Nathan Jones - First Winter

Raul himself didn’t look fantastic. He was disheveled, dark circles under his eyes, and even indoors he wore his pistol and had his rifle leaning next to the door.

“Mary was a bit worried,” Trev admitted. “I heard she invited you to her party.”

“Yeah.” Gutierrez looked away. “I had a deal with Brandon to keep an eye on each other’s houses when we had to leave. I’ve been a bit paranoid going anywhere without him watching the place.”

That was a valid excuse, although since the man had been making his shifts on patrol duty he must have some other arrangement going. Not to mention he stored all his food in the town storehouse for free thanks to his service with the defenders, so there wasn’t much here worth stealing.

Trev decided to just bite the bullet. “Are you okay, man?”

Gutierrez snorted. “I must not be, since it’s the first thing everyone keeps asking me.” Trev decided to wait instead of answering, and his friend sighed and sank down onto his bed. After an uncomfortably long period of awkward silence he spoke in a low voice. “I’m sorting through things, that’s all. It’s taking me a while.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.” The former soldier snapped out his answer almost before Trev finished the question.

“Okay.” Trev tried not to fidget. “Can I do anything for you?”

“Just keep me working defending the town.” Gutierrez glanced up at him, then back down to the floor. “I’m glad I have you as a friend. Although I could do without the constant digging into my business.”

“Sure.” It was hard to keep going, but he felt obligated to as reluctant go-between. “Anything I should tell Mary?”

His friend flinched and didn’t look up this time. “Sure. Tell her she’d be better off with someone else.”

“BS,” Trev snapped, almost reflexively. It sort of pissed him off that his friend was tearing himself down like this. “You’re one of the best men I know, whatever issues you’re dealing with.”

The former soldier sighed. “A relationship’s not happening right now, man. I don’t want to lock her down until I can make it work, if I ever could. Let me do her a favor by not wasting any more of her time.”

“Don’t you think you should at least talk this through with her and give her a chance to say her piece?” Trev asked.

“No I don’t, actually. It’s selfish to let someone do something that’s bad for them, even if it’s what they want. I don’t want to be her De—” Gutierrez abruptly cut off, shooting Trev an almost guilty look, and continued stubbornly. “Just tell her.”

Had the guy seriously been about to say what Trev thought he was? Fighting down genuine anger, he nodded. “I’m around if you need me.” He opened the door and started to leave, then couldn’t help himself and turned back. “You know, you can depend on someone, accept their help, without being a burden on them.”

Gutierrez laughed softly. “No you can’t. If the other person’s willing to bear that burden that’s their own business, and there are definitely things that make it worth the sacrifice. But don’t pretend it doesn’t take its toll. Haven’t you noticed that you’ve been bungling your duties while dealing with all your personal issues? Never seriously, but consistently.”

Trev sucked in a breath. That hit a bit too close to the mark, because it wasn’t completely wrong. “We’re all a bit messed up, Raul. That doesn’t change the fact that you’re one of the most honorable and dependable people I know. Don’t beat yourself up over something that isn’t true about you, or let it keep you from being with someone who makes you happy. Remember you can make her happy, too.”

His friend’s lack of response held an unmistakeable tinge of disbelief. After a short wait Trev left and closed the door behind him.

The party was breaking up when he got back, people offering Mary their final farewells and birthday wishes. The evening was turning cold, the fierce winds that had been blowing all day gusting even wilder, and everyone seemed eager to get indoors. Mary looked a bit disappointed that Gutierrez wasn’t with him, and Trev guessed her invitation to the former soldier had extended to the family’s movie and game time as well.

He felt bad for her, and couldn’t bring himself to repeat the man’s message on her birthday. Although there wouldn’t really be any good time for it. Still, it was something that could be saved for morning. So he tried to deflect her questions as Lewis set up the projector and they all settled in to watch.

Yesterday’s wind was still going strong when Matt ducked outside to start his morning chores.

This early in the morning it was more than just unpleasant, the windchill making the already cold temperature truly bitter. Matt tucked up his collar and pulled his stocking cap down a bit lower, wondering if he should go back inside for a scarf or balaclava. Then he glanced up at the dark gray sky and decided he should get as much work as he could done before the snows flew, which he was certain would be soon.

Before he could get started he spied an elderly but spry gentleman entering the Larson family’s crudely staked out yard, and he switched directions to go greet the man. “Jack! What brings you around to this part of town?” he asked, offering his hand.

Jack Dawson returned his handshake with a grin. “Oh, just stopping by to see if the girls are still being productive.”

By “the girls” the old man meant the laying hens he’d sold to the shelter group, before the blockheads arrived to besiege the military and the civilians in the Utah Rockies. Jack had offered a generous price for the layers, but that wasn’t the beginning of his generosity.

Before the Gulf burned Jack had owned a sizable chunk of land southwest of Aspen Hill. A longtime widower in his 70s, he’d lived alone on his property watching after it, largely sustained by the flock of chickens and other fowl he kept. From what Matt could tell, the nation running out of fuel hadn’t changed much about the old man’s situation, aside from depriving him of electricity, internet, and television.

During Ferris and his FETF soldiers’ occupation of the town last fall, Matt had been foraging near Jack’s property when the old man confronted him as a potential trespasser. But once Jack recognized Matt he warmed up considerably, since Matt’s mom had been regularly bringing him meals for years. Partly in gratitude for that, and partly out of sympathy for the Larson family’s plight, Jack had given Matt one of his layers, which Sam had affectionately named Henrietta.

A single egg a day among eight people didn’t seem like much in the grand scheme of things, but over the winter it had added up to a lot of needed protein, and had likely literally been a lifesaver. Which was why once the family had started to do well, with the aid of the Smiths, Halssons, and the rest of the shelter group, one of the first things they’d decided to do was buy more layers from Jack, who was only too happy to sell.

In a suffering town there’d been a few families that had managed to squeak through without too much suffering. Jack was probably the most prosperous of those, with spare food in the form of eggs and poultry to trade for any necessities he didn’t have. When the town founded new Aspen Hill in the valley his cabin had been one of the first built, men eagerly lining up for the opportunity to work for food. Matt knew the man had also made some solid purchases from Ned when the trader came around.

“Very productive,” Matt said. “Mrs. Halsson used some of the eggs to bake a cake yesterday.” He felt a sudden surge of guilt. “We should’ve invited you.”