Wilson Harp - EMP

“Dear God.”

“Yeah, we sent the letter on to Ted. He and the council might be able to figure out a bit more. A bad situation.”

I walked with the men a few more minutes. I didn’t look at the wrapped bodies. I couldn’t after knowing who they were.

“I better get back to the beet field. We’re taking every fifth one today,” I said.

“Good,” said Luke. “Beets will be a good addition. You know the Ellison’s left this morning, don’t you?”

“I saw the car heading out. I can’t believe Ted let them take it.”

“There was some loud talk with him, I was there,” Kenny said

Luke shrugged. “In the end, it wasn’t Ted or the council’s decision to make. He knows it is dangerous, but they have family in Little Rock and with Barb dying last week… well, without his mom around anymore, I guess he figured he would try to get back home and see what it is like down there.”

“Maybe we will get word from him one day,” I said.

“Maybe. If you can get that radio up for more than a minute at a time, we can try to give him a call.”

“I’m working on it, Luke,” I said. I got the radio activated, but it kept losing power for some reason after a few seconds. There was only static in those moments, so I wasn’t even sure if the receiver was working. Just static in the speaker. But it was a start.

“I know you are, David. I just want to be there when we hear news of the outside world.”

“You will be, Luke. Well, I really do need to get back to digging these beets up. We will be starting on some of the green beans next week, they say.”

“Looking forward to it. You take care, David, and tell your folks I’ll stop by tonight.”

“Hey David, I’m going to go into town now, can you take my bucket in?” Kenny asked.

“Sure, will you be back tomorrow?”

“I will, unless something comes up.”

I gave Kenny a wave and watched as he turned toward town. He filled in wherever there was work to be done, but lately he had taken to working in the fields with me. I asked him about that and he just responded he liked talking to me.

I walked back to the beets and picked up Kenny’s bucket. I carried it over to where I had left mine and emptied Kenny’s beets into what I had gathered and then set back to digging. After twenty minutes I had the third bucket of the day done.

I picked up my bucket, slid it into Kenny’s empty bucket, and headed toward the Marsh’s house where the women of the area were gathered in a small camp.

I don’t think there was a specific day when it was decided cooking communally was the best way to feed people. It just happened, and within a few days there were little knots of women cooking and tending to the laundry on Millie Marsh’s front yard. Clothes had to be washed by hand and mended with needle and thread and that work seemed to go smoother when there was talk.

I wondered how Lexi was dealing with this new world. She was a feminist to her core. Although I think it had more to do with not wanting to do dishes than any aspect of equality. She would not have been one of the women who dug latrines or graves. She would not have been with the hunters or the teams who cut wood. She might have been in the fields tending the crops, but I bet she would have fit in best with the women sewing, cooking and washing. They were the happiest people in the town. At least they laughed the most.

The women in the small camp in front of the Marsh’s house were subdued when I arrived. The edges of whispers I could hear were about Sharon Little and her boys. Mostly about her boys.

There were a few women talking about the Ellison’s and what they hoped they would find when they got home. Some were convinced the people down in Little Rock were doing just as well, if not better, than us in Kenton. Others argued Kenton had its head together and other places were likely falling apart. A good many of those believed we would see the Ellison’s car back in town before too much longer.

I grimaced as I thought about the loss of the car. It was a 1961 Oldsmobile. It had originally belonged to Jerry Ellison. His widow, Barb, only drove it around town since his death. I was still in high school at that time. It was one of only three cars that still worked in town and was, by far, the most dependable and biggest.

But Bill Ellison had two daughters in college back in Little Rock, so he loaded up his wife and two teenage girls and set off to see if he could reunite his family.

Maybe the grimace wasn’t so much over the loss of the car as it was jealousy of what he might be able to accomplish. I set the bucket of beets down by Millie Marsh.

“That’s one out of five in the first two rows,” I said.

She looked at them and waved over a teenage girl. It was Sarah Johnson. She had changed so much since I had seen her the night of the EMP, I didn’t recognize her at first.

Millie took out about a third of the beets from the bucket and set them on a large towel on a low bench.

“Take this bucket up to the Davidson’s and Leferney’s. Split it evenly between the two,” she said to Sarah.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked.

“Take a seat and a knife. Cut off the tops of the beets and put the greens in this bowl,” she said.

I smiled and took a knife that was sitting on a nearby table. I then dropped next to the beets and started doing as I was told. That was the best way of dealing with Millie Marsh. Do what you were told.

I cut the tops off of the beets and then took the bowl of greens over to a woman who was cutting up radishes and onions. She had already blanched a large pile of dandelion greens, so I figured she was the one who would portion out our salad that night.

She took the bowl with a nod and went back to chatting with the woman on her other side. I didn’t know her name. Even after a month of seeing her several times, I had no idea who she was or what her story was like. I didn’t want to know.

Over three hundred people had died in Kenton. Many more would die in the upcoming months. The heat, the malnutrition, maybe even an outbreak of a disease would take many. I didn’t want to know each name. I didn’t want to know each story. I’d leave that to Luke Carter.

I went back to Millie and sat down on the grass. I was tired. Bone tired as my dad would say. I would wait until the meal was ready and take it home, just over a mile, eat it and then go work on the radio until the sun went down.

Then I would lay on the bed and pray for rain, pray for safety for Lexi and Emma, and pray for my parents. I generally would fall asleep sometime in that routine. Then I would wake up with a start and begin another day of just trying to survive.

“David,” said Millie. “Go get your container, we are about ready to serve up the stew. Had four rabbits and two ducks brought in today, so you all will get a few bites of meat.”

“What about the beets?” I asked. She was washing them carefully in a tub of water.

“Tomorrow. We’ll stew them separate and add them as a side.”

I was looking forward to having a bit more variety in the stew, but with rabbit and duck meat tonight, it should be a filling dinner. I looked at the field with the wheat growing and felt my mouth get moist thinking about a piece of bread to go with dinner.

I went and gathered the container I would bring back, washed and dried, the next morning. I handed it to Millie and she ladled four large spoonfuls of stew. I noted she went out of her way to add some extra meat to the container.

“You make sure your dad gets some of that rabbit,” she said. “He needs to keep his strength up.”

“I will, Millie. I’ll be here tomorrow to get you some more beets,” I said as I took the container of hot stew. I went to where the greens were being prepared and collected the small bag that contained our side.