Nathan Jones - Shortage

When the sun was halfway up the horizon Trev made his way into town to start his shift at Roadblock 3, passing Roadblock 1 as he went. In spite of his comment about a few cars pulled across the road the roadblocks were actually much sturdier than the ones Turner had supervised building last fall. The cars across the road remained a feature, of course, but behind the wheels cinderblocks were stacked generously to hold the cars in place in case someone tried to ram their way through.

The furniture to either side was also stacked much higher and sturdily nailed into place, complete with a platform behind the wall of furniture that defenders could stand on to shoot at anyone attacking from down the road, protected by bits of metal and sturdy sandbags that hopefully would protect them from return fire.

It meant it might take longer to clear the way if a vehicle needed to get through, but since Aspen Hill had no vehicles that wasn’t a problem for them.

Trev made his way to the south end of town and waved as he approached the small group at Roadblock 3. He got a few waves in return, from the two men on duty and one or two of the several women ranging in age from early teens to some who seemed far too old and frail for the duty.

They seemed only too happy to welcome him and immediately pump him for information about a surprising number of topics. Within the space of five minutes he found himself bombarded with questions about Matt, the food the Mayor had brought, the variety of entertainment Lewis had on his hard drives, Ferris’s confiscation of the shelter and everything in it the previous fall, and conditions in the mountains during winter.

It looked like Matt was right about the gossip circle nature of the roadblock sentries. Trev did his best to shift the conversation to any activity on the road outside the roadblock. That mostly earned him amusement, since few people had approached the town during the cold months from any direction. The amusement didn’t last long when he started asking about early warning measures, which Matt had set up but weren’t being carried out.

The general consensus was that if he was so interested in making sure that stuff happened then maybe he should do it. The only person who didn’t seem to think that was Hans Miller, a man in his 30s with a wife and children who’d remained at the periphery of the group, looking sad and withdrawn. The other man at the roadblock, Rob Jonas, was older and didn’t seem interested in the roadblock or the gossip. Trev thought he might’ve just been there for the comfortable chair.

Since any further discussion seemed like a waste of time Trev excused himself and climbed over the cars to walk down the road a ways, checking the area with eyes accustomed to seeing every detail up on mountainsides blanketed with trees. He even pulled out his binoculars for a more thorough check.

When he returned he nodded politely at the others, still gathered around on reasonably comfortable seats chatting idly and most not even in a position to see past the roadblock. Then he pointedly hopped up onto the roof of the lefthand car and settled down in a crouch to watch the road.

After a few minutes Hans, as if embarrassed about being shown up, joined him on the car and sat with his legs dangling off the roof. Trev was actually a bit relieved, and more than happy to strike up a conversation with the man as they kept watch, if a grim one as Hans shared his grief.

The Miller family hadn’t fared well that winter. Their infant son had died of sickness in January, and their young daughter Eve had developed a wracking cough that plagued her even after almost a month. Hans’s wife did her best to keep the house warm and clean and tend their daughter during the cold months as Hans did his best to help the town in spite of his troubles, as well as going out with the hunting parties more than just about anyone.

He was determined to keep his family fed, although he grew more and more despairing as his daughter’s condition continued to worsen and his wife’s spirits seemed to sink a bit lower with each passing day. She’d never quite gotten over losing their son, and no hopeful words would reach her.

Trev had nothing but sympathy for the grieving father, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Hans’s presence at the roadblock when he wasn’t out hunting wasn’t his own way of fleeing from his grief. If so it wasn’t his place to say, and he appreciated that he wasn’t the only person there taking the duty seriously.

Halfway through the shift the gossip circle broke up and most of the women simply walked away, leaving the roadblock to those who remained. Trev gave Hans a questioning look but the man simply shook his head grimly: this was a common occurrence. Rob stayed, still sitting on his chair, along with an older woman named Betty Thornton and her daughter Alice.

Trev remembered Alice as plump but pretty, always trailing after the older kids hoping to be included. Now she looked as if there wasn’t an ounce of fat or muscle on her body to fill the space between skin and bone, and she trembled slightly with every motion. Her mother seemed in about the same shape.

He didn’t ask, but perhaps Hans was used to being around all the gossip because he answered anyway. Mr. Thornton had died in Razor’s attack last fall, leaving the two women to fend for themselves. Neither of them had any skill at hunting and the winter had ended any chances of finding edible plants, so their options were limited.

Apparently the Mayor gave everyone who did a full shift at the roadblock or on patrol a bowl of soup. For those on patrol the meager portion wasn’t enough to make up the energy of walking the route, which explained why Matt was having trouble finding people to volunteer, but for sitting behind a roadblock in the cold it was, barely, a net gain.

So Matt hadn’t been entirely accurate. The roadblocks weren’t a gossip circle, they were a soup kitchen line. Those who’d already left to collect their bowl of soup hadn’t sat all the way through a shift, but Catherine fed them anyway, probably since in the colder months sitting out in the cold starving would’ve just created more sick people. Trev could only assume the Thorntons were too proud to end their shift early, at least now that the weather was warming up. According to Hans they took a shift at least once a day, sometimes twice.

Trev felt a bit guilty about his initial bitterness about selling the rest of their cache to the town, knowing that this was one of the things it went towards. It also made him feel better about their decision to sell in the end.

He went out to check the road and surrounding area again, and by the time he got back the shift was over and Hal and the Thorntons had gone, a new group of women and a few men filling up the chairs and starting their own gossip. Trev nodded at the group as he passed by, making his way back to the shelter. He wasn’t about to take a bowl of soup when people were starving, and he had a feeling that in spite of his weak and emaciated condition Matt hadn’t been either.

With any luck his friend would be around when he got back, since Trev needed to have a conversation with him about the roadblocks. He had no problem with the charity aspect of things, but asking a bunch of starving people to do a vital task and then practically encouraging them to leave halfway through wasn’t making the town any more secure. Most of the women he’d seen there hadn’t even been armed, and the radio set in a box in one of the firing niches behind the furniture looked as if it hadn’t been used in a while.

When he got back he found his cousin outside on the taller hill overlooking the shelter, shovel in hand and digging in what looked like a random spot while Aaron and Paul watched curiously. Aaron kept on asking if he could help dig, but Lewis just shook his head each time as he kept going.