“Don’t worry, kid,” said Dale. (This was the first time John had been called a kid in decades.) “I know what I’m doing. I’m willing to take the risks. This is the life I want. And it’s the life I’m going to live. Plus, I’ve got communication with the outside world.”
“You do?” said Cynthia. “How’s that possible?”
“I’ve got a radio.”
“A radio?”
“Yup, a shortwave radio. Reminds me of my trucker days. Although those were CBs, of course. Same idea, though, messages traveling through the air and all that.”
“But wait, you don’t even have electricity here.”
“I’ve got some. Just for special occasions. I’ve got a car battery rigged up…”
“But you’d need a…”
“A Faraday cage, yup. I keep it inside it, just in case there’s another EMP. Although I don’t see what the point of another one would be. Everything’s already knocked out, from what I hear.”
“A Faraday cage, that’s incredible,” said John. “So you were planning for an EMP?”
“Not planning for it. Just expecting the worst. It’s part of my personality, in a way, to meet what’s coming cheerfully and with the best-laid plans as I possibly can.”
John didn’t see how that mindset meshed with failing to acknowledge the threat that the militia posed to his own safety, but he was in Dale’s own house, and he wasn’t going to argue the point with him anymore.
“You know they’re looking for a radio, don’t you?” said John. He couldn’t keep this point to himself. “The militia, I mean.” Somehow he knew that Dale already knew, and had already known everything that John had so patiently explained to him.
“Oh, sure,” said Dale. “But they don’t know I’ve got it. And even if they did, they’d have a hell of a time finding me. I don’t make any transmissions myself.”
“You just listen?”
“You mean there are people out there?” said Cynthia, her jaw dropping as she finally understood the implications. “People… elsewhere?”
“Yup,” said Dale. “Not many of them. I listen to two broadcasts. Pretty short ones. There’s a community in New York state that I pick up, and another in Ohio. There’s another one somewhere around, but I haven’t found them yet. Apparently they’re very secretive about their location.”
“Can we see it?” said John. “Can we listen?”
John was eager to hear something of the outside world. It would be just a little slice of sound, but it would make him feel… connected again. The way he’d been before the EMP, with the internet at his fingertips, with his smartphone always in his pocket.
“Well, there’s nothing now,” said Dale. “No broadcasts scheduled, as far as I’m aware. Nothing but static. We can listen first thing in the morning, though. The place in New York will be sending something out.”
John nodded. That was good enough for him. It was something to look forward to. How the world had changed—he now considered a few minutes of a person’s voice on the radio a little jewel, a little sliver of hope.
“Now,” said Dale. “I imagine after all this talking, you two are starting to work up an appetite again.”
Cynthia nodded eagerly.
“I don’t think it’s fair that we eat your food,” said John. “I mean, I really appreciate it, but you’re already doing so much by letting us stay here. We’ve got some food left, some energy bars and things like that.”
“Nonsense, I’ve got plenty. And you’re having some. No arguing.” Dale laughed like this was the funniest thing in the whole world. “I’ve got a whole root cellar packed to the gills. And it’s hidden real good, too, so don’t think anyone’s going to find it. When I’m feeling chipper, I’ll just be out hunting some deer, supposing they decide to pass by.”
“I wish I could have your attitude about things,” muttered John, looking down at his feet.
“Hey, you’ve had it harder than I have. I’m a lucky man and I know that, and that’s why I’m willing to share with good people like yourselves.”
John nodded without saying anything.
Dale got out a huge cast iron pan and put it directly onto the wood stove.
“These are venison sausages,” he said, holding them out for John and Cynthia to see, before adding them to the pan, along with a healthy amount of butter. “These will have you feeling better than you’ve felt in a long time, trust me. Loaded with nutrients.”
John and Cynthia fell silent as Dale banged around the kitchen, chuckling to himself over this or that. Who knew, really, what inspired his laughter.
Before he knew it, John had fallen fast asleep in his chair. It’s been so long since he’d sat in one that he’d almost forgotten how comfortable they were, and how easy it was to fall asleep in one.
The next thing he knew, Dale was thrusting a plate of steaming venison sausages into his hands and clapping him on the shoulder to wake him up.
John looked up and saw Cynthia beaming at him, her mouth already full of sausage.
The three of them chatted through dinner, enjoying the sausages immensely.
Now, with the rabbit and the sausages together in a single day, John had eaten better than he had in a long, long time. It was almost more protein than his body knew what to do with. He hoped it would store it away for a future time, when the meals would be lean and miserable again, when they’d be tightening their belts and soldiering on to some new and dangerous land.
The conversation turned this way and that, and somehow Dale always steered it away from the new world that they lived in. Nothing bleak was talked about. Nothing horrible. Nothing tragic. Instead, they talked about things they’d read, things they’d heard, things they’d seen on television. Dale was particularly fond of retelling funny conversations he’d overheard in highway rest stops all over the country. As a truck driver, he’d been over practically every inch of the country, always with his ear cocked and his eyes open for comedic situations. Or at least what he considered comedic situations. He seemed to see the humor in everything, even when others would recoil in horror or disgust.
It was pleasant and convivial, sitting there in good company, enjoying a chat that had nothing to do with surviving, nothing to do with what was needed to be done.
John knew, though, that it was only the briefest of respites. Soon, they’d be back on the trail, heading to who knew where. Soon all the conversations would turn again to guns and watches and food rationing.
30
Mandy couldn’t believe that they were out of there. She couldn’t believe they were alive.
They’d barreled down the back roads in the Bronco. Mandy had been terrified, behind the wheel, her foot not letting up on the gas pedal for a second. She hadn’t had any idea where she was taking them. The only thing she’d known was that she’d needed to get as far away from the compound as they could.
Mandy had driven down dusty back roads on tree-lined streets, through the middle of the night. She’d driven until they’d run out of gas.
The backseat had been full of frantic activity. They’d been trying to treat Georgia’s bullet wound.
Georgia had woken up. She’d been in incredible pain, trying to grit her teeth. But she’d had to scream. It’d been inevitable. The pain would have been too much for anyone.