Tim Washburn - Powerless

“George, would you mind lowering the shotgun?”

“Can’t, Doc.”

“Just tell me what’s going on.”

George walks a little closer, and in the wash of the flashlight, Sam notices he’s limping. He’s pushing his midseventies, but Sam can’t recall ever seeing him limp.

“Are you hurt?”

“A little. But Janey is suffering from some type of infection. I need that meat, Sam. The protein will be a boost to her system.”

“I’d be glad to share some of the venison with you.”

George pans the flashlight back up, blinding Sam again. “Where’d your girlfriend go?”

The snick of a rifle bolt sliding home. “I’m right here, asshole. Drop the shotgun.”

George takes a step closer, the shotgun barrel pointing directly at Sam’s chest. “Sam, we can’t survive without that food. We’re in a desperate state. Madam, would you please place the rifle on the ground? I don’t want to hurt my friend, but desperate people do desperate things.”

“Then consider me desperate,” Kaylee says in a menacing voice. She steps down to the second step, the rifle tucked tight to her shoulder.

Sam holds up both hands in opposing directions. “Both of you put your guns down. We can work this out.”

Kaylee takes another step down. “George, you kill him, then I kill you. Then your wife will starve to death. Is that bloody heap of meat worth three lives?”

No more than six feet now separates the two guns. Killing range for a blind man.

Sam works to keep his voice calm. “George, you’re a professor of history. You know as well as I that we must depend on one another during times of crisis. How many times have you emphasized that fact to your students when discussing some of the greatest calamities in our nation’s past?”

The shotgun barrel lowers ever so slowly.

“Kaylee, lower your weapon, please.”

“Not until he does, Sam. He might have been a professor but he’s out of his fucking mind right about now.”

Sam says in a gentle voice, “George, you can take as much meat as you need. We can always go hunt for more.” He turns to glance at Kaylee in the wash of the light. The rifle is unwavering in her grasp.

A moan of despair escapes from George as the shotgun barrel swivels toward the ground. Kaylee takes two steps and puts the barrel of the rifle to his temple.

Sam lurches to his feet and pushes the barrel away before wrapping an arm around George’s narrow shoulders. “Kaylee, take the shotgun and put that damn rifle away.”

Sam leads George over to one of the steps leading to the deck and helps him down. He glances back to see Kaylee with the shotgun in one hand, but the rifle is riding against her hip, still pointed in George’s direction. He steps in front of George, placing himself between the two sudden adversaries.

“Kaylee, would you mind getting a bag from the kitchen?”

“You’re going to give up the meat we busted our asses hauling back here?”

Sam turns and fists his hands, ready to lash out. But her trembling arms and false bravado force a pause. “Please?”

As though reacting to a hypnotist snapping his fingers, Kaylee’s posture relaxes and she exhales a deep breath. She retreats inside as Sam sits next to George, who’s now sobbing.

Sam wraps an arm around his stooped shoulders. “Do you have any antibiotics at home?”

George swipes at a tear and shakes his head.

“I have some, but I can’t give you all of it. You understand, right?”

George nods. “Anything would be a help.” He rakes both of his knobby hands across his cheeks. “Listen, Sam, I don’t—”

Sam puts his hand on George’s forearm. “You were right. We are in desperate times. But if we can work together we might just survive.”

Kaylee returns with a black garbage bag. Sam unfurls it and loads in a good portion of the venison before handing the bag to George. “Hold on—I’ll find some antibiotics.” Sam disappears inside, leaving the two would-be killers alone.

“I’m very sorry for my actions,” George says, looking at his feet.

“All you had to do was ask. Sam is such a softy he’d have probably given you the whole damn deer.”

George chuckles, then sticks out his hand. “I hope you can forgive me.”

Kaylee shakes hands. “You’re already forgiven. I’m not the type to hold grudges.”

Sam returns with a small box of Augmentin. “This is a five-day supply. Hopefully it will be enough to get Janey over the hump.”

George pushes to his feet, takes the offered drugs, and reaches for the bag of venison. “I’m so very sorry.”

“Do you want your shotgun back?” Sam says.

“Why don’t you hang on to it for a while.”

George retrieves his flashlight and lugs the heavy bag around the corner of the house. Kaylee and Sam drag the remaining meat into the garage and slide the door home. Sam begins stripping the bloody clothes from his body. Kaylee stands aside, watching him strip down to nothing, but his days of feeling uncomfortable in front of her have come to an end. Kaylee glances down to see her own clothes covered in blood. She strips down to her panties and bra and each takes turns washing up in a bucket of cold meltwater.

“I think I see some blood on your bra and panties,” Sam says.

Kaylee looks down, shrugs her shoulders, and strips off the last remaining garments. They walk quickly into the house and climb under the large overfilled comforter draped over the sofa.

Sam takes Kaylee’s still-trembling hand in his. “Would you have really shot George?”

“Two weeks ago—not on your life. But today, you bet your ass.”

En route to Oklahoma

Afull week has passed since Carl’s encounter, and Zeke’s finally making preparations to leave. Unfortunately, he forgot to bring saddles for the two mares and had spent most of the week trying to fashion something out of the cargo carriers he had built for the trip down. With a sufficient number of blankets, he’s made riding passable, though not extremely comfortable for Ruth, Carl, and the kids.

The food his mother had packed was depleted within a couple of days and Zeke had scoured the urban landscape for any type of food. They’ve dined on squirrel and rabbit, supplemented with a goose he snared off the lake at the country club down the road. All of it cooked on Carl’s state-of-the-art gas grill that Zeke had to gut so he could build a wood fire. Noah and Emma didn’t much care for the squirrel or the rabbit, but they feasted on the goose meat.

A smudge of orange is just appearing on the horizon as Ruth uses her key to lock the front door of their home. They stand as a group on the front lawn and stare at their home, as if posing for a painting, while Zeke tamps down his impatience to be under way. Finally, after Ruth wipes the tears from her eyes, they all walk over to where Zeke’s waiting, the reins of the three horses in his hand.

“Carl, I’m going to put Noah on with me until we see how well you tolerate the movement of the horse. Ruth, you and Emma are going to ride Ruby, and Carl, you’re riding Tilly.”

Zeke couldn’t find anything in their garage to make any stirrups that wouldn’t irritate the hell out of the horses so he’s lashed a step stool to Murphy’s back for later down the road. Right now, he uses a five-gallon bucket from the garage for Carl and Ruth to use for mounting the horses. Ruth stands on the bucket and throws her leg over Ruby’s back and Zeke hands Emma up to her. He moves the bucket to Tilly and helps Carl into the makeshift saddle. Noah uses one of the saddle stirrups, and with Zeke’s help, gets situated aboard Murphy, sitting in front of his uncle.