Curtain Fall: Second Edition, Disaster, Preparedness, Survival, Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 1) (29 page)

John wanted to stop and fill the empty gas cans on the way home, but once the generator and other supplies were loaded, he realized there was no room, so he decided to fill the cans later. He also wanted to fill the suburban, but not until he was ready to park it for a rest.

He consistently maintained at least half a tank of gas in his Suburban at all times, but with the disaster looming, he decided to fill it up every day until he could no longer leave his home or find anymore gas.

Once the disaster happened, everyone would be scrambling to fill their tanks, among other things, and he didn’t want to be caught anywhere around desperate people. In fact, he planned to stay home until things settled down, if they settled down.

John knew there was nothing more dangerous than to surround yourself with desperate people when they were competing for the few remaining available resources. It would be suicide to be out during such a time, which is why he planned to stay home. He just hoped he could finish gathering all his supplies before news of the disaster, or worse yet, signs of the disaster, reached them locally.

He doubted everyone would panic when they heard about the eruption, but it wasn’t safe to gamble on such a hope. The media could start a panic, but so could an individual if it was in their mood. When it came to mob action, people could be strangely unpredictable. For John, the smartest thing to do was get what they needed, and then wait for the curtain to fall.

W
hen they returned home, John and Adam stacked the supplies in the shop and began to draft their plan for the pool cover. They settled on a design that consisted of a single upright frame, one that used four horizontal pipes connected with T-coupler’s and elbows. And after measuring the pool’s depth for a level spine, they connected the three upright pipes to the spine with more couplers.

As soon as John and Adam slid the PVC pipes into the pool, they realized they had a problem with buoyancy. The air filled pipes floated to the surface at an angle that made securing it with lines impossible. To remedy that problem, they filled the bottom pipes with Jenna’s spare decorative rock, then glued only those sections that needed the strength to support the weight as they handled the spine.

With the spine in the pool, their next challenge was in figuring out how best to secure it to support the weight of the ash. The spine was high enough that the angle of the tarps would be better than forty-five degrees, and John hoped that would be enough to shed most of the ash, but he wasn’t sure. Still, it was their only hope given the unknown circumstances ahead, so they pushed forward with the design.

While contemplating their spine balancing problem, John spotted the four-way connectors and had an idea. They pulled the spine out of the pool and added two horizontal support arms to each upright. When complete, the six arms radiated out from the center pipes, near the surface of the pool, and provided enough grounded stability to secure the spine with lines.

The spine looked awkward sitting on the lawn next to the pool, something like an elongated “X” when laying on its side, but it turned out better than they thought it would. They slid the spine into the pool once again and inspected their cuts and measurements. Satisfied, they pulled it out and began priming and gluing the remaining connectors.

“It looks like a giant daddy-long-leg spider,” remarked Adam.

“Reminds me of Tinker-Toys,” replied John.

“Tinker-Toys?” asked Adam.

John snorted and said, “Yeah. When I was a kid, we didn’t have all those electronic gadgets that rot your mind and steal away our youthful exuberance.”

“Whatever,” replied Adam, and after catching a breath he asked, “So, what are Tinker-Toys anyway?”

“They were a wooden building set of wooden dowels and connectors. I remember this one time, I had . . .”

“Dad, I’m OK, really. I don’t want to hear about what you built with toys,” quipped Adam.

“They weren’t toys,” said John, using his fingers to make air quotes when he said the word. “They were . . . tools of the imagination. As I was saying, before you interrupted me . . . I built this really cool bridge. It took me and my friend all day to make it, and it was really something. I wish I had a picture of it.”

“Did they have cameras back then?” teased Adam.

“Funny,” replied John. “The point is, you guys lose your creativity with video games. I had to create my own alternate reality with things like Tinker-Toys, and GI Joe,” finished John.

“Ready to slip this giant white spider into the pool?” asked Adam, clearly ready to end the conversation about John’s deprived childhood.

“Yeah. The glue should be dry by now. Let’s do it,” said John, as he stood to grab one end of the spine. He didn’t glue all the joints, just those that needed the extra strength. He hoped to re-task the pipe at a later date, and once the couplers were glued they were committed to their task at hand.

With the spine in the pool, John and Adam took a break on Jenna’s bench under a nearby tree. The sky above was clear and almost completely free of clouds. It made for a hotter than normal fall day, but it was still very pleasant to be outside. A mild breeze from the south carried no sign of change, yet John knew it was coming, and he let the thought slip away so as not to sour his mood.

He drank deeply from a water bottle, capped it, and then rested his head against the trunk of a mature oak that served as the base of their generous overhead canopy. He counted three jet contrails high in the sky at a distance, and wondered about the people riding in those passing planes; were they happy in their ignorance of the coming change?

John knew he was happy, or at least he was content with his ignorance while he still had it. The future seemed bright. Now that he knew about the coming disaster, he felt out of sorts, like he was coming down with a cold and taking heavy doses of vitamin-C to suppress his abandon.

Still, birds and insects buzzed around him, and all life seemed normal and routine. A squirrel, the one Abby called Rudy, chattered noisily at them for interrupting his nut collecting under the tree. John watched the furry little rodent scurry around the tree branches as if he was the master of his universe.
“Perhaps he was,”
thought John.
“The tree, this yard, and possibly even the neighborhood, was the reaches of Rudy’s universe.”

John wondered what would happen to nature when the ash started to fall, and turned to look at Adam. His son didn’t seemed worried about the disaster, and that pleased him, at least to a point. Either that, or Adam didn’t carry his emotions around on his sleeve like John did.

Adam saw that John was eyeing him and asked, “Are we gonna finish covering the pool today?”

“I don’t know,” replied John. “I was considering it, but I think the pool guy comes tomorrow, and I don’t want him asking questions. I was thinking we can finish it as soon as he leaves,” added John, as he bent to scratch at his ankle. “I have a feeling we’ll need to tweak the cover a little too, you know, like we did with the supports.”

Adam nodded and drank from his water bottle until it was empty. He noisily crushed the frail container and wiped the back of his hand across his brow. “We’ll have to pull the tarp really tight, or as tight as we can anyway, and stake it down as far from the edge of the pool as possible.”

“We can’t go too far out . . . we need the steep angle of the tarp to shed the ash.”

“Oh . . . that’s right,” replied Adam. “Lots of rope, and deep stakes,” added Adam.

John nodded and repeated him, “Yup. Lots of rope, and deep stakes,” and crushed his own bottle. “We definitely don’t want the ash ripping the tarp. All this work would be a waste of time.”

Adam nodded and John added, “I was also thinking about leaving an opening that would be large enough to allow us to get water from the pool without having to climb under . . . sort of like a passage tunnel or something.”

“Definitely a door,” replied Adam.

“But I think, if we do it right, the ropes will bear most of the weight of the ash,” added John.

“How much ash do you think we’ll get, dad?”

John sighed and said, “That’s hard to say, but I’m thinking several inches at least . . . but probably not more than ten.”

“Wow, that much?” replied Adam. “We might have to come out and sweep ash off the tarp.”

“You’re right about that,” replied John. “Maybe we can use mom’s telescoping pole, and put a shop broom-head on it.”

Adam nodded, and John could see by the expression on his face that he was thinking about how the ash would change things for him. John was about to say something to comfort Adam, but he decided against it. Like his father did for him when he was Adam’s age, John knew it was best to keep Adam busy. That would be the best way to keep his son’s mind off the looming disaster.

John popped Adam lightly on the leg with the back of his hand and said, while standing, “Com’on, we’ve got a few more things to do before your mom calls us in for dinner.”

Adam stood and said, “Did you even see the fuel pit yet?”

“I did. It looks good, too. In fact, that’s what I want to work on next,” said John. And he was impressed with Adam’s work, and even mentioned to Adam that the fuel pit was one step away from being a real foxhole.

They spent the next hour working on the pit, and Adam used the time to ask John questions about foxholes. John described the finer points of foxholes, and explained the importance of overhead protection, grenade sumps, and interlocking fields of fire.

“Did you use foxholes in Iraq?”

“We dug a few during Desert Storm, but not when we were in Baghdad. We had concrete and Hesco barriers for protection,” said John.

“Oh yeah, those wire mesh bags filled with sand . . . like big sandbags,” replied Adam.

“That’s right, but one Hesco bag was about the size of a refrigerator. Stack them up and you have a pretty good barrier. The concrete ones were different sizes too, and they could also make a pretty effective barrier, but the problem was you couldn’t see past them. We had to make and man watchtowers to keep an eye on the perimeter,” replied John.

They continued to talk foxholes while lining the fuel pit with landscaping cloth. When they finished, John dumped bags of gravel on the bottom, and sent Adam to get the fuel cans while he tacked the cloth to the sides of the hole with landscaping nails.

While Adam made his final trip to get the last of the plastic fuel cans, John went to the shop to look for a suitable piece of three-quarter inch plywood to serve as a cover. With all his lumber stacked neatly along one side of the shop, John knew exactly where to look for what he needed.

After moving aside several sheets of three-quarter inch plywood, all of which had one or more half-inch holes drilled through them near the center, John found a piece of lumber and slid it to the side.

Adam joined him and asked, “What are the holes in all those boards for?”

“Those are the storm covers I made a few years ago,” replied John. He pointed to the marks and said, “These tell me which window they fit.”

“Are we gonna use them for the disaster?”

“I was thinking about it, but first things first . . . here, take this sheet of plywood to the fuel pit while I restack these covers,” said John, as he handed the unmarked board to Adam.

When John joined Adam at the pit, he was pleased to see the gas cans at the bottom, and Adam standing ready to cover them. “Do you want me to drop it over the top?” he asked.

“Sure. Go ahead,” said John.

With the cover in place, John studied it for a moment and said, “Wait here, I’ll be right back,” and disappeared behind the shop. He returned with two cinderblocks, dropped them to the ground, and went to get two more. When he returned he said, “Let’s place these at each corner. I want the pit to breathe, and these cinderblocks should help with that.”

“I thought you wanted it flat to the ground . . . to keep the ash out.” said Adam.

“I do, but for now it’s best to leave room for ventilation.”

They admired their work and smiled at each other. John really enjoyed working with Adam, and he felt Adam also enjoyed it, but he rarely had the opportunity. Life and its many demands had a way of denying them such opportunities. Then it dawned on John that there was at least one good thing about the coming disaster, he got to spend quality time with Adam. The irony of it wasn’t lost on him, but he refused to dwell on it.

“Follow me,” said John. “I want to show you something.”

“The shelter?” asked Adam, excitedly.

“No, not yet. We’ll do that later tonight. I want to show you something else . . . something I’ll need your help with.”

John entered the shop and walked over to the plywood window covers. He slid one cover aside and said, “Here, hold this for a sec.”

Adam balanced the sheet of plywood on the floor as John went to fetch a pre-cut two-by-four and a very long, half-inch carriage bolt, complete with nut and washers. The bolt rattled in John’s hands as he walked toward Adam.

John held up the bolt and, while sliding the washers back and forth over the threaded surface, said, “This bolt, and the wood in your hands, will help protect our home when the ash starts to fall.”