With a bit of poking Matt found a space inside the thicket big enough for them to lie down in, and they crawled their way inside and pulled out their sleeping bags, not even bothering with their tents. Together they lay side by side, staring at the dull red glow filtering through the branches above and around them.
“Wake me up if this place catches fire,” Matt said as his eyelids drooped shut. His friend snorted, either in amusement or irritation, and not too long after that he fell asleep.
Chapter Twelve
Urban War Zone
The tap water the Larsons had managed to store after the power went out had long since been used up, which meant a trip to the town spring was necessary at least once a day.
Sam always volunteered since it took two people to carry enough water and Matt’s parents were so busy it was hard for them to find time to both get away. She did her best to stay busy throughout the day, too, although hard as she tried she never quite felt like she was doing enough to make up for the incredible kindness the family had shown her.
This time she was going with Matt’s mom while his dad Ed worked a morning shift at Roadblock 3, the one leading southeast before connecting with 6 and therefore the least likely to see the approach of refugees. Although some still came regularly enough that the roadblock had to stay manned. Ed had felt like he needed to take over for his son at the roadblocks while Matt went after April’s family, so that’s where he spent at least one shift a day.
Turner had put a lot more people on duty protecting the town since the refugees first arrived, to the point where there were no longer enough volunteers for all the different patrols and to man the roadblocks. He’d even finally allowed Sam to begin taking shifts, armed with a can of bear spray Matt had given her before he left. Her first one was tomorrow morning, and in spite of Ed’s grumbling about the job, and Matt’s similar complaints before he’d left, she was actually looking forward to it. A lot more than she was to waiting for her turn to draw water, that was for sure.
The town spring, a rarity in any town let alone one so close to the desert wastelands a hundred miles or less in any direction to the east, west, or south, was situated at the north end of town a stone’s throw from Roadblock 1. That was ideal for everyone involved since it allowed the refugees to come and get water where Officer Turner could keep an eye on them, without them needing to enter the town far enough that they might potentially cause problems. From what Sam had seen the spring flowed constantly with a gush about twice as strong as a garden hose, beginning a tiny stream that made its way join the stream flowing down from Aspen Hill Canyon at the southeastern edge of town. Both formed a a small pond there where animals could be watered and irrigation water drawn before continuing on southwards.
At the moment a group of ten or so refugee women escorted by a couple wary, angry looking men were at the spring filling everything from small plastic water bottles to buckets from the pure, cool water which had been captured from its flow directly from the ground and diverted into a pipe sticking out of a concrete block at about waist height. There were also four 5-gallon jugs the men had already filled and were ready to tote back to their camp. Sam joined Mrs. Larson in waiting a cautious distance away from the group for their turn to fill their own empty 5-gallon jugs.
Or she supposed she should start thinking of Matt’s mom as Mona, since the kindly older woman kept insisting. Just as she’d insisted on warmly welcoming Sam, a complete stranger, into her home and making sure she was comfortable. Sam knew generosity from the poor neighborhood where she’d grown up in New York City, but there it had always been a sort of squinty, suspicious generosity that suggested wary eyes to go with open hands.
Mona had offered something different, an open heart, and with all the chaos in the world Sam wasn’t quite sure how she could adequately show her gratitude for such kindness. Aside from offering to help out however she could and working at it as hard as she had the energy for. And carrying two 40lb jugs with the help of an improvised strap around her shoulders definitely counted as hard work.
That train of thought reminded Sam of the other guest in the Larson household, probably still asleep at this time of day or at least pretending to be to avoid work, and she felt her good mood sour. Watching the refugees collect their water while thinking of the Larson’s guest who’d recently been one of them made her see their work in a less pleasant light.
Officer Turner was keeping tabs on the refugee camp, and from what she’d heard from Ed things weren’t so good there. Even though refugees kept coming and going the camp grew larger and larger, some staying in the hopes that they’d eventually be let in, others too tired to keep on southwards in the slim chance that they’d find a town to take them in. The camp had now grown to over three hundred refugees even though only half of the original group was still around, and from the sounds of it the best people among that group had moved on. Including Kendall and his family and people like them, which left behind the more lazy and contentious refugees.
If what Ed said was true then Mandy fit right in with the people out in the camp. Sam tried to be generous, she really did, but it was getting harder and harder.
“Poor dears,” Mona said, eyes also on the refugees. It was obvious her thoughts hadn’t taken the ungenerous turn Sam’s had. “It really is awful, isn’t it? There aren’t many roads around here that don’t lead to waterless wastelands. They just don’t have anywhere to go from here unless they want to make a brutal hike south to I-70, but what does that get them aside from running into the refugees that are sure to be coming from Denver?”
The older woman shook her head. “Unless they want to head south from Price on Highway 10 to Huntington, then follow 31 west into the Manti-La Sal National Forest. But they don’t want to be up in the mountains at this time of year, and beyond that in Sanpete county they’ll probably find the same problems as here in Carbon. Their best bet would be to head back north the way they came and keep going past the cities and on into Idaho, maybe turn east or west up there where there’s more water. But with the riots that’s not really a solution either, is it?”
It sounded like Mona was seriously trying to think of some solution for the refugees, but Sam had no answer to give. She didn’t really know the area around here that well, and at the moment she could only be grateful that thanks to Matt she wasn’t in the same situation those weary, desolate women were.
No response seemed needed since Mona had plenty to say. “Ed calls them the Golden Horde, a term he got from those survivalist cousins. He’s convinced there’s going to be more than these few hundred before winter comes, lots more.” The older woman squinted north as if she could see the desperate chaos of the cities to the north. “I think he’s probably right for once.”
“They’ll have to see there’s nothing for them here and move on,” Sam offered. “We’ll have a hard enough time supporting ourselves so we’ll have nothing to give them, and once Officer Turner turns them back they’ll be on their way again.”
“I suppose,” Mona said doubtfully. “And facing the same problem of where to go that they had in the first place.”