L Akers - Fight Like a Man

Getting water running and chopping and splitting firewood were priority on the list, and since he’d not been successful so far at the water, he’d spent most of his time with the wood.

He took a break from swinging the axe to wipe his face with his T-shirt. Hotter than Hades out here. He shook his head in frustration, not able to stop thinking about his water pump.

It was a damn shame that someone had taken it. And he had no idea who either. Few people knew that shipping container was even back there. Hidden from the front side by a two-story, old red barn, and from the back side by woods, it wasn’t easy to see, especially since Dusty and Grayson had used leaves and limbs as templates and painted the entire thing camouflage.

The shipping container was his full-size faraday cage and he’d made sure it was grounded for an EMP—not that this was an EMP, but who knew what was next. The container housed things he’d been collecting for years; things that might be useful in a grid-down situation. It also held a Mule 4x4, which was nearly buried in the back. He’d have to dig it out later if he could find a way to use it. It also needed gas to run.

Dammit.

Of course, Dusty and Jake knew that pump was out there. But hell, they wouldn’t take it. It was partly for them and theirs. He’d originally bought the farm for himself and his daughter, Graysie, but he’d soon married Olivia, and they all made one big family. What was his was now all of theirs. They knew that. They’d helped him work the garden, reaping the benefits right along with him when they harvested fresh fruits and vegetables.

His eyes wandered to the gardens. His veggie garden was framed on each side with raised beds that Olivia had planted. She called them her herb hills—and she wrongly pronounced herb with the ‘h’ like a man’s name.

He felt his heart tug. She’d never been into prepping—or preparing. But she’d done a little bit of research and took the initiative to help out where she could; to be a small part of it and support him. She’d planted her very own little patch of stuff, and in typical-Olivia-needing-to-take-care-of-everyone fashion, she’d thought ahead to what she and her sisters would most want if ever the grid went down.

One bed was her hygiene garden. It covered soap, toothpaste and deodorant. She planted soapwort, licorice and sage in it. She said the soapwort could be used for body soap, shampoo and laundry. While she hadn’t put it into practice yet, she claimed the leaves and roots could be dried and put up, and would still lather later.

The Licorice Root was a transplant. She’d bought a year-old starter because it took a few years to mature enough for use. It was ready now. She’d made him test it. He’d thought it pretty cool that not only did it taste okay—kind of sweet—but after each use, you’d cut the used ‘brush’ away and have a clean and fresh ‘toothbrush’ for the next use. She’d said not only could they use the licorice Root for a toothbrush, but it also had anti-inflammatory and antibacterial uses.

The sage was a backup to the licorice plant since she hadn’t known how well it would grow. It could be used by rubbing it over gums and teeth. He didn’t like it nearly as much as the licorice but it did grow quickly and more easily. He’d laughed when he’d overheard her telling the ladies she had really planted it in case they ever ran out of deodorant. It could be made into an infusion to spritz their girly parts for body odor.

As if anyone would care about that in an apocalypse.

The first year taking care of the gardens they’d been bitten nearly to death by mosquitos, and driven to near insanity with the flies. So the last bed she put in was Lemon Balm, Basil and Rosemary for mosquito and fly control. She also used the Basil and Rosemary in the kitchen for cooking. She added Garlic for its therapeutic and anti-bacterial reasons, and for adding flavor to their food.

He’d built a small picket fence around her beds so that Ozzie wouldn’t get into them. She’d said some of the plants could be toxic to animals. For the whole area, Grayson had stuffed a scarecrow and hung pie-pans from its arms to try to keep out other varmints.

These gardens held memories of working the dirt, laughter, slapping at bugs, long conversations— family time . That’s what it was all about.

But yeah, the guys all helped with the big garden, and the ladies worked the smaller beds. They’d made it fun. A hobby. And if the shit never hit the fan, it wasn’t a waste. Not much went uneaten, not with a group this big.

No, not a group.

A family.

He swallowed hard. It had taken him years to build a new one after his had been ripped apart. He never thought he’d have another. He’d thought he’d finish raising Graysie alone, and spend his golden years poking around the farm all by himself.

When his little brother, Dusty, had married Emma, Grayson had come to attend the wedding on Bald Head Island as a lonely, bitter, widower. He’d lost his first wife—Graysie’s mom—in Hurricane Katrina. Then he’d met Emma’s older sister, Olivia, and his world had been rocked—by both her and another hurricane that had unexpectedly hit the island the night before the wedding. He’d been given the honor and the salvation of rescuing her and Ozzie from the storm.

Where he’d failed his first wife, he’d succeeded with Olivia. She’d given him hope and love where before lived regret and hurt—an aching pain he hadn’t believed would ever dull. He’d loved his first wife dearly, and he’d felt like he failed her. But Olivia had redeemed him. Soon after he’d asked her to marry him, and she’d said yes.

Olivia’s twin sister, Gabby, was married to Jake, a good ‘ole southern boy without a dishonest bone in his body. He was a mid-thirties mechanic with a strong back and a good soul, muscular physique and a knack for fixing just about anything, mechanical or not. He had a good head on his shoulders and a kind heart. Loyal as they came. He wouldn’t steal. Ever .

And his little brother, Dusty, had only to ask. He knew that anything Grayson had was his for the taking—as long as he replaced it or brought it back. They’d borrowed off each other all their lives. Started out trading marbles and baseball cards, and then later guns and tools. Dusty would’ve mentioned if he’d had a need for a pump. No way. It just had to be here. But Grayson had wasted enough time looking. He had things to do. He needed to prepare the old homestead for his family. They’d all be coming, sooner rather than later, he hoped.

Especially Graysie. He knew in his heart he’d raised that girl up right. Red-headed and stubborn as a mule, he had no doubt she’d started walking toward home already. He’d trained her to handle a gun and a crossbow, and hoped she’d been listening to all the survival shows he’d watched while she pecked away on her phone texting night after night before she went away to college. Hopefully, some of it had sunk in. It was disappointing she’d refused survival training, but she was a smart girl… her father’s daughter. He had confidence in her, although he threw up a little in his mouth each time he thought of her out on the road, alone.

No!

He caught himself and swallowed down the bile before his fears ran away from him and pushed him into another panic attack. Graysie would never be so stupid as to try it alone. She had them college boys nipping at her heels day and night. With a figure like hers and that long, curly red hair, he hoped she’d just this once use it to her advantage to recruit a few strong boys to escort her home. Hell, he’d even let a boy stay, if he brought his daughter home unhurt and unmolested.