still clearly bothered her. That's why she'd gotten good with weapons and didn't mind killing so much. It was what she’d told them at least. It also ticked her off that some woman would be going around crying wolf like that, because it made every real claim seem like a lie.
Clint was still afraid of him.
But not enough to shut up now. That's what Jake got for not killing people without a good reason. If he'd just offed a couple of people just because...
The man kept yammering. Fast and hard. His portion of the plastic slipping a bit.
“I keep telling people we should have a more democratic system. Right now it's not fair, a few people decide everything and the rest of us just have to do what we're told. A lot of people agree too, it isn't just me.”
The guy had a point.
Not about democracy, which was stupid and never really worked but about a few people making all the decisions. What Clint didn't seem to get was that, like Jake, most of those people just did stuff. They came up with an idea, found people to work with them and got it done. Like the greenhouse. They didn't need a vote on that because everyone wanted one. All voting would have done was caused them to sit around debating it for weeks on end, because a few people didn't want to do any hard work.
“And the food... couldn't we have planted any sugar cane? I'd kill for some sugar but nooo, that wouldn't fit with Mr. High and Mighty Nathanial Burns' idea of clean living.” The guy sounded very sure of himself but Burt gave him a look.
If Jake had gotten that look from the man he would have been certain he'd said something incredibly stupid. Clint tried to keep talking only to find Burt smiling at him and nodding absently as Jake pounded in the last few nails.
When the other man wound down, nearly five minutes later, the older fellow cleared his throat. It was, clearly, lecture time. Jake actually listened since it could be important.
“Sugarcane grows best in warmer climates, near the equatorial regions. You could move if you really want some. Around here the best we can do are sugar beets and we only have a few. That area over there? About three acres? We need to let them go to seed, some of them, for next year's crops. We can refine it part way to sugar, a sweet syrup. It will be more like molasses in flavor but it's the best we have unless we find some wild beehives. If you want we'll gladly put you in charge of refining it. It can be taken all the way down to sugar I hear but that's a multistage process, not just cooking it down. I’m not really up on how to do that, to be honest.” Burt held his part of the plastic while the hammering continued.
“As for voting, all the votes in the world won't make it go back to how it was. We listen to ideas though and if you notice, most of them get done, if anyone cares to do it.” Burt almost sounded sad. Annoyed but still a little down.
Clint still complained. It could simply be that he always would.
Jake wondered about that for half a second. It seemed a horrible fate, being doomed to whine forever. Hopefully, the guy will fix it and learn to be happy.
Still, he nodded.
“What would you vote for? What do you want? More women? Coffee? Cheese Danishes in the morning or an eradication of all zombies everywhere? Vacation time and overtime for the work we do past eight hours a day?”
The man bristled a bit but Jake actually felt curious. Justine snorted.
“He better not want more women. Coffee would be nice though and I'd mug a nun for a Danish about now.”
“His words not mine hon. You're more than enough for me.” At least in this Clint sounded sincere and not too complaining.
That they were a couple came as news to Jake. He didn't care, he told himself. That whiny little Clint got a girl and he got... Jake tried to go over what he got out of being there. Food. Except he brought more in than he’d need for only himself. Shelter, but there was an entire empty world now. He could get his own place to live and if he hadn't been there helping, food could have been done, too. Wood was the same way. So... The truth was that he wasn’t actually gaining much by being there at all. He'd learned some useful things. How to build some stuff and to think things through. How to plan ahead and see problems before they came. But that learning didn't really rate too high in the world at the moment.
Clint stopped complaining for a bit once the roof was secured in place. Then he and Burt fixed the walls in place while the others got on the ground and started on the other side. It didn't take as much holding with one side done. Half an hour later it was finished. Except for the air vent panels but those were simple enough. Jake cut the plastic out and then lightly hammered the nails into the movable frame. It didn't have hinges, just some rounded wooded nibs sticking into holes in the side of the wood, letting it open from the bottom if you pushed on it. The whole thing wasn't very tall, except in the middle of the roof, which was about six feet above the wall edge. Making the whole thing about ten feet tall at the highest point. That or twelve. Jake wasn't sure and didn't care enough to ask at the moment.
Burt pointed at the angle, seeing what Jake was looking at.
“Thin plastic wouldn't hold a lot of weight but with that angle, being careful and keeping this place warm, it should be all right. We can also use a broom to push it up from the inside, to clear it.”
With that, they were allowed to go inside. Jake simply filed all the information away.
After breakfast they had corn to pick, which would take more work than it seemed like at first. They had a lot of it, and it was all going to be ready inside a week. At the same time they also had to do their strawberries, late season ones. Everything had been started later than it should it seemed because the initial work had been slow. Those had to be picked by hand, too. Meaning they needed two teams, and the berries had to be processed within a day of harvesting, so the canning crew took the berries directly from the field and cleaned them, removed the stems, and started reducing them in a big pot. It wasn't jam or jelly at all. They lacked too many things for that. It was more like thick strawberry syrup. The corn was just being stored in an outdoor covered area in big wooden bins to start with.
Back Before everything ended, Jake had seen some shows on television, mainly when he was younger, about the pioneers and Amish people. How at harvest time they all worked frantically from sunup to sundown trying to get all the crops in.
He'd seen it, saw the actors sweating in the fake Hollywood sun and truly hadn't gotten it. Not at all. By noon he felt a little bored and tired. Gritty and sore but kept going. They didn't stop for a sit-down lunch, just grabbed food, a bowl of stew each, from a table set up at the corn dump box with the large black pot and went back to work after getting some water. He had a sack that he filled every ten minutes or so and then jogged over to the bin. Dump, pick, repeat. They didn't stop at all and didn't trade jobs. Corn took greater strength and endurance, strawberries were easier for shorter people.
Jose apparently thought Jake was strong, hence he got to pick corn. Nate did too, so at least there was that. Shared misery. Forty acres to pick and the bins all filled to the top with one. Jose had a plan for that, husking, stripping the kernels and laying the grain out to dry in the sun on old bed sheets. It was very labor intensive. They didn't stop for dinner, just got more stew. Since Mary died, there was no real bread at all, not even that awful oat stuff. Some attempts had been made but it kind of sucked. If they dried corn, they could make bread from that though. At least if they worked out how to turn it into flour.
They all worked until dark, with all the pregnant women in the kitchen. Probably spitting in his food to spite him. For being part of making Holsom go away. As if the man hadn’t fled on his own, abandoning them all. Well, at least he felt too tired to care about that right now, a bit down about it but then everyone kind of dragged as they walked in. He'd ran through his day and had to get up early to do it again.
He forced himself to his feet at sunup.
Jose met him in the field, coming out at nearly the same time and they both started picking fast. The man pushing him to go harder with his own work. Jake smiled, making it a contest, if only in his own head. He tried to match the man one for one, which they did for hours, managing a lot more than he'd thought they could with just the two of them before most of the others showed up.
