Post Grid: An Arizona EMP Adventure (13 page)

“No one has ever uttered such sweet, sweet words,” Jared said as he sank into the couch and pillows. His eyes closed one last time.

Kelly sat on the floor by the sofa. She watched Jared breathe slowly in and out. She brushed a wisp of hair away from his face, letting her fingers linger a bit at his hairline.
Be well
, she thought. She remembered doing the same for a young soldier in Iraq. She hoped Jared's outcome would be better because she didn't think she could take another young man's death, at least not one she had started to care for. Kelly's face flushed slightly as she remembered her night with Jared in the sleeping bag. She stayed for a few minutes longer.

Chapter 5

Kelly went back into the kitchen to help with cleanup. Her mother had been canning food when they came in, and went right back to her work when the surgery table had been dismantled and disinfected. Kelly walked to the counter and started washing canning jars.

“Now, I wish I had brought a couple of liters of IV fluid from the hospital. He could use it,” said Kelly.

“We can make do with oral rehydration solution and broth for the rest of the day,” Emma said.

“We should let him sleep a few hours first, don't you think? Poor boy looks spent. He'll be back to eating and drinking normally in no time. How many doses of antibiotic do you have?”

“I brought a flat of twenty Rocephin vials from the hospital and a good selection of oral antibiotics too,” replied Kelly. “So we have plenty.”

Rich was the first of the men to speak. “I hope lover boy is asleep.”

“Shhh!” Kelly shot him an exasperated glance. She had always thought that Rich, her mother's neighbor, spoke much too freely and with little reverence to her mother and her. She did as she always did and ignored him.

“What I want to know is, what happened?” asked Emma, looking at Kelly. “It's rare enough I see you with a boyfriend; did you have to shoot one to bring him home?”

“Mom, I need you to sit down.”

“Well, of course, my darling,” Emma said in an apologetic tone.

The men and Lynn sat at the kitchen table. There were six chairs total; that left them one short. Seeing Kelly needed a chair, Dennis popped up and held his chair for her, then held the empty chair for Emma. Emma sat facing Kelly and took her hands in her own. Everyone else sat quietly, Dennis finding a place on a step stool in the corner.

Sweat trickled down Kelly's temples. She reached up and wiped it away with her sleeve, then unbuttoned her shirt, revealing a T-shirt underneath. She slid one arm and then the other out of her shirt.

Emma gasped, “What happened to your arm? You have bruises everywhere!” She reached out and grasped Kelly's elbow. There were multiple small lacerations surrounding a large, three-inch gash in Kelly's right, upper arm. “Did somebody beat you up?”

“No, Mom. Let me explain.” Tears welled in Kelly's eyes as she told about the terrible plane crash and fires, the EOC, and the hospital burning down. They were riveted by her every word. She continued her story about her trip on the Beeline, finding Jared and shooting the man on the road. Emma stared, aghast. Kelly tucked her head into her mother's shoulder and sobbed.

“I'm so sorry, my darling. I didn't mean to make light of your situation. We have only been inconvenienced here. We had no idea that it could be so bad in town. I am sorry that you went through that.”

“Mom.” Kelly directed her words directly at Emma. “I'm afraid. I don't think there is going to be anything to go back to.” Her lips quivered as tears rolled down her face.

“It's okay now, my baby. You're safe at home.” Emma kissed Kelly on the forehead. Everyone was quiet.

Finally Rich spoke, hanging his head and wringing his hands. “I was afraid of that.”

Lynn burst into tears. Kelly looked up quizzically. Yes, this did affect everyone profoundly. She didn't know if she could deal with everyone else's grief right now.

“Mom,” she said, staring blankly, “I'm so tired I can hardly stand. I'm going to take a nap, then I'll come back and help you.”

“I'm going to wash up that arm of yours.”

“Aren't you going to suture that?” Rich asked Emma.

“You can't suture anything more than twenty-four hours after it happens. Most docs won't suture if it's older than eight hours. It will just have to heal,” said Emma.

“I'll wash it in the bathroom,” said Kelly. “There's soap in there, isn't there?”

“Yes, but I'd be glad to...”

“No, Mom,” Kelly said, cutting her mother off. All grown up now, remember?” Kelly wasn't good at accepting help, even from her own mother. “Love you, Mom.”

Emma gave a sigh. “Get some sleep, baby. Love you.”

****

“That was a good lunch,” said Rich to Emma. “Kelly's been sleeping a while now. I bet she sleeps all afternoon—she looked beat.”

“I can't remember ever seeing her that tired or distraught, poor girl. Living through a plane crash and then seeing your own hospital burn down, knowing patients were still in it, is worse than anything I've ever seen, and that's saying something.”

“That was some fine doctoring you did, Emma, and Kelly too. Did you learn that in the Navy?” asked Jose.

Emma replied, “I spent more than my fair share of time as a surgery nurse aboard the USS Repose, a hospital ship, off the Vietnam coast. The docs there did all the cutting, of course. Doing medical missions, I had to take a more active role, if you know what I mean. We did a lot of work in South America and Africa. I trained local medical providers, but ended up doing anything and everything you can imagine. I'll tell you a few stories some other time. Kelly nursed our soldiers in Afghanistan.”

“You should see the ol' woman's photo albums. But only if you have a strong stomach,” added Rich. “She still looks after many of the folks around here.”

“Jared is lucky you have both seen what you have seen. His survival will depend on it,” said Jose. He glanced over at Emma, who was blushing.

“Lynn and I need to get ready to go to town,” she announced, getting up from the table. “Kelly's sleeping. Get her up if you think Jared needs anything. They should both be okay, though. Coming, Lynn?”

“Sure, Mrs. Wise,” Lynn said, jumping up from the table.

“Just call me Emma, dear girl. Let's go get some riding clothes on.”

“I'm afraid this is all I have.”

“You look fine; just sayin' we should get ready. Why don't you wait for me in the living room?”

After a few minutes, Emma emerged from her bedroom with her Ruger .357 strapped to her hip. Lynn noticed it, but didn't say anything. Emma also grabbed her .308 scoped hunting rifle from a corner in the living room on her way out the door.

Both women rode Emma's horses, Buckskin and Traveler, three miles into the small community of Sunflower.

“You know,” said Lynn, “I've crossed that freeway bridge a hundred times and never thought anything about the houses down here.”

She was enjoying her ride down the canyon. Some houses lay hidden beneath the sycamores lining the creek; others, surrounded by corrals, sat higher up; and a few overlooked the valley from the surrounding hills.

“We're a small community down here, mostly retired,” said Emma. “I've been here eighteen years now. I'm one of the old-timers.”

People walked out onto their porches as the two horsewomen approached. Emma waved and greeted them all by name. At each house, she stopped and spoke with the homeowners, inquiring as to how they were doing and if they had any medical needs. None did as of yet. That was good news. Everywhere they stopped, people mentioned a meeting set for 7 p.m. at Bill's place to “talk things over.”

“All the people seem tense,” said Lynn when she and Emma were alone again.

“Yeah, they live close to the freeway and you'd be tense too if you had people coming up to your door looking for food and water. They see the people walking down the road and have done what they can. We're lucky we live so far back. All these folks seem to know is that the electricity is off and cars aren't running. I haven't been talking about what might be going on because I don't want to cause a panic, don't know much about it, and can't answer questions very well either.”

“Most of them are wearing guns.” Lynn opened her eyes wide to emphasize her amazement.

“Yes, this
is
Arizona and we have a long tradition of defending our territory, and nowadays our homes and families. We're a pretty independent lot.”

When the two riders arrived at the Johnson's barn, Rich, Jess, Dennis, Jose and Bill Johnson were gathered around a worktable. Jose talked animatedly while pointing at drawings on the table and occasionally tapping on the pump cylinder sitting next to them.

“Bill, nice to see you,” said Emma, “but I wouldn't let that crazy old coot come onto your place with a gun.” She pointed at Rich, who had a holstered Colt Government .45.

“I, too, am inclined to keep my firearms close, given the current circumstances,” said Bill, nodding his head toward a scoped hunting rifle propped next to the workbench. “You don't seem particularly gun-shy yourself, Emma.”

“Nope. How's the pump project goin'?”

“Jose, here, is a mechanical whiz,” said Rich. “He has dreamed up a way to rebuild the pump and repair the windmill.”

“We are still missing some parts,” said Jose. “They are common enough. A hardware store in Fountain Hills would have them.”

“You may not want to go into town,” said Bill. “Judging by the state of the people walking down the highway, the town might be... chaotic. At first we were handing out food and water, but we've been chasing people away from our houses since yesterday. There have been a couple attempts at break-ins. We know these people are desperate, but we have to keep our supplies for ourselves. The residents closest to the highway put up a sign telling people on the road to go down to the spring to the south for water, but not to come near the houses. We've been taking turns guarding the road and the fences.”

“Kelly paints a pretty grim picture of town. She says it is dangerous, but we just can't get this to work without the new parts,” said Jose. “Emma and Rich can't stay at their houses without water. Even if the stores have been looted, most would not be grabbing plain old hardware yet. A trip to town would give us a chance to find out what has happened and get supplies.”

“I think Jose is right,” said Dennis. “From what I've read about blackouts and natural disasters, the looting is mostly at night and burns itself out quickly because everything of value is taken. The kids can stay at Emma's, just in case.”

Emma and Lynn left the men at the workshop and continued making nursing rounds. Lynn watched as Emma visited with the local families. Beatrice and Emmet Banting lived in a small house near the creek. Emmet was an insulin-dependent diabetic. He had a few weeks worth of insulin left, but his case would be tragic if he couldn't get more. Another diabetic, Charlie Best, a widower, lived near the freeway in a small house. He would not discuss his insulin supply with Emma. Chris Barnard had congestive heart failure and was on medications to increase his heart's pumping action. He could most likely be helped with foxglove tea, but Emma would have to do some research on the dosing. Chris had a three-month supply of his medicines, so his case wasn't pressing. Emma kept her visits short and noticed that Lynn watched her assessments inquisitively.

After the circuit was complete, Emma and Lynn returned to Bill's house. Bill and several other men and women were setting bales of hay out as seats around an empty fire pit. The riders put their horses in a corral and joined the others.

People arrived in couples or small groups. Everyone knew each other and folks visited for a while. Finally, Bill looked around and said, “Looks like about everybody's here, except for the two on guard. For those of you who have not heard, if the guards blow their whistles, they need help. When you hear a whistle, ring your dinner bell, make some noise for others to hear, then head toward the whistle, well armed. Speaking of guarding, I have the signup sheet for the next five days on the table. The guards say that there are a lot fewer people going south today on the highway.”

“Good,” said Emmett.

Bill continued, “We have two windmills pumping water. One feeds the stock tank near the freeway and the other feeds a holding tank up the hill. We just need to get the water to everyone's houses. Any ideas?”

“I have a 55-gallon water drum,” said one of the residents.

“Me too,” said a second.”

“We can put those on my buckboard.”

“A hundred and ten gallons of water sounds like a lot,” said Emma, “but when you add cooking, dishwashing, laundry, baths and watering the gardens, it goes very fast. Rich and I are using a well bailer that Jose, here, built for us. Sounds like we will all be spending a bunch of time moving water until the power comes back on.”

“Jose, you said that the bailer holds about two gallons?” asked Bill rhetorically. “If we make some bailers for the houses without windmills, those households could at least draw water for drinking, cooking and dishwashing. We wouldn't have to deliver water to them as often. Jose, tell everyone how you made yours.”