Chapter 21: Sally Pregnant

June 26, 2030

The return of Herschel was a seismic disruption that left tremors and deep scars. It brought back the harsh memories of violence of four years ago. Had Herschel not been killed, he would have posed an existential threat to Clark and his family. Their presence would have been a thorn in the butcher’s side, reminding him of his failure to remove everyone from Farrville and driving him mad to finish the job. It was a wake-up call.

The brutality of Herschel’s actions gave Clark pause to ponder the future and the possibility of other hostiles encroaching on their safety and lives. He wished Brother Matthew were still around to give him advice on how he should prepare and react to such an eventuality.

After he had buried the butcher and his minion, Clark combed through the items they brought to find clues about the outside world. In his private journal, Herschel bragged about his early successes in flushing out people from small towns and rural areas, but then ranted about people fleeing southward. There was no mention about the overcrowding, shortages of food, and the endless violence and death in the big cities, as if he didn’t know, or didn’t want to know about the misery the government had created.

Maps showed the progressive depopulation of the country not only from the vast stretches of the north, but also from the coasts battered by hurricanes on one side and drought and wildfires on the other. Whatever was left of the 350 million inhabitants was now greatly diminished and located far away in time from Farrville.

Government officials, forces and resources had resettled in the south central section of the country. It was stable for a while, until people flocked to its tenuous territory seeking shelter, food and security. The government was ineffective in managing the people and resources. Collapse was imminent. Herschel’s last entry described his escape and the route he would take to reach his secluded mansion.

A final map tucked between the last pages of his journal traced the highways Herschel took. The route was marked with X’s in several locations, especially at river crossings and outside big cities, denoting a possible road block. From there a detour was drawn to reconnect with the intended route.

If Herschel’s route represented the quickest or shortest passage to where Clark and his family now lived, it would take years to cover it on foot and require an enormous undertaking, that is, if wandering migrants knew what they were looking for and had the means to get here.

Unconcerned for the moment, Clark knew that eventually the day would come when small groups of men and women – the new pioneers – would venture forth, gradually establishing new settlements and thriving livelihoods, until they reached the environs of Farrville. Clark thought he might never see that day, and possibly neither would Sally or Katie. Their children and the generations to follow would someday have to contend with such settlers.

His first goal was to take the butcher’s vehicle on a reconnaissance mission and fan out in different directions to see the conditions beyond Farrville. The clearance under the car was higher than the monk’s car. The large tires with their thick jagged treads were capable of driving over sticks and stones, through mud and snow, if necessary. A front bumper guard was slightly dented and scratched, signs that the vehicle was used to overcome barriers. Over all, it was a rugged, mean machine.

Clark was no mechanic, but could tell that the engine was free of complex electronic components and had therefore survived the EMP strike. The transmission was manually operated and it took him a while to adjust, synchronizing his two feet and right hand, using the clutch, brake, and stick shift all at the same time. Most important of all, the vehicle ran on diesel and two full 5-gallon canisters survived the butcher’s journey. Clark smirked. He had plenty more.

Herschel’s map of the region around Farrville came in handy. It showed towns less than thirty-five miles to the south like Millbrook and Danville. Brother Matthew had told him that most of the townspeople of Farrville, including the Wheelers fled on foot in that direction. It would also be from where people who had migrated south would one day filter through on their way northward and eventually reach Farrville.

There was no sense in going east to the City. It was too far, in ruins, and blighted with death and destruction. He didn’t want to go back there, ever.

Forty-five miles to the north lay Warrenton from where Brothers Ezequiel and Francis had brought Fifi and Trish. He wanted to know what became of them and the rest of the world since he hadn’t heard from either one over the radio in two years.

He was determined to go there first in the fall around mid to end September after the potatoes were dug up and the wheat harvested. The corn and sunflowers could wait. In the meantime, he had to start making hay the old fashion way with a scythe, cutting the grass in the fields straddling the driveway to the brickhouse. He was glad that the torrential rains kept him from making the cut sooner. Otherwise, Herschel and his minion would have immediately noticed the bare meadow and concluded that someone lived nearby and not just Katie.

An old homesteading manual in the Wheeler library told him to cut the equivalent of two acres for four goats, or make two cuttings from one acre; the first before the end June and the second sixty days later. The second option made more sense to Clark. This way he could divvy up his time and effort to grapple with several chores of equal importance.

Downed branches and other debris needed to be cleared from the yard and around the barn, and damages from the storm required repairs. The weeds in the corn field and vegetable garden had prospered vigorously after the four-day rain event and called for an immediate blitzkrieg offensive. As soon as the ground dried out, the green field peas had to be disked under before the pods matured.

Clark soon discovered that the hardest part of making hay wasn’t cutting the grass and raking together the dry grass. It was hauling the hay from the field to the barn. He used a wheelbarrow which didn’t hold much and required making several trips. On a hot sunny day, it was brutal.

The immediate solution was to pile the hay on top of a tarp, tie the four corners together to make a big bundle and then load it onto the wheelbarrow. It held more and also made it easier to store the hay by hoisting the bundle up to the hayloft using the crane and pulley system above the hayloft door for that very purpose.

For the second cutting, Clark thought about improving his lot by getting a utility trailer at the tractor dealership, but then remembered the horse trailer at the second house down the road. Its 5-foot by 8-foot bed along with the 6-foot high sides made it the perfect hay wagon, and he was able to haul the entire one-acre cutting in one trip.

IN ADDITION TO THE pistol and assault rifle, Herschel and his minion had brought three other rifles and a hand gun along with more than 10,000 rounds of ammunition for hunting and defense.

During the whole time they lived secluded up at the cabin, there had been no need to use firearms, except to hunt for wild game. Now they had a growing flock of chickens and a small herd of goats to look after, land to till, a large house to uphold, farm equipment and two vehicles to maintain, food supplies to safeguard, and a monastery and a mansion to keep an eye on. They ignored the other houses except the one with the pears and plums.

Most important of all, they had a growing family to protect.

It was impossible for Clark to be in all places at all times. Katie’s kidnapping and her brush with the bear were proof of that.

They realized it was no longer enough to have a firearm nearby if Sally and Katie didn’t have the skills and the courage to use it for self-defense. They could easily be a danger to themselves and the loved-ones they were supposed to protect.

Sally and Katie were eager to learn how to handle and use the different types of firearms they now possessed. Clark first taught them how to take apart, reassemble, and clean each one, becoming intimately familiar with every section and moving part. Next, they practiced live shooting, learning to tolerate the noise and the jerking action, and become acquainted with the feel and power of each firearm. They trained to shoot in the basic standing, kneeling, and prone firing positions. Practice made perfect and with perfection came confidence.

“Always keep in mind,” Clark drilled into them, “If you have to pull your weapon, use it. Don’t debate or think about whether or not to shoot — just shoot and shoot to kill — always shoot to kill or you might get yourself or someone you care about killed.”

One day all their children would need to be trained to make sure the generations to come would not be without protection.

July 21, 2030

They had many reasons to climb to the peak of the mountain to celebrate, even though belatedly, the fourth anniversary of their arrival to the cabin. It became a day to ascend to the heavens to find renewed strength, to reinvigorate body, mind and spirit.

Fifi and Trish took turns riding piggy-back on Clark’s broad shoulders.

Blizzard ran ahead of the pack leader. He was happy to be out, sniffing the ground, picking up the scent Clark, Sally, Katie and the girls had left on previous ascents. At every stone pile he stopped to lift a hind leg and leave his mark, if only a little spritz or two, just to keep the scent fresh and add his own.

“Good dog,” Clark would praise Blizzard and pat his head whenever he stopped to rest and allow everyone to catch up with him. He marveled at the dog’s amazing sense of smell and looked forward taking him along later in the fall to track down wild game.

The shiny cross twinkling in the sun was the first thing Clark saw as he crested the peak. Brother Matthew’s staff was still standing tall and straight, having weathered the past seasons.

They had picked a bucket of peonies at the monastery the evening before to lay at Brother Matthew’s resting place, knowing they were his favorite flowers.

The sky was a deep blue with only a few wisps of clouds making their lazy way across the horizon to the east. The transcendent beauty of the world at their feet gave them much to reflect about the work they had done these past four years and the lessons learned, making them stronger individually and as a family.

The City seemed like a long time ago; another life. The memories of the past turned into dreams left behind in the night to be forgotten.

“If you don’t mind, I want a few moments alone with Brother Matthew,” Clark said.

“Take all the time you need,” Sally said as she left him with Blizzard sitting by his side.

Clark stood in silence for several minutes trying to organize his feelings and thoughts.

“Hi, Brother Matthew, I want to introduce you to the newest member of our family, Blizzard,” he began, patting Blizzard’s head, who sat proud and alert.

“I don’t know exactly where to begin, but you’ve seen the work we have done these past years. We’ve come a long way since our move down to the farm to ensure our survival. We have learned lessons that have made us stronger and wiser. Most important of all, we ... I ... have come to realize that the human spirit is God’s strongest creation. Instilled into each of us is the will to survive, to love and to do good, as long as we abide by his universal commandments.

“With everything that happened recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about our safety and protection and what we need to do to lay the groundwork so that our children will know how to defend themselves. Still, I feel we should be doing more.

“You always gave me good advice, and here I am searching for answers, asking myself what does He expect from me?”

Clark drew in a deep breath and fell silent. He turned his head to look into Blizzard’s eyes and then gazed far over the horizon. Suddenly, he felt something hot on his chest like a branding iron trying to pierce through into his heart. He thought he was having a heart attack and brought his hand to his chest only to realize it was the key to the gate to the monastery which he forgot to remove. It felt heavy and bulky under his shirt. He quickly removed it from around his neck and held it in his hand. There was nothing wrong with the key. The strange burning sensation on his chest had diminished, but was still there.

He had never examined the key before and began to scrutinize it to determine its nature and the source of the heat. Along the shank was an indented inscription in Latin, Scientia est Potentia. Clark immediately recognized the phrase from his university’s crest.

He remembered an inspiring professor who proclaimed during freshman orientation week that education was the foundation of civilization, that the lack of education meant failure. Those who failed to learn died. Those who learned, but failed to act on their knowledge perished. The professor’s words were burned deep into his memory and now after nearly thirty years revealed a message in a most mystifying way.