In the end Bert had pled to be excused from his position as town judge, and no one had begrudged him the decision. In his place a tribunal consisting of six members of the community, including Ben and Chauncey, was set up to pass judgment on crimes. It was a solution almost everyone was satisfied with, and it kept the town relatively peaceful.
Not that there weren’t a few exceptions. The worst came early in March, when the shelter itself came under attack by a dozen starving people.
Chapter Twelve
Desperate Times
Matt’s legs felt dead by the time he finished his patrol shift west of town.
He’d walked it dozens of times over the winter, and it wasn’t so great a distance, but any distance stretched on into infinity when all he’d had for the last ten meals was a cake the size of his palm. They were made of boiled wheat mashed into a paste, and for the breakfast cake included Henrietta’s daily egg mixed into enough batter for eight people, then fried in olive oil and drizzled in honey. They took turns licking the remaining oil off the pan when the meal was finished, and it was almost depressing how much of a treat that had become.
From the first Matt had tried to have his people patrol in pairs for their safety, and he’d managed it for a while, but now he walked alone. He had less than a quarter of the volunteers he’d once had defending the town. Some had died, which was heartbreaking, but more had abandoned what felt to them like a worthless chore when they’d had less than a dozen incidents all winter and the only real fight any of them faced was against starvation. They argued that their time could be better spent searching for food than for enemies that weren’t coming.
Matt couldn’t fault them for the decision, but it did worry him. The radios still worked, the guns were mostly in good repair, plans for defense of the town and calling up swift response defenders at the first sign of a threat were laid out, but none of it would do any good if they didn’t have people out there to give advance warning of a possible attack.
So he kept to the routes, taking more and more shifts as less and less people showed up to do them. Those who stayed with him at the task were mostly people who’d lost someone in Razor’s attack, or younger men whose families had survived the winter better like the Watson boys. But even they showed up lest often, and seemed more halfhearted at it.
Surprisingly Jane was out there almost as much as Matt himself, although he had the feeling she wasn’t motivated by loyalty to the town. The hunting parties had to split the meat among them, and give a portion to the town in exchange for use of the guns and ammunition. Meanwhile anyone on patrol who managed to bring down game also had to give the town its portion, but the rest was theirs.
Matt had seen her ranging far out beyond the patrol route, particularly in places where the terrain might encourage game to follow predictable paths down from the mountains. And truth be told her refugee group was faring better than most of the town under her care, fed by the consistent meat she brought in. In spite of the extended ranging she carried out her duties on patrol as expected, and Matt couldn’t begrudge her for her resourcefulness: attentive eyes had an equal chance of spotting humans as game, so she wouldn’t miss any potential threats.
In truth he had to admire what she managed, caring for the group practically all by herself with whatever help Tom and Alvin Harding, neither of whom were particularly good shots, managed to provide. Matt did his best to do the same for his family, but a lot of the time he felt like he wasn’t managing as well as he could. It physically pained him to see how much weight Sam had lost over the winter: she’d always been petite, but now she felt like just a wisp in his arms. Even worse, her cheery optimism had given way to the same sort of plodding dullness he saw in too many faces these days as she mustered the energy to do only what needed to be done.
It scared him.
He knew he wasn’t much better off. He’d always been skinny, but now the face that looked back at him in the mirror when he shaved every few days was practically skeletal. He had trouble finding the strength to do more than plod along at a walk, and his arms trembled if he held his rifle up for more than a few seconds to look through the scope. He’d tried to follow Jane’s example and find his own game on patrol, but she was either luckier than him or had a better idea of where and how to look. Probably the latter. All he’d managed were a few skinny rabbits and a single doe, which he still counted a blessing.
But his shift was over now, and that meant another cake that wasn’t enough but that he desperately needed. More importantly, that meant he could collapse on his cot and rest for a few minutes with Sam in his arms, enjoying being with her for as long as he could afford to before getting back to the business of staying alive. Even a week ago the prospect of that would’ve been enough to put a spring in his step in spite of his weariness, but now it only served to keep him on his feet long enough to get home.
Smoke drifted up from beyond the shorter hill which lay between him and the shelter, since he was approaching from the west, and as he circled it and the shelter came into view he couldn’t help but be grateful for the warmth he knew would be waiting for him inside.
Before going in, though, he made his way up to the observation post to greet April, who was sprawled listlessly staring through the scope of their dad’s .30-06. Her gauntness worried him as well, especially when he saw her like this, perhaps even more so because she always made an effort to put up a cheerful and energetic front when she was around other people, hiding her suffering as best she could. Like she did now when she finally noticed him, only ten or so feet from the observation post, and scrambled to her feet to give him a wave.
“It’s been nice lately,” she said, holding her arms out as if to embrace the sun. “I know this is just the “in like a lamb” part of March, but it still feels like spring’s just around the corner.”
“I hope so,” Matt said, unable to share her mood. “Old Man Winter’s overstayed his welcome.”
April sniffed, taking in the scents of baking on the smoke that drifted their way, and Matt heard her stomach growl. “Oh, that smells good. The same thing we’ve had for the last dozen meals straight and it’s still making my mouth water.” She picked up the rifle and slung it over her shoulder. “I’m going to come in and eat with you guys.”
He hesitated, about to object, but then he thought of how close he’d come before she even noticed him. She needed a break, even from something as easy as sitting in the observation post scouting the area. And he was too tired to protest anyway, so he nodded and led the way down into the shelter.
Sam was at the stove frying the cakes, hands trembling slightly on the spatula when she flipped one. Matt came over and put his arms around her from behind, kissing the top of her head, and she gave a contented sigh and settled back against him as she kept working. The rest of the family drifted in for the meal, even Terry from the clinic, and gathered around the stove in anticipation. He heard more than one stomach growling.
Before too long the meal was ready, and they settled down on their cots in the living area with the curtains drawn back so they could all see each other, tossing the hot cakes from hand to hand.
Matt had just finished swallowing his first bite and was about to take a second when he caught movement outside on the ramp leading down to the door. At first his dull wits didn’t ring any alarm bells at that, until he remembered that his entire family was gathered around him also eating. Even then it wasn’t enough for concern, since he thought it might be someone they knew coming for a visit. That happened on occasion, so he was in no hurry as he looked up to see who it was.