Dear Diary: It’s Me, Jessica: Chapter 3 (Book 3)

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In case you missed the last chapter, you can find it here.

Dear Diary,

It is me, Jessica.

We had a hearty breakfast and then set out.

With Rae on horseback, the pull-behind cart was lighter with just Dad and Jack in it. My horse could easily keep up with the fast pace Katie set.  Samson and the puppies trotted along, stopping occasionally to sniff something of interest, sometimes marking it, then sprinting to catch up.  It was like a game to them.

It was mostly sunny and felt warm in the sun, but then felt much cooler when clouds would roll through.    A light breeze was in the air.  

The highland hills of Four Corners and between there and our community gave way to lower but still rolling hills and pastures.  We saw a herd of cows in one of the pastures. 

“I imagine they have gone wild by now, after two years of not being domesticated,” Jack noted.

“How did they survive the winter?” I asked.  

“Cattle are actually not dumb as most folks think, or should I say, thought,” Katie responded.  “And in the absence of us humans being around, natural instincts kick in, and they can take care of themselves.  They will start a seasonal migration pattern, even knowing where water can be found.  The Great North American Bison have been doing it for thousands of years.  So have the water buffalo, zebras, and gazelles of the African Savannah.  Wolves are not nearly as common here as they once were, but I expect that to change with most of us humans gone.  Cattle have always been a social, herd-like group.  I am sure they will learn the dangers of predators again.  A stampeding herd of 1,200-pound cattle is a dangerous place to be, even for a pack of wolves if they get caught up in that.”

“Seen that with the cult and the sniper at the Millers,” I noted.  Katie nodded and said,

“It is like a flood.  It will not end well for you, as the cult and the sniper found out.  The hard way.”

We stopped at noon for a cold lunch of cheese and cured meat, lard bread, or green-onion-and-bacon muffins.  We watered the horses and let them feed on some grass along the road while we ate.

Before the power went out, Jack came out this way many times.

“It is funny,” he said.  “I must have driven this road thousands of times.  I recognize some things, but not others.  I was usually listening to the news on the radio or music.”

“You strike me as a rock kind of guy,” Rae observed.

“Oh, yes.  Classic rock, 80s rock, some 90s.  But I also like alternative rock, jazz, both pre-World War Two and post-World War Two jazz, and contemporary jazz.  I like classical music too.”

“Jazz?  Classical?  You, Jack?” I asked with shock.

“Yes,” he emphasized.  “A guy does not have to be a only rock and roll headbanger.  Jazz, I have Sinatra, Bennet, Sammy Davis Jr., Dino, Nina Simone, Billy Holiday, Diana Krall, Jane Monheit, Mel Torme.  Classical, Yo-yo Ma, Lang Lang CDs.  I also have the Amadeus soundtrack, both CD sets.”

“Amadeus?” I asked.

“Movie about Mozart.  Way before your time.”

“I will take your word for it.”

“And here I always thought of you just as a Marine Corps grunt, no offense,” Rae said with a smile.

“None taken,” Jack seemed proud of Rae’s remark, smiling back.  He then turned somewhat serious.  “A person is not defined by their occupation, likes in music, their education level, the size of their house, the car they drive, or their stock portfolio, but by the sum of their accumulated experiences.  In my experience, people with the most diverse experiences seem to have the most depth of character.”

“That is a very interesting observation, Jack,” Katie said as she took a drink of water.

“Standing firewatch for hours at a time tends to give one a lot of time to think.  That and having people actively trying to kill you tends to change one’s perspective on life.”

Diary, after the Battle of Four Corners, I did not realize until now how Jack was so right about ‘tends to change one’s perspective on life.’

I am not sure how I feel about that.

Entry two

Houses began to appear as we got closer to the town.  Once in town, the damage from the tornado was still evident.  Downed trees, debris, and even a car that looked like it was dropped on a roof.  Some homes were damaged while others stood without so much as a missing roof shingle.  We had to use side streets to get around some of the larger downed trees.  

Having been to the town, Jack directed us on how to get to the hardware store.  

We had just turned back on the main street lined with small businesses when a pack of dogs ran up to us.  Samson and the puppies rushed forward to meet them.

“Samson!  Boys!  Easy!” Jack ordered and leapt out of the pull-behind cart.  His order did not seem needed as tails wagged, lots of sniffing all around.  Jack walked up to the dogs, shoulder his rifle Mozambique style and offered a closed hand for the dogs to smell.  The dogs’ tails continued to wag as they sniffed Jack, a few even licking his hand.  

“They look good.  Eyes are clear.  Their coats are good.  Looks like they have eaten well,” Jack announced over his shoulder back to us.

“Well, I would hope so.  I do what I can to take care of them,” an old man said, coming around from the corner of one of the stores.  

Automatically everyone lifted their weapons in the direction of the old man, in an instant, Jack unslung his rifle and went to the ready.  

“Whoa!  Easy there,” he held up one hand; the other was around a long wooden staff he was leaning on.  He wore a long leather coat and a wide-brimmed leather hat.  He looked like something out of an old Western movie.  “Puppies!  Come here!”  

All the dogs, even Samson and Jack’s puppies went to the old man.  Like Jack, the old man offered a closed hand for Samson and the puppies to sniff.  As they sniffed, their tails began to wag.  Jack held up a hand and shouldered his rifle again.

“All clear.  He is good.”

“Are you sure?” Katie asked, rifle still in hand.

“If he wasn’t Samson and the puppies would have ripped him apart by now.”

“In my honest opinion, dogs are a better measure of character than most people,” the old man smiled and chuckled.  

“Interesting, you say that,” Jack said as he walked up to the old man and offered his hand.  “I tend to agree.  Name’s Jack.”

“Nice to meet you, Jack.  I am Charlie.  These your puppies?”

“Yes, they are.”

Samson and the puppies seemed to know Charlie and Jack were talking about them as their tails wagged even more.

“Good-looking puppies.  They trained?”

“Yes.  Tracking and security.”

“Ah!  Thought so.  Mine, not so much.” Charlie looked around at the pack of dogs who were in different stages of grooming themselves, sniffing each other, or just lying down.  “But they are good puppies.

I could see why Samson, the puppies, and Jack like Charlie.  He was a nice old man.  

Jack made introductions.  Charlie, smiling, nodded and said our names back to us as Jack went around our group, leaning on his wooden staff.  Jack explained why we were here, what Dad was looking for, and why.

“You sound like a handy young man,” Charlie said to Dad.

“I try to be, thank you,” Dad gave a sheepish grin.

“The hardware store is just a few blocks away.  Was heading there myself.  Need some nails.  Mind if I walk with you?  Be nice to talk to someone that doesn’t have a tail,” Charlie asked.

“I would like that.  What happened here after the power went out?” Jack asked.

Jack walked alongside Charlie with a gaggle of dogs around them, us following slowly behind.

“Oh, things were bad almost from the get-go.  The town only had one grocery store, and it was not very big.  One gas station with a small convenience store, mostly junk food, cigarettes, lotto tickets, beer, that kind of thing.  Most just assumed there was no need to have more than a week’s worth of food in the fridge or to have a pantry, let alone a root cellar.  For many, ‘pantry’ was a foreign word, and almost no one knows what a root cellar is.  Did not help when the mayor and most of the town council left town three days after the power went out.  Everyone else left, heading for the big cities, thinking the government would provide food and water there.”

“Why didn’t you go?” Jack asked.

“The Mrs. and I, we have a place on the edge of town, with a few acres.  We have always had a garden, what we could not use we canned or fermented.  Root cellar keeps things from going bad.  Like our own walk in cooler.  We kept chickens for eggs and meat.  Rabbits too.  I have a few honey bee hives.  It’s our home.  The Mrs. and I are dog people.  We always had a few.  When the power went out, some people left their dogs as they ran to the cities.  We took them in.  It was more of a burden with our limited chicken and rabbit supply, but we adjusted.  With a little honey, you would be surprised at how dogs like root vegetables like roasted carrots, parsnips, or rutabaga.  But stay away from cabbage.  That was a disaster.”

“Noted,” Jack said as he looked down at Samson and the puppies.

“The winter months do get difficult.  We pretty much close up all the rooms in the house and live just in the family room where the fireplace is.”

“No short supply of firewood after the tornado,” Jack nodded at a downed tree on a side street.

“You know about that?”

Jack told Charlie when we were here last, and took shelter from the tornado in the back of the hardware store.  

“Saw it in the distance when I was rounding up the dogs to get into the root cellar.  Here we are,”  Charlie announced as we walked up to the hardware store parking lot.

It looked the same, with busted-out front glass doors.  Riding lawn mowers were still there, but they looked like the tornado had pushed them back against the building.  We hitched up the horses to them.

 

Jack, Samson, the puppies, and a few of Katie’s men went in to make sure no one was inside.  Dad, Rae, Katie and I stayed outside with Charlie and his puppies.  Charlie took a flashlight out of his coat pocket.  

 

“The Mrs. got this at the dollar store.  Emergency flashlight.  Has a magnet inside the handle.  “ You shake it back and forth a few times,” he said, shaking it as he spoke, “and it charges a small rechargeable battery inside.”  Good for about half an hour.  Then you shake it again.”

“Smart,” Dad said.

“Yeah, the Mrs. was always thinking,” Charlie smiled.

Jack stepped just outside the door to give the all clear, and we could enter the hardware store.

Entry three

The plan was to get in and out as fast as we could to get back on the road and head for home, but Dad’s shopping took longer than expected. It did not help that Katie and her men joined Dad in shopping.  

Charlie found the nails he wanted in the first ten minutes and said he needed to be on his way.  Katie offered to give him a ride back to his house in the pull-behind cart.

“I don’t get around as fast as I used to, but I enjoy the walk.  But I thank you for the offer.”  He tipped his hat to her and said, “Have a safe journey home.  Come on, puppies!”  He turned and started across the parking lot with his puppies all around him.

“Think we should ask him and his wife if they would want to join us in our community?  We have a few extra abandoned homes,” I asked Jack.

“It is a nice idea, but I do not think he would go for it.”

“Why is that?”

“Something he said.  ‘Be nice to talk to someone that does not have a tail.’  I am just guessing, but I talking with him I got the impression his wife passed on.  He does not want to leave her.”

It took me a moment to get what Jack was saying, then it dawned on me.

“Oh.”

Don’t forget to get your copy of Dear Diary: It’s Me, Jessica; The Second Year from Amazon!

About 1stMarineJarHead

1^stMarineJarHead is not only a former Marine, but also a former EMT-B, Wilderness EMT (courtesy of NOLS), and volunteer firefighter.

He currently resides in the great white (i.e. snowy) Northeast with his wife and dogs. He raises chickens, rabbits, goats, occasionally hogs, cows and sometimes ducks. He grows various veggies and has a weird fondness for rutabagas. He enjoys reading, writing, cooking from scratch, making charcuterie, target shooting, and is currently expanding his woodworking skills.