How the World Ends (21 page)

“How’s the milking coming along with no hydro, Don?”

“Down to once a day, thank you very much,” he replies. “Not quite as painful as dumping all of it out – I can’t keep this up much longer.”

“I understand. We need to setup a cooling system and a means to produce cheese, butter and yogurt. You can go back to cooling in the water-hole. I’ll send Herb over and you and he can draw up a plan.”

He stares at me for a few seconds.

“So not only do I have give my product away for free now, but I have to hand over control of it to some other fella from the city? What gives you the right to tell me what to do?”

“Nobody gave me any rights, Don. That’s the point. There’s no government, no police, no lawyers, nothing. If I wanted to lay claim to all the land around here, your deed wouldn’t mean anything if you couldn’t back it up yourself.”

“And I suppose that means having a wife that can handle a shotgun like yours means you can back it up?” He jibs.

“Something like that. But it doesn’t have to be that way. This place is yours, but you can’t work it alone anymore. We might be able to rig up some sort of power generation eventually but the fuel situation means we’re pretty much going to do everything the old way.”

“How in the blazes are you going to swing that?”

How am
I
going to swing that, he says,
I think to myself, incredulous.

I marvel at the way he has immediately ceded his problems over to me. Where only a minute ago he argued about getting off his four-wheeler, now here he is ready to hand over the reins to his farm. Why do people keep looking to me for all the answers?

“I’m not sure, Don. I just wanted you to know that you’re not alone out here. We can work together to get through this.”

He grunts in response, unconvinced, but unwilling to put forth his own opinion.

“I won’t be around for a few days,” I tell him. “Maybe longer. Make sure you go and talk to Ted – in fact why don’t you and him both come on over for dinner tonight? We can start over again – no more loners out here – we have to help each other out.”

“I suppose I can see what Ted has to say about it,” he says. “But he probably won’t like any more’n me.”

It’s a start.

The rest of the day I spend travelling around the various farms in the area. None of the families have heard from relatives, and they all take the time to write down the names of loved ones and friends that they want me to find. The word that I am leaving to find people spreads quickly and soon each farm or house that I approach has several people ready to greet me at the road. Some have names, more have questions. They all look hungry and worried. Only a few recognise me as the boy who grew up in the area, the ones who do, mention my dad, who used to dispense advise on everything from equipment repairs to marital advice. I guess they miss that.

I find that that there have been very few travellers since the gasoline ran dry, and for some reason the instinct for almost everyone is to mentally lock all the doors and try to shut everyone out. Fear is prevalent on nearly every face. Even those who have lived and travelled this area since I was I kid are now watching me with trepidation as I ride my grey stallion slowly along the road. I find next-door neighbours who haven’t spoken to each other in days, even though they have no food and are drawing water from their wells or from the creek in old five gallon pails.

I start to tell people that it will be all right, that I have a plan in place to help everyone out. They just need to sit tight and band together for the time being. We just need to work together, I tell them. I am going to see what is happening in the towns along the lakeshore where the main highway runs. They look at me with that same look of respect mixed with unease, mixed with outright fear. I tell them to come over for dinner. I hope that some of them bring some food.

Sometime in the mid afternoon I realize that I haven’t eaten anything, and nobody has offered me food or water. Most don’t invite me onto their property, having met me at the road. The immediate reaction to this crisis has led to isolation and I wonder which of these farmers remember the fight in my yard and Rachel gunning down an attacker. I wonder whether they will every trust anyone again.

As I ride under a big basswood tree that overhangs the road, I get a funny feeling deep in my stomach, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My horse, a stallion named Ernest, gets a bit skittish, and side-steps a bit. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of my dad’s old buckskin coat and worn blue-jeans, but when I turn my head, it’s gone. I rein in Ernest and quiet him with a few pats to his neck and a whisper in his ear. I look at my own countenance – that same coat and faded jeans from my dad’s wardrobe – my own clothes having nearly disintegrated days ago. I ride on slowly.

The feeling does not fade though – and for a moment I am reminded of that night on the tracks, just as I was walking out of the city, like a presence is shadowing me. I look down at my horse and bring my awareness to the far reaches of my peripheral vision. I see it – the flash of color and the hint of movement. And something, not quite a thought, but more like a feeling, searing itself into my mind with the passion of a concerned spirit.

Hurry!

Chapter Twenty Three – Urgency

Jonah

I put the hint of my heels to Ernest’s sides and he lurches forward with the pent-up power of a stallion forced to walk for too long. After a few hundred yards he draws back into an easy canter and I cut across the open fields to sweep down into the valley where the farmhouse and barns sit nestled in a screen of oak, walnut and pine on a little knoll.

Herb greets me at the back door of the barn as I dismount. He leans up against the door frame and takes a puff from an old pipe, looking tired but somewhat content.

“I see you’ve found my dad’s tobacco stash. I thought all that stuff was locked away years ago.”

“No,” he says, pointing towards the front of the barn where there are some old woodworking tools and a long workbench strewn with various items. “It was right there, open and everything.”

Again I get that tingle on the back of my neck, and the feeling that a presence is directly in front of me, beckoning me forward. “Well, I hope you enjoy it,” I say with a shrug. “Is everything in hand for the next while?”

His expression darkens slightly. “That depends on how long a while lasts,” he grumbles. “These farmers around here don’t trust me any further than they can throw me. And the feeling is mutual.”

“They’ve had to look out for themselves for a long time,” I remind him. “Farming communities don’t tend to work together like they used to. There’s a lot of resentment between the folks who’ve bought up land or livestock around here in the last twenty years or so.”

“So where does that leave a homeless accountant from the city, eh?” He asks me.

“You’re not homeless anymore.”

“So you say, but for how long?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” he begins, “I don’t want to say anything against Rachel, but she gave everyone a hell of a scare the other day. People don’t expect a woman to be that quick with a trigger finger.”

“Lucia would do the same for you.”

“Oh,” he says, as he coughs out his sarcasm. “That’s a relief, especially when they’re sisters. She’d probably try to shoot me, too, if I ever tried to run away.”

“That’s why I have to leave now,” I tell him. “Tonight.”

“Should I bother to ask why?”

“Everyone is in danger while I’m here.”

He gives me a hard stare. “I didn’t come with you to get away from danger, Jonah.”

His candour makes me laugh to myself, remembering how he’d first seen me, dripping wet and crawling out of a blast hole.

“I also have a promise to keep.” I say, a little more seriously than I intend. “You know that.”

“Ah,” he says with a wave of his hand. “You’re going to save as many people as you can, right? Bring them right here from out of the wilderness?”

“I made a promise, Herb,” I say, now becoming a little upset that my viewpoint seems so far outside the realm of possibility to people who have just seen their worlds turned upside down. “I intend to do whatever I need to do to help my friends.”

“Then why are you going alone?”

“Because I’m also a danger to everyone here.”

“Why?”

“I can’t say.”

He doesn’t respond.

“I just need you to be ready here when I get back.”

“I wish I didn’t trust you, Jonah,” he says, shaking his head. “It would make things a lot easier.”

I can’t help smiling. “Don’t worry too much about the people around here, Herb. They’ll come together eventually, as soon as they see what’s at stake.”

Herb gives his head another shake and turns back inside the darkness of the barn. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says without turning his head.

I put Ernest in the crossties and rub him down lightly. I bring the other horse I will be taking with me and saddle her up. Once she is tacked up, I lead her out and tie Ernest onto the ring at the back of my saddle. This way he’ll get a bit of a rest after being ridden all day.

As I step back into the sunlight from the relative darkness of the barn, a stark realization hits me: the world, as I once knew it, is gone. Instead of packing the car for a trip to town, I am saddling the horse, and I don’t even what “town” means anymore.

I quickly gather the rest of the materials I will need and pack the oversized saddlebags that I find hanging from the rafters in the shed. No one notices me as I skulk around the yard.

Dusk comes with surprising quickness.

I ride out under the cover of the looming darkness.

I don’t say goodbye.

Part Two

Night falling is our empty demise

We know not where to lie or what are lies

The visions fade with the failing of the light

But between weariness and wakefulness is a welcome sight

A far-off glow, a ray of hope, alone

But watching us

Always

Chapter One – Darkness

Rachel

People come to us in droves. It seems that Jonah has been out all day telling people not to worry about anything, and to come over for “dinner.” It used to make me so angry when he would make plans without telling me, but I have a hard time feeling anything but empathy for those who wander into the yard, not sure whether they should have come or not, not knowing what to expect.

Most of these people don’t even know each other, despite having been neighbours for several years. At first they stand around, unsure of what to do; Jonah is nowhere to be found. But then a few begin to take charge. I start to worry about Jonah, but I can’t help but get caught up in the general spirit of the occasion.

A massive fire is started in a pit, and a side of beef appears on a large spit above it. Other fires sprout up, fuelled by wood that has been carted in, and suddenly everyone is busy, rushing around preparing a meal for everyone else. Tables emerge from somewhere, and the yard is transformed to a gigantic twilight picnic. The general chatter revolves around the food and what a great idea it was to bring everyone together.

My kids are running around with a few other children that have arrived and I try half-heartedly to get them to stop running long enough to eat something. Their carefree attitude is reflected in the faces of those standing around the tables, eating and talking. A few eyes turn my way with smiles, but many more dart around looking, no doubt, for my absent husband.

The sunset is brilliant and the day turns to night with the wondrous grace of a late spring evening. It is truly magical to witness the power of a group of people coming together. Angie comes up beside me and puts her hand on my arm.

“The children are enjoying themselves,” she says. “And so is everyone else.”

“Yes – Jonah certainly outdoes himself sometimes. I don’t know anyone else that can organize a party of so many people, feed them, and extinguish so much uncertainty – and not even show up.”

“Has he gone, then?”

“I think so,” I say, admitting the truth to her before myself. “He doesn’t want to put me or the kids in danger.”

“Is he going to bring them back?”

I turn to her, my frustration clear in my face, I am sure, and try not to cry out. “Who, though? Who are these people he’s bringing back? Jonah doesn’t have a lot of friends – he was never the kind of person to get involved in other people’s problems, why does he have to do this now?”

“I don’t know. People just seem to follow him around.”

“And do what he says before he even suggests it.”

“Well,” she laughs, “even you are guilty of that, thankfully.”

“What do you mean?”

“He knew you would come here, and you did, even though it meant days of walking across country with two small children. Why did you do that? Most people would stay at home – why did you leave the safety of that?”

I can’t answer right away. I find that I can’t remember why I took the kids without much thought.

“I suppose home changed from there to here, Angie.”

“It did that for me, too,” she says, with a smile that encompasses her whole face. “And that explains a lot, doesn’t it?”

We are interrupted by Herb, who has climbed onto the porch to address the crowd.

“Everyone!” he calls out with a voice that I have not yet heard from him, indeed that I could not have imagined that he possesses. Lucia comes up beside Angie and flashes her a nervous smile. Angie takes Lucia’s hand and she, in turn, flashes a hint of that smile to me.

I feel tears well up in my eyes as I turn, along with everyone else, to hear what Herb has to say.

He stretches his hands out to either side. “Welcome to the center of the universe!”

Silence.

Then Don, standing just off to my left, starts clapping. Ted, right next to him, joins in, and soon we are all clapping and cheering. Though I’m not sure why, it does feel like this
is
the center of the universe, right here and now. Herb lowers his hands, and the quiet of the night creeps back over the sound of our clapping again.