His own stamp on this vision was about to be actualized.
“So, Mr. Thompson, what do you think?” asked Preston, his project manager, standing next to a broad table covered with the architectural plans, the curled corners held down by stones.
“You did a great job,” Max said scrutinizing each detail. “What about its defenses?”
“Top of the line, Mr. Thompson. We have the entire perimeter—”
One of the two cell phones resting on the table’s plans rang. Max reached over and grabbed his, not looking up. “Yes?”
“Mr. Thompson, this is Frank Spade. I have an update on the Kings. They’re going to Rocky Point again in two weekends.”
“Great.” He looked up, eyes filled with excitement, focusing now on his attorney’s words. “And how did we do on those two beach houses?”
“They’re yours. Agreements are signed and you should have the equivalent of a closing just before that same weekend. Should I book a flight?”
“Yes, call my office so they can coordinate my schedule.”
“Will do, Mr. Thompson.”
“Thanks, Frank. Great work.” Max pressed the end button on his Brick and set it back on the table.
“Sorry, Preston, continue.”
“Well, if you look over there…” Preston pointed to the southern and northern boundaries as he launched into describing all the defensive systems that would be built around the complex.
55.
Writing It All Down
“Come, hurry; your son is kicking.” Darla shinned an inviting smile, like a new day’s sunrise, at her husband. She grabbed his tentative hand and placed it on her swollen belly.
“How do you know it’s a son?” Steve asked, touching her warm roundness gingerly, afraid of pushing too hard and causing harm to mother or child.
“You might say it’s… a gut instinct,” she said, snorting at her own joke, baby and belly jostling under his hand.
“Ha-ha-ha… Whoa, I just felt it, I mean him.” His lips curled into a grin. He leaned over to her, while she rested in Herb’s comfy leather chair. “Thanks,” he said before kissing her softly, and then more passionately.
“Come on, that’s what got you into this mess the first time,” bayed Olivia Wright, whose belly was showing a significant swell of its own.
“You’re a fine one to talk.” Darla snorted some more, as she pulled back from Steve and cast a mock glare at her before breaking into another brilliant smile. Truth was she was ecstatic to be sharing her pregnancy experiences with someone who had been through this before, especially after they had shared so much loss getting here.
Steve withdrew. “I’ll let you finish your writing. I’m going to help Wilber and Herb with a special project today,” he said, already making his way to the home’s back door.
“That sounds mysterious. What have you boys been up to anyway, working late every night? Are you ever going to show us poor little ladies what you boys are doing?” Darla wheedled in her best southern belle accent, daintily touching her cheek with a fingertip and batting her lashes.
Steve played along, tipping his baseball cap. “Maybe today, ma’am.” His southern accent left much to be desired. “If the chow is good, we’ll let you in on our big surprise.”
Darla reached behind herself and whipped her back-support pillow at his head. It connected squarely and knocked off his ball cap. Both pillow and cap landed in silence on the floor.
“Fine, I’m out of here then,” he said, lightly tossing the pillow back to Darla in a long arch.
Darla grinned as she caught it and slipped it back into position, bringing relief to the ever-present ache.
Settling in, she unscrewed the cap to an elegant fountain pen, a gift from Herb, whose deceased wife had loved using it to write her letters. She opened the composition notebook, one of her better scavenging finds during their long travels here. Scanning what she had written on the first page, she turned to the next and started a new entry.
May — Approximately 300 Days AE
We settled into a comfortable life on Herb’s ranch, almost as if we had lived here much of our lives, when it has only been since last December. It was such a long and tragic journey to get to here.
We lost Doc Reynolds to a bear attack, of all things: I guess the bears were hungry too. I didn’t think it would hit us that hard, after losing my brother, I felt like I was numb to loss. But, Doc was the father I needed, a surrogate since I would never see mine again, so facing his death was like admitting that my father and mother were probably dead too.
It wasn’t just me though; he was missed deeply by all, especially Olivia, who not only looked up to him as a father, but also as a mentor. Doc had taught us much during our long passage, when all we had were our thoughts and our conversations. He said it was important to pass along your knowledge to others. Good books were hard to come by, not that any of us had the time to read. So he said teaching your vocation to another was the only way to ensure what you knew wouldn’t die with you. Every day, while we walked, he spent hours tutoring Olivia about medicine. Doc said a couple of days before that bear got him that Olivia knew more about nursing than any of the university-trained nurses he used to work with when he was younger. I think O felt a lot of pride at this.
We came close to losing Joselin, who almost died from an infection due to several cuts on her leg; gangrene started to take hold, and Doc had to amputate. We had to stop for a while to let her recover; although she came through it physically, emotionally she felt like she was not a whole person. When she was barely healthy enough for us to travel, she still had to be carried on a modified cart by Steve one day and then Wilber the next. Doc and O looked after her health daily; I tried to nurse her faltering spirits.
I believe it was her blood that led the bear to us and to the doc. When the attack happened, Doc was dutifully tending to his patient’s dressing. Just as it was about to maul Joselin, Doc threw himself in front of the bear. He sacrificed himself so that Joselin could live. Doc told us often, no matter what life throws at you, even the bad; you must consider that there was purpose in it. From this tragedy, we gained fresh meat and Joselin gained a new vigor for life. She figured if this man would give his life for her, she was responsible for making it the best she could, even with just one leg.
Before this, we were losing hope that she would make it, but she grew stronger and finally Steve, my husband—I guess that’s another story to tell—created two crutches out of thick aspen limbs and twine. Our pace was a little slower after that, but it was worth it to have her walking on her own.
When we finally arrived at Herb’s gate, we were out of food, water, bullets, and energy. I didn’t know what to expect, I mean what the hell did we have to offer? We were half-dead, skinny from lack of food, and had no supplies left. But Wilber’s brother, Herbert Wright was more than receptive: He was very excited to have his brother and sister-in-law back, and he treated us all like… well, family. We’re all healing well, even flourishing, while helping the Wrights with the many chores around the ranch and the household, which had doubled in size.
When we arrived, there were six people living at their ranch home: Herb (his wife tragically died one month before the Event), his grown son, Jas, teen-age daughter, Pen, a ranch hand, and two neighbor friends who joined them after the Event. I guess they had to defend themselves a few times in the first couple of months, as I’m guessing every community around the world, that had made it that long, did the same. Now, including us, there are eleven.