Curtain Fall: Second Edition, Disaster, Preparedness, Survival, Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 1) (39 page)

“Yes daddy, absolutely. You should punish him by making him give me all his candy too,” said Abby with a smile and wink of her own.

John agreed with Jenna that candy was the last thing Abby needed, but he couldn’t deny what it did to boost her morale. “Just do me a favor, baby,” he asked, “Try to make it last, OK? It might be a long . . .” Jenna elbowed John lightly in the ribs, and John got the hint, though he couldn’t think of another way to put it. He decided to just drop it by saying, “Just make it last, OK?”

“Thanks, daddy,” replied Abby, and she dumped the candy in the middle of the floor. Adam did the same, and John and Jenna enjoyed a relaxing moment watching their kids sort through and negotiate for their favorite candies.

Despite the familiarity of the candy, the scene carried a surreal energy about it. Jenna must have felt the same, because she got up and went to the kitchen. John followed her and asked, “Are you ready to start canning?”

“For the most part, but I think I’ll wait till tomorrow. I’m tired of being in the kitchen,” she said. “What about you . . . what do you have planned next? I hope it includes covering the broken windows before nightfall.”

“That is next on my list,” replied John. “Will everything fit into the pantry . . . the stuff you want to can?”

“I don’t think so, but we can put some in the shelter,” she replied.

John nodded and went to look in the pantry. It was a walk-in type, and it was, indeed, rather full. “Before I cover the windows, I want to take the food in the family room and put it in the bunker. Wanna help?”

“I think you and Adam can handle it. I want to inventory the canning supplies and see what I have. We may be eating fresh produce for every meal . . . at least for a few days.”

“That’s fine with me,” said John, “as long as it included the chard. You know I love how you prepare it. Adam! Are you done with the candy? It’s time to move the food to the shelter.”

“Can I help, daddy?” asked Abby, as she began to stuff candy back into the bags.

“Sure. Adam, get the wagon and bring it to the back door.”

“OK, dad.”

When all the food was stacked by the shaft in the shop, Adam began to lower it down to John by way of a net and pulley. Abby helped him stack it in the shelter, which meant it ended up all over the shelter, but the point was to get it in the shelter, and not to worry about how neat everything looked. The neatness would come later, when they had more time.

When the food was in the shelter, John locked it up and put everything back the way it was. He was pleased with the location of the shaft door, and knew it was invisible to the casual observer. Still, he didn’t think he’d be in the shelter again for several days. It would take Jenna time to can the harvest.

“What now?” asked Adam, as John locked the shaft door and slipped the boards back onto the shelf.

“It’s time to cover the windows,” said John. “We’ll start with the broken ones first. Abby, do you want to keep helping us?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“OK, then you can be my hardware assistant,” said John.

“Your wha . . ?”

John laughed. “You’re in charge of the hardware . . . all the nuts and bolts. See that plastic container over there . . . on the workbench?” asked John, as he pointed over Abby’s shoulder and behind her.

She turned and asked, “That one?”

“Yup. That’s the one,” said John. “It’ll be heavy, but it’s all the nuts and bolts we need to cover the windows. I’ll carry the first few plywood covers. Adam, you grab the two-by-fours.” John grabbed a few tools and slipped them into his pockets. “Alright, let’s grab your stuff and take it to the house.”

They carried everything around to the front of the house and stacked it on the front porch. John showed Adam how to match the plywood
cover with the correct window, and then grabbed a pre-drilled two-by-four and asked Abby to follow him inside.

The dining room window was cracked, but not completely broken, so John was careful when lifting it. He considered knocking the glass out to serve as an additional obstacle, but people typically didn’t walk around in their bare feet, so he decided against it. He remembered seeing broken glass cemented to the tops of walls around private homes in Iraq, and thought it was a pretty creative deterrent, but he had no walls to cap, only split-rail and wire fences. He knew broken glass would serve no immediate purpose to their home defense, at least for the time being, so he left it like it was.

With the window up, John saw the screen and said, “I’ll be right back, baby. I’ve got to take the screens out.”

John found Adam sitting on the front steps and said, “Adam, while you’re waiting for us, pop the screens out and stack them on the patio. Here . . . I’ll show you how.” John popped out the first screen and showed Adam how he wanted him to position the plywood cover up against the window.

Through the open window, John said to Abby, “Before the plywood goes up, hand Adam one of the long carriage bolts. Yes, one of those . . . good. Now Adam, you push the bolt through and Abby will hold it from the inside. Then I’ll thread it through the hole in the two-by-four and secure it from the inside. Got it?”

“Got it,” said Abby.

John turned to Adam. “Sorry . . . got it, dad. Is this gonna take long? This is really boring.”

“You won’t think it’s boring when we need the covers,” replied John, as he tried to control his patience with Adam’s obvious lack of interest. “Are you tired?”

“A little,” said Adam.

“Well, if we work together we’ll be done in no time. You can have the rest of the day after the windows are covered. For now, I need your help and attention,” said John, and he went to join Abby at the window inside.

Adam grabbed the bolt from Abby, slid it through the hole in the plywood, and lifted the plywood cover into place over the open window. From inside, John grabbed the end of the bolt while Adam held the plywood in place against the window, and then fed it through the two-by-four in his hands. He had Abby thread a washer and nut over the end of the bolt when he held everything in place.

“Good job. Now hold the two-by-four and I’ll show you a trick on how to wind the nut really fast,” said John.

Abby held the two-by-four level against the wall while John quickly spun the bolt tight with his fingertips. Soon the cover was securely tightened to the window, and John yelled, “You can let go now, Adam.”

John turned to Abby and said, “Good Job, sweetie.” And then with a wink he added, “Now we only have fifty more windows to go.” They heard Adam moan outside and laughed.

“What’s so funny,” yelled Adam from outside.

“Oh, nothing. On to the next window,” said John.

After the third window they had the process down, and developed a smooth rhythm for the remaining windows. Abby found it was easier to take the bolts outside and feed them through the plywood covers for Adam. She would then come inside and help John with the nuts and washers.

While Adam set up the next window, John used an open-ended wrench to tighten the nut in place. He had never before used the covers, and now that he did he was greatly impressed with the results. The covers didn’t look very good from the inside. In fact, they looked downright hideous, but from the outside they looked sleek and smooth. If painted, they would have looked like professional window coverings or closed shutters.

The plywood covers fit tightly into the sill and offered no purchase around the edges or at the bolt. John knew it would be very difficult to pry the covers off from outside. The down side was that they limited visibility. He wondered if he should drill a small peep hole in the covers, up high on the boards so that he could see into the yard, but decided that project would have to wait.

Other than the occasional break, they had all the windows covered quicker than John thought possible. He was very grateful for Adam and Abby’s help, and thanked them with a sweaty hug, and a commitment to allow them some Xbox time after cleanup and screen storage.

John appreciated how a little physical labor did wonders for family unity. And it wasn’t lost on him that Adam and Abby didn’t fight once during the entire project. Normally, both kids would have been in their room on their phones, their computers, or the Xbox. Instead, they cooperated to help John accomplish a tedious job. Though he didn’t want to admit it, the disaster was already changing his family life for the better.

J
ohn was sitting at the kitchen table with his family, cutting into a piece of chicken he just grilled on the bar-b-que, when the doorbell rang. Adam rose to answer it and John waved him back to his seat. “I’ve got it, Adam,” he said, and rose while unconsciously checking the small of his back for the presence of his gun.

The house was normally lit again because the power came back on. It came back to life a little over an hour ago, which was a good thing, because the window covers made the ground floor feel like a dungeon. Despite the pleasant surprise, John didn’t think the power would stay on much longer, at least not with the ash coming, so flashlights, lanterns and candles were prepositioned all around the house.

More musical ringing filled the entryway as John made his way to the front door. “Someone’s a little impatient,” said John, as he passed from the kitchen.

“Be nice!” Jenna yelled from the table.

“I will!” grumbled John in reply. He hoped, for the sake of the interruption, that it was important. He hated solicitors, and tended to be short with them while he pointed out the “No Soliciting” sign near the front door.

John looked through the peep-hole and saw a man leaning forward against the door. He looked tired and haggard, and also familiar. The doorbell rang again while John turned the heavy dead-bolt. Keeping his right foot planted firmly behind the door, John opened it a crack and asked, “Can I help you?”

“John, it’s me . . . Paul. Paul Hernandez. Do you have a minute? I really need to talk to you.”

“Hi Paul. What’s the problem?” said John, as he removed his foot from the base of the door and opened it to talk. John did know Paul, but they were mere acquaintances at best. Paul was one of the people who came up to John after the ugly HOA meeting last year.

“Can I come in?”

John sighed and said, “Sure. Come on in. We just sat down to eat dinner.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I won’t be long,” said Paul, and he turned to wave to a maroon mini-van parked on the street in front of John’s walkway.

“Is that your wife . . . you can invite her in.”

“What . . . no. She’s got the boys with her in the car,” replied Paul.

“Well come on in then. You look upset. Is everything OK?” asked John.

“Yes. Everything’s fine. I mean, no, we’re not fine. Have you seen the news?” asked Paul, newly excited and edgy.

“I have,” replied John. “At least enough to know what’s going on. Why do you ask?”

Paul seemed momentarily surprised at John’s calmness, and said, “We felt the earthquakes, but I thought . . . no big deal. And then I saw the news about the eruption . . . that riots have broken out in all the major cities.”

John managed to contain his surprise about news of the riots. He’d been too busy to monitor the news, but he knew riots would happen. However, he was surprised to hear they were already happening. “Are there riots reported in Dallas and Fort Worth?” asked John.

“I don’t know. The news didn’t say, but I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Paul.

“Me either.”

“Anyway, I saw your boarded up windows and said to myself, ‘Now Paul, there’s someone who knows what’s going on,’ so I stopped. I’m really sorry to bother you, but I need your advice. I remember what
you said at the meeting last year and was hoping you could tell me what to do”

“OK. First off, you need to relax. Take it easy. You need to stay calm so you can think straight. Panic and fear block your mind,” said John. “Do you need water?”

“No. I’m fine. I’m better now,” said Paul as he rubbed a hand through his hair. “My wife wanted me to go buy food this morning, but I kept putting her off. She’s very upset with me now. I didn’t want to believe what she said about the disaster, about her dream, I didn’t believe her until I saw the news about the riots.”

“Your wife had a dream about the disaster?” asked John.

Paul looked surprised, as if he didn’t realize he mentioned his wife’s dream. John watched Paul’s face closely, and saw confusion, as well as embarrassment, though he didn’t know why Paul would be embarrassed by a dream that wasn’t his own. Finally, Paul seemed to come to terms with his emotions and said, “Yes, she had a dream about the eruption last night, I think, or maybe it was the night before. I can’t remember. Anyway, this morning, she wanted me to go buy all the food we could get.”

Paul’s words both shocked and thrilled John. To know someone else had a disaster dream, someone close enough to talk to, was exhilarating and exciting. But Paul misread John’s reaction for he blushed and said, “You think I’m crazy . . . because of the dream . . . don’t you?”

“No, that’s not it at all,” replied John, as he looked over Paul’s shoulder and tried to see the woman sitting in the van. She was turned away, talking to the children in the back. John wondered about her dream, and he was barely able to contain himself. He wanted to run out to the van and talk to her immediately, but he knew that wouldn’t help Paul. Instead, he sat calmly on the front porch bench and looked at Paul.