“If we had unlimited resources I wouldn’t disagree with you,” Mike said.
“As it is, we wouldn’t be able to house and feed a bunch of other people,” Carol pointed out. “All the vegetable gardens have stopped producing, and we won’t have a fresh supply of food or the ability to grow more until next spring . . . say, eight months until more crops are in. We can’t take in more people without shortchanging the ones who are already here.”
There was a rumble of agreement around her. Ted looked frustrated. “But more people are more hands to cut wood, and hunt.”
“That works only if they bring their own axes and ammunition with them,” Sela said quietly. “Otherwise they’d be using tools we already have. No matter how much we want to help people, if we want to make it through the winter we will already have to severely conserve what we have.”
That earned her a scowl from Ted, which she wouldn’t care about if he didn’t have just enough argument on his side to cause serious dissent. Their resources were so thin she didn’t know if they could survive a break in their united front.
She wished Ben were here, for all the good wishing did. He’d know what to do, but though he’d taken the trouble to warn her, and then flabbergasted her by checking on the Livingstons, weeks could go by without anyone seeing him. He’d already refused Mike’s invitation to join them. He was in great shape up there on Cove Mountain, and didn’t need them. Assuming anyone wanted his supplies, they’d have to first climb the mountain, then fight him. Even street gangs would go for easier prey, and leave him and his shotgun alone.
But he wasn’t the only person around here who’d been in the military; there were several standing here around her, mostly men but a couple of women, too. They had a forest ranger, a retired cop, and a whole lot of people who had spent their whole lives hunting in these mountains. The valley people weren’t helpless, or without knowledge.
Carol reached for her ever-present notebook. “Okay, people, I need some names. We’re going to need people who can start riding or walking patrol. We need enough to keep an eye on the main highway approaches, and that new parkway over the mountain from Knoxville to here is going to be a pain in the butt, you just wait and see.”
Sela agreed on that. The new parkway had sat unfinished for years, then the project got going again just in time to cause a problem by creating another vulnerability. Keeping an eye on it would require at least two people, each pulling twelve-hour shifts, and that wasn’t going to be easy.
Trey Foster, the man who had offered to keep her supplied with firewood, spoke up. “I was in the army, I can help with patrolling. But if we’re patrolling we won’t be able to hunt, or chop firewood, and our families will suffer for that.”
Mike said, “The sensible solution would be to pay the security team with food, everybody chipping in with a little. If someone brings down a deer, part of it goes for payment.”
“Some people can’t afford to give away their food!” Ted said, looking alarmed, which told Sela he and his wife hadn’t gathered as much food as they could have.
“Then you should join the community patrol,” Mike said, immediately coming to the same conclusion.
Ted looked startled, then said, “Well, okay.” After a second, his expression morphed into one of pleasure. He was not only being included, but doing something important. Maybe that was the key to handling him: keep him busy, and stroke his ego.
Carol wrote down their names, Trey’s and Ted’s, and at Mike’s nod added his to the list. “I’m waiting,” she hollered. “Y’all step up here and help keep the valley safe, or I’ll be talking to your mamas and wives, and you don’t want that.”
That provoked a rumble of laughter, and men began moving forward. There weren’t that many of them, maybe two dozen, but there were enough to patrol the highway approaches, and eventually they would have to settle disputes, but for now—it was a start.
Chapter Ten
Late October was normally a time for tourists, with roads clogged with traffic and crowded restaurants. The leaves were changing—red, yellow, and orange amid the evergreens—the festivals were going on and the weather was thankfully turning cool. Previously, October and early November were among the busiest times of the year, for Sela’s store and elsewhere in the valley.
Not this year. This year there was little or no traffic on the highway, because people seldom drove, using their precious gasoline only when they had to. Usually there was no place to go, anyway: no doctor or dentist appointments to keep, no eating out or going to movies. Mostly people walked or rode bicycles, though the community patrol they’d set up—which was still evolving—mostly rode horses. Not everyone was an accomplished rider, though, and they either learned or walked. For the first couple of weeks there had been a lot of sore butts and legs.
But, people being people and Southerners being generally gregarious anyway, the valley inhabitants had begun gathering in their own neighborhoods in the late afternoon, and by the end of October the gatherings were a ritual. On the nicest of days, those gatherings continued well into the evening. No one had planned them, they’d just happened organically. It had started with a few neighbors hanging out in the road at the end of a long day, and had grown from there. In a matter of a couple of weeks, there were small get-togethers all over the valley. They talked about food, power, and how damn dark it got at night. The days were getting shorter, and many had adjusted their sleep patterns to conserve batteries and candles, going to bed when it got dark and sleeping—or trying to—until the sun came up. That was going to be more and more difficult, as the nights got longer.
They also talked about kids, movies, books, and knitting. It was a search for a touch of normal in an abnormal world.
There was more to survival than food and water. People needed people, a sense of community. They’d always had that here but now it was growing stronger. Last week a kid from the far end of the road had brought his guitar out and strummed a country song or two while others gathered around and listened. He was merely competent, but competent enough that listening wasn’t painful. Sela didn’t exactly love country music but she was entranced anyway. It seemed as if it had been years since she’d heard music, rather than a month. They said music had the power to soothe the savage breast, and while her breast wasn’t particularly savage she definitely felt soothed, and she wasn’t alone. Everyone enjoyed the music.
Halloween was a particularly beautiful night, clear and mild, with bright stars overhead. A fire was going in a portable fire pit, because despite the mildness there was something comforting about a fire. People had brought folding lawn chairs or camp chairs to sit in, or put blankets on the ground. Inspired by the kid, Mike Kilgore also brought his guitar. The two amateur musicians took turns and sometimes played together, their timing a bit off but who cared? People knew the songs and sometimes sang a few lines.
This night there were close to thirty people standing or sitting in the middle of the road. Olivia and one of her friends who had walked over to spend the night were sitting on a blanket with their legs drawn up and their fascinated gazes fixed on the boy with the guitar. Sela thought the boy was perhaps a year younger than Olivia, but pickings were slim in the neighborhood and hormones were hormones.