Nathan Jones - Shortage

Matt thought of Sam, and for what seemed the millionth time felt a surge of gratitude for having her in his life. “I hear you. Especially when ever since FETF showed up things seem to be getting harder and harder.”

The old man snorted. “Funny, just about everyone I talk to seems to be saying that. I thought those pencil pushers were supposed to come in and make things easier for people, but all they seem good at is stealing what little folks have and spreading it around to people who don’t deserve it. FETF? Hah, more like fed up!”

Matt smiled for the first time in what felt like days. “Me and my family were set up all right, but not an hour ago Ferris finally kicked down our door and stole what little food we had. Now I’m going around picking weeds for dinner. Having a hard time of it too since everyone else has the same idea.”

Jack hesitated for a moment, looking conflicted, then shook his head. “Ah well, your Mona has been coming around with a hot plate for me every month or so for the last decade making sure I’m still kicking, so I suppose I owe you something. Better you than one of Ferris’s goons anyway.”

“What?” Matt asked with a puzzled frown.

“Come on.” The old man waved for him to follow and turned to stomp away. Matt ducked under the fence’s top rail and hurried to catch up. Without saying a word Jack led him a good ways onto the property not far from his house, to a modest coop with a small yard completely fenced in with chicken wire, even for a ceiling. Waving for Matt to wait outside, he disappeared into the coop and after a moment came out with a flapping and ruffled hen tucked under one arm.

Ignoring the clucking and pecking the old man shoved the fowl into a small carrying cage, also made of chicken wire, and fastened the door, then pushed it into Matt’s arms. “This isn’t a meal, understood? She’s one of my best layers, should be good for an egg a day as long as she’s fed. And chickens’ll eat almost anything. Just make sure she’s fed, watered, kept warm, and given a safe, quiet place to brood. I know it ain’t much but it’s something.”

Matt held the cage, so overcome with an unexpected surge of emotion that he was at a loss for words. Not much? Protein had already been a huge source of concern, and now that all their food storage was gone anything at all was a godsend.

An egg a day wouldn’t solve all their problems, but it tipped the scales that much farther towards survival. He did his best to clear his throat as he shook his neighbor’s hand. “I’ll come around more often, help out around here as much as I can.”

“For the gift of a chicken?” Jack snorted, although he accepted the handshake. “I can care for myself around here, at least for now, and I’ll be sure to let you know if that ever changes. Until then save your worry for your family.”

Matt nodded, and after several seconds of the awkward silence that comes after being given an appreciated gift and wanting to say or do more, only there’s nothing else really to say or do, he thanked Jack again. “I should get back to picking weeds.”

“Yeah, I’ve got no end of things to do myself. You take care now, Matt Larson. If I don’t see you before the snows fall I hope to see you after the thaw.” The old man glanced west towards the mountains. “That snow could come this evening, you never know. Looks like it’s already flying up there. I sure pity any fool caught up in that.”

Matt thought of his friends up at the hideout, for the first time in a while, and felt an immediate surge of worry. Those idiots were caught up in that. He hoped they’d managed to sort out their situation. “It might not snow, but if those clouds keep pushing this way we might get rain or sleet. I’d better hurry and gather what I can before heading home. I’ll be along the fence gathering more weeds, all right?”

“That’s fine. Take care of the hen, okay? Hard to be fond of chickens but somehow I manage.”

He nodded and left Jack pottering around the coop as he hurried back across the fields to the fence. The storm approaching from the north and already pounding into the mountains from the northwest continued to get darker and fiercer, and as Matt tore up weeds and shoved them into his plastic bags the thin layer of clouds above thickened until he started to feel the occasional splatter of rain. In her cage his new hen squawked crankily.

Winds started gusting, and Matt decided the job was good enough as he broke into a trot back for town, keeping an eye out for any possible threats as he went. He didn’t see anyone at all, everyone likely either driven in by the approaching storm or by the desire to avoid trouble with roaming refugees. Although when he got home Sam must have seen him approaching through the window because she hurried out onto the porch to greet him, shivering slightly at the blasts of wind.

“Where’d you get a chicken?” she asked, startled. When Matt offered the cage she was quick to accept it so she could get a closer look at the brooding hen.

“Jack Dawson, out to the southwest of town. He keeps birds and offered a layer as thanks for Mom looking out for him all these years.”

“How sweet of him.” Sam beamed down at the cage. “I don’t know much about animals but she looks well cared for. We should call her Henrietta!”

For some reason that made Matt laugh in spite of the day he’d had. Although he flinched as a cold drop of rain splashed the back of his neck. “Let’s get inside.”

The house was still a mess from the inspection. His parents seemed to have abandoned cleaning up to sit together on the slashed cushions on the couch. It looked as if his mom had been crying. When he and Sam entered his dad quickly stood, and although he made a big deal about Henrietta he was quick to get down to business. “I think it’s time to talk about going for that cache.”

Matt frowned. “Ferris just kicked down our door, and he said himself he thinks we have more food hidden around here. He’s going to come around again to look for it, or at least have us watched.”

His dad hesitated. “We can’t survive on weeds, even with Jack’s kind gift. If we wait too long we’ll be too weak to make the journey. And now that Ferris cut Sam off from the ration line she’s in the same dire straits we are. We have to go.”

It was hard to argue that, but at the same time circumstances couldn’t be worse for making that kind of trip. He looked down at the pathetic few handfuls of weeds he’d gathered, anguished. “Razor’s thugs are still running around outside of town. We might not even make it there.”

There was a long, tense silence. “I think we should wait,” Sam said quietly. “Things can’t stay the way they are now. If Ferris is kicking down doors and cutting rations that means he’s desperate. The town might not put up with him for much longer, and when his welcome wears out it might give us a better chance to safely get the cache.”

His dad looked torn. “We’ll all have to start foraging for food,” he finally said. “Together in pairs, for safety. At least until we can think of something to do.”

There wasn’t much more to say after that, so they had a sparse meal of weeds and sat around the table playing board games for a while, trying to ignore the rain beating down on the roof and windows and the hunger digging a hole into their bellies. But Matt knew his dad well enough to know he hadn’t put the problem out of his mind, and although he did his best to stay involved in the family evening his troubled thoughts were far away.

Matt was worried as well, but he knew his dad had to be feeling the weight of responsibility even more since he was the one who’d insisted on refusing the inspections and had personally hid the food in the shed. Not to mention he still grumbled about losing his .30-06 at the roadblock when Ferris first arrived.