I never thought that I'd be excited to find two working batteries. Yet here I am happier than freshmen on movie day, when all the seniors take their exit exams. I know high school wasn't that long ago, but everything from before feels like a whole different world let alone life time. My days follow a fairly standard routine. Up before sunrise, use the toilet, and either eat a fresh pack of mre's or lick clean the previous days pack. Once there's enough light to see the rungs and the ground I go down the ladder and tend to the garden. Some mornings I have to stop and fix the plumbing before I can go down. If the sink piping isn't leaking it's the toilet piping clogging up. At first it was really hard to get the sink to stop leaking for more than five minutes, but with time and repeated fixing I got the hang of the funky plumbing we have. Which is why I know that hitting the toilet just right with a hammer works better some days than the plunger. In the evenings if I'm not to tired I read one of the few books I found that are legible at the junk yard. One of the books is on cooking. Sometimes it's hard to look at the pictures, because they trigger memories of walking down the sidewalk and the aroma of fresh pizza wafting from the corner pizzeria, or curry from the Indian restaurant. Those memories, and the hunger pangs they trigger are the reason it took me two moon cycles just to read the first chapter of the cooking book. The other three books include a book on chess with a bunch of brain teaser puzzles. A book on home maintenance and repairs, which only proved a tiny bit helpful as the sink and toilet were not put in using traditional plumbing methods. Yes all 31 shelters were constructed in less than 72 hours, that does not mean they are anything close to a traditional home. The final book I found is a toddlers picture book which reminded me of my favorite preschool teacher Mrs. Umpshaw. The type writer I got in trade from some thugs who'd been waiting for me one evening and wanted to know what I would give them to keep them from beating me up and taking my furniture. I'd caught a parrot that knew a few words and an edible snake, more foster parent weird stray knowledge, on my way home from fishing that day. I offered only the snake at first, but then their boss caught site of the parrot and offered a trade. Since a type writer was probably more useful to me than the parrot so I accepted the offer. All I have to do is get the keys unstuck and figure out a way to untangle the ribbon. Since that day I haven't really seen anymore small animals, but I see plenty of signs that they're around. Makes me wonder what ever happened to the scientist, how their arctic expedition went and if they ever tried to foster kids again after they got back. By the fourth moon cycle, and people either not being able to get to the pass out of the valley or being turned back by the military folks started opening up a small bit. I'm not going to claim undying devotion to anyone, or that I'd lay my life down so that yet another person can try to sneak past the military outpost, but I am very slowly getting folks to see that I really am not some rebellious trouble maker like the commander made me out to be. One teen girl started gushing over my green eyes. I slammed the brakes fast on her just because her parents were okay with her talking to adults didn't mean I wanted to be tied to a teen who hasn't finished maturing yet. Five days out of the week, in addition to doing as much as I can to learn and document about the valleys fish and plant life, I work at the mausoleum as do about a quarter of the towns residents. None of us talk to each other, our tasks are clear and set out. The ground above is to frozen to properly dig out graves. When folks do pass away, everyone is to scared to touch the bodies, so our work is more about recording as many details as possible; name, gender, and as many details on how they passed away as possible. So far it's mainly elders passing of old age. About the wild life. Besides signs of small animals and birds I have also founds signs that deer and wild horses have tried to get into my green house to eat the plants. I've caught a few sightings of the deer and horses. Besides being very skittish of people they seem to be in good health. That means that they're finding enough food through foraging to survive. As I've had success with my indoor garden, I've realized I had no place to store anything. Sure I had a rusted out fridge upstairs, but it stunk up the place bad anytime it was opened so I needed a different solution. By talking to my small network of connections, and I use the term loosely, a solution presented itself just not how or what I was thinking of. As to my loosely termed network it consists of the two Handy's neither of whom like me enough to share their first name, the Silver woman, the Grimes head of house, and the woman from the Davilla house who braids her hair every day. Imagine my shock when Davilla, or Annette as she's called by her family, showed up at my place. "We have a cabinet you can have, but I need you to promise me something in exchange." Annette "I would really like a cabinet if you really can spare it, but I'm not comfortable with a blind promise of a favor. I would happily offer you first choice on edible produce if you like. I'm getting perfect berries off of some of the plants." I countered "Will you hear me out on what I would like in exchange!" Annette countered. That I was willing to do, and her request was a doozy, which made me really glad I'd not blindly agreed to anything. We came to a compromise, that we could both live with, and I got the needed storage cabinet which wasn't easy to move, and so got put into the green house. Just as Annette had lived up to her half of the agreement I lived up to mine. By arrangement I met Annette at the park. With a nod of her head I understood that the younger woman with the loose hair was the daughter she wanted me to meet. Autumn was almost ten years my junior and very grumpy. I was happy that I had only promised to get to know her and nothing more. I know what Annette wants and is hoping will happen, but I've never been fake about anything in my life, not even when I wrote my application to university, and this is not the time to be fake. Because Autumn was reluctant at first I suggested joining Carole Funke, who was about Autumn's age on the hopscotch court. Not as invigorating to me as a jog or a game of hoops, but both women had fun and I got to know both of them a little better.
As the sun shifted and it got closer to my work shift I promised both women to another game of hopscotch in a few days time.
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Who am I? I suppose I should start there. My name is Jullio, someone once told me it's a Spanish or Mexican name. I wouldn't know. I was abandoned at birth at the Bridgeport firestation. At least that's what it read in my case file when I stole a peak as a teen. My last name is Forrest, because the agency worker was sick of using Doe and Smith as last names for unknown cases. I grew up in Bridgeport in a series of foster and group homes. My last placement wasn't to bad. My first impression of the woman who ran the group home was that she was a completely crazy hippie, right down to her name Apricot Moonbeam. Then I got to know her and the rules, and realized that I'd gotten one of the luckiest placements for a kid about to age out of foster care. Not only could I stay if I wanted to, but if I could pull my grades up to a 2.0 gpa she would help me apply to universities. There was a catch. That didn't surprise me, I was used to things having a price to pay. Her price, even though I wanted a sports program I had to apply to horticulture programs. Given the dense foliage on the tiny concrete patio that she called an exercise in urban permaculture I didn't find her stipulation surprising. What did surprise me was the acceptance letter to Starlight Shores newly formed horticulture program. It even came with a one year scholarship. I never made it to Starlight Shores or the university. The bus I was on broke down, which wasn't to bad, even though we were in the middle of nowhere. A few passengers got rentals, others got train tickets. By the end of the day it was just the driver, an older couple who were retired core medics, and myself waiting for the replacement bus. The driver had the news on, I was only half listening as I thumbed through my acceptance paperwork for the millionth time. Suddenly the radio started breaking up and then went dead. The driver was asking the station attendee a question when the teen turned and started vomiting uncontrollably. The couple rushed to the teen and then told me to get out, as the driver was trying to wipe puke from his arm. I stared as the door was blocked from the inside. I could see through the window as the old man was frantically punching codes into what looked like a radio relic from the last global war. I don't know how long I stood in the minuscule shade of the sign pole before chaos broke loose. I call it chaos because it all happened so fast, that I didn't have a chance to process what was happening as it happened. The area around the station filled up with helicopters, tanks, and large trucks filled with personnel. I found myself rushed into an enclosed truck by people encased in hazmat suits. Once inside the truck they shoved me into an even smaller empty glass container and had me strip. I watched in horror as not only my clothes and acceptance paperwork were burned but the entire station was burned to the ground after someone made hand motions indicating no survivors. I lost track of time, but eventually I was allowed out the chamber and given some clothes to wear. One of the commanders decided I wasn't worth drafting. Maybe it was he kept yelling at me to get out of stuff, or to stay away from buildings as we drove through Lucky Palms. The upshot was that I was confined to a coastal valley with several other households that had escaped the contagion. After a fashion we were lucky, we were naturally immune. To my frustration I couldn't get the doctor to say why or what caused the contagion in the first place. The other piece of good luck was that the area had already been laid out for a suburb development and there was a small stash of supplies available to throw together 30 rough buildings to accommodate everyone. When they got around to assigning me accommodations I asked if I could have my own place. I was hoping for a spot near what everyone was calling the park. The commander in charge had other ideas and stuck me on the hill just above town. I didn't complain that my shelter was only one floor, because one of the grunts gave me a wink and used the last of the raw material to add a room under the main living quarters. Down the road from me behind the main set of shelters is a junkyard. The building used to be fully enclosed, but some of the boards were pulled to make the cover for the park. The park really isn't much to speak of. I'd been excited to see the soccer ball but it vanished before the end of the first week. If the dartboard hadn't been glued to the brick it probably would have vanished too. I tried to make friends the first few days, but everyone was still in shock. The few people who weren't in shock just grunted in response. Those who did more than grunt only gave last names and monosyllabic answers. It quickly became clear that no one was inclined to trust anyone else just yet, let alone some green behind the ears kid whom the head of military had labeled a trouble maker. Thing is I've never been a trouble maker, according to the coaches naturally athletic; all the teachers say charismatic; according to Betty Sue from 6th grade a great kisser, according to all my foster parents, except Ms. Moonbeam, a total slob; and the parade of caseworkers have also said brave. So being labeled a trouble maker was a new experience. Some of the new people were for a lack of a better word rather odd. While Howell had seemed nice at first, she suddenly transformed and started attacking the chairs. Giving a wide berth seemed like a really good option. The first couple of days I was lost for what to do. The early and swift onset of winter which closed the passes didn't help. The military commander order the troops to halt the comm's and utility setup and pull out. At least they'd partially finished the one tower, but it couldn't handle a lot of calls so call times had to rationed. I was assigned Monday's and Thursdays. I found one of the privates who had been nice to me a few times and asked if I could go with. "Uh-uh, trust me Jullio you don't want to come with us. Being here in this town for the last week has been a vacation for us. They'll leave a few guards at the pass, but the rest of us are headed for Roaring Heights, and rumor is we might have to burn the whole city down. Sarge is taking bets on the number of survivors. This place is going to need people who can lead, and people who can think and learn. I'm going to leave you with my fishing pole and a couple of composition books. You mentioned being headed for a horticulture program before so why don't you use what you already know to establish what is and isn't safe for folks around here." I thanked him for the fishing pole and notebooks. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I knew nothing about science let alone horticulture. At the same time I felt like maybe I did know something, there'd been that one foster dad who'd always watched fishing. The scientist who'd gotten to go on an arctic expedition, why I'd had to move, who'd always pointed out things to look for in the dead of winter to tell if plants or animals would be back. Then there was Ms. Apricot Moonbeam who'd always picked up stray seeds and bits of plant to try to grow. It took a few hours but I caught the hang of how to handle the rod and line. By keeping a sharp eye as I walked back to my shelter I found a few seeds I recognized. I even spotted some odd mushrooms and seeds that were unfamiliar.
After a bit of work I had two decent sized tarps with dirt piled on top to use as garden beds. Outside would probably be better, but with the turn of weather it was better to plant inside. |
Founder - Jullio Forrest
Generation 3 - Cassandra
Generation 4 - Deborah
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