Grayson’s heart fell. “Well then we won’t have hot water for long. We’re almost out of gas now. Ruby can’t run without fuel. How much does she have in her?”
Jake slapped Grayson in the shoulder. “Fixed that too, brutha. Took ten minutes. I did that this morning before we left for Puck’s house.”
Grayson’s eyes were incredulous. “You fixed bad gas? How?”
“Old mechanic’s trick, but don’t get too excited. I couldn’t fix the big tank—yet. You had some old gas in smaller containers in the barn, and I was able to dig up enough mothballs and Seafoam to at least fix that. We’ll get a few of tanks of gas out of it.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No. For real, dude. But don’t ever try that yourself. The newer mothballs won’t work. I went through your shipping container and found some really old ones on the floor, under the shelves. I assume they were in there when you bought it? I didn’t need many. The gas really wasn’t all the way bad. It smells bad, and it might not run anything newer, but it should Ruby just fine. Especially with the additives in it now. If we find more old mothballs and Seafoam—and a bunch of it—we might be able to fix up the big tank, too.”
“That’s great! So, back to this. We just need to install the hand pump on the wellhead and we’re ready to go?”
Jake laughed. “Not quite.” He slapped the side of the water-tote. “This bad boy has to be filled up. I’ll work on the hand pump, but then, you’re going to have to pump the water into it.”
Grayson grimaced. “Great.”
“What?” Jake asked. “It’ll be easy. You just have to work that pump up and down and up and down… over and over again… until it’s full. Stay on it, and it’ll fill up fast.”
Grayson hung his head. “Yeah. About as fast as kicking whales down the beach. I’ll be here for days…”
10
“Take anything you want, just bring me some formula!” Sarah screamed.
Tucker swiped at the sweat running in his eyes and raised his head at the outburst. He’d been neighbors with Sarah for years and had never heard her raise her voice. He put down his hammer and walked to the end of his driveway, looking across the street.
Curt was there, with Joe and another one of his goons, and a little red wagon, probably causing trouble. He’d heard that Curt was still trying to scaremonger everyone into giving up all their food and supplies—for the good of the neighborhood of course—so he could best distribute them.
Tucker had said the opposite. He’d told everyone to keep their own food for now. He still held out hope the power would come back on eventually. If it didn’t, they could talk about the food thing later.
Oddly enough, Tucker’s people had all insisted on pooling some food in a ‘group pantry.’ It was mostly the wives’ idea, and they explained it would be easier on them, not to mention it would save food, to cook one big meal in the evenings for everyone.
Tucker had it stored in his own garage. Only two ladies had access to it: Katie, and one other woman from the group. They were on their own for the other meals during the day, and for now most of them were using their own backyard grills to cook those meals. So far, it was working out well that way; at least until everyone ran out of fuel for their outdoor grills.
He glanced back at the last of six hay-boxes they were building; and the only one he personally had been able to partially complete. The group loved the idea of using them to cook instead of wasting firewood and standing over the hot pots for hours. It would free up time for other things that needed to be done, too.
He sighed.
It was hard for him to take a turn on any of the teams his group had established because of all the interruptions. If he didn’t start doing more, he might be accused of using his leadership role to slack off. But Sarah was one of his group, and he wouldn’t let Curt bully her into anything.
Sarah’s husband was a soldier, and currently deployed. She was on her own with their first baby and her nerves were shot before the lights went out. Now, she was a real mess.
“Sarah, what’s wrong?” he yelled, as he hurriedly crossed the street.
Curt shot him a glare from over his shoulder. “Nothing’s wrong. We’re just having a conversation.”
Joe nodded agreement, ready to parrot Curt once again. “That’s right. We’re just talking.”
Tucker rolled his shoulders and then straightened them. He was tired, sweaty, and would love to beat the hell out of the little hot-headed fireplug. “Anyone can talk to anyone… but we’ve already established Sarah is in our group. You can’t ask for her food, Curt. Take your little red wagon and go the hell on.”
Sarah began to cry. The poor woman was rail-thin—and it wasn’t from the apocalypse. She’d always been thin. She’d barely even shown at nine months pregnant. But now, dark shadows circled her eyes. Her clothes draped from her too-skinny frame. Her long hair hung in greasy, flat sections.
She wrung her hands. “Tucker, I’ll give them food if he can give me baby formula. I have to have some. Today!”
Tucker’s brows came down. Sarah was a normally a beautiful young woman, but she hadn’t been blessed when God was handing out breasts to start with, and pregnancy hadn’t really affected that, as far as he could see. He looked away from her nearly-flat chest before asking, “You can’t… er… make your own milk?”
“No, I can’t,” she snapped. She dropped her head into her hands and began to sob. “I can’t do it!” She turned to go back into the house, leaving the four men staring after her with open mouths.
Tucker hurried up her steps, shooting a look over his shoulder for his wife, and giving Curt and his buddies a dismissive glare. “Sarah, hold on. What’s going on? Talk to me,” he asked, hoping that Katie would soon rush over and save him if it was to be a conversation about breast-feeding.
He shut the front door behind him. Sarah rushed over to a blanket on the floor where the baby lay. Tucker followed her and looked down in shock.
Sammi, only six weeks old, looked nothing like the cute little wiggling bundle of joy that Sarah and her husband had brought home. Tucker and Katie had missed the baby shower, so they’d taken over a gift and a cooked meal a few weeks after her arrival.
Gone were the rosy cheeks and plump lips on the baby girl he’d seen before. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear this was a different child. Sammi’s belly was bloated, and her arms and legs were thin as sticks, and limp as noodles. Her skin was wrinkled, and she looked small; too small. Her eyes were huge, giving her an alien-ish look.
She barely moved, and when she did, it was with slow and jerky movements. The infant was weak as a kitten.
Tucker kneeled down beside them. “What happened to her? Is she sick?”
Sarah looked up at Tucker with pleading eyes. “She’s hungry, Tucker. I can’t make milk, and I ran out of formula two days ago. I’ve been trying to get her to eat baby food but she can’t yet. I’ve tried water—she’ll drink a little of it, but it’s not nourishing. I’ve put a little sugar in it, but that’s not working either. I need formula.”
Sammi let out a long wail, her body convulsing. She even sounded like a kitten, with no oomph behind it, but it was full of heartbreaking hunger and pain. Tucker’s heart lurched. He had four kids of his own. He couldn’t let this child go hungry.