Dan and the Bottle Ch. 19

They got in, pulling the blankets and furs over themselves, and she spooned up to him, giving him a long, slow kiss, and a sleepy "Night". She was asleep in minutes, her small breasts pressed to his back.

He woke up, certain he was still dreaming about his Marie, certain that she was deep throating his hard cock... then realized it wasn't a dream. Louanne was bobbing her head in his lap. He lay very still, not sure how to react, but she realized he was awake, and, almost instinctively, she moved around, bringing her shaved pussy in line with his mouth; he was happy to oblige her, and began licking at her puffy pink lips with enthusiasm. He was a bit rusty, but he hit the right spots often enough to make her moan around his dick, and before long, her juices were gushing from her, leaving his thin goatee soaked.

At the crucial moment, he groaned out "I'm gonna cum, babe."

She plunged all the way down his hard-on, taking his discharge down her throat, swallowing quickly, jacking his shaft to get every drop, then gave a final slurp to clean up anything she missed, and levered herself around to lay face to face with him, kissing him on the cheek. "Thank you, baby." she breathed in his ear.

"Honey, I should be thanking you... that's the best wake up I've had in a few years."

She curled her free arm around his waist, kissing him on the earlobe. In a few moments, she was back to sleep again.

He lay there, his arms around her, and hoped this would last, hoped that he could talk her into moving in with him and Emily.

John Corcoran finished tying the windsor knot, straightened the tie, and stepped out to the living room to where his wife and kids waited.

"Are you ready?" his wife asked.

He nodded. He hated these things, but was glad, in a way.... it was easier to preside over a funeral when the death was from natural causes.

"Relax, honey.... I'm sure Mr. Gunderson won't mind if it's a little crooked."

"It's a sign of respect, hun. Bob deserves no less."

She nodded, not needing to reply... she knew her husband had a deep respect for the old man. He hadn't been a great fighter, or a leader, but he had been insightful and plain spoken. With Bob Gunderson, you always knew where you stood.

Out of respect, he was laid to rest in an area of the forest building, next to the spot that his wife already occupied, attended by a large number of family members, friends, and people from the various councils he had advised over the years since he had come to live with the Cave dwellers.

One by one, people rose, to speak of their memories, their past history, the things they had learned from the old man. Many spoke of his work ethic, of his wisdom, and the folksy way he'd had of just putting them at ease... He had touched many lives here. One young lady, the young woman who had moved in to care for him when he'd finally retired a year ago, said nothing. She was sitting off to one side, quietly sobbing, shoulders shaking; Jim and Jan Archer went to sit with her for a moment, Quietly sitting down on either side of her, both putting an arm ar ound her, both assuring her that he was now in a better place.

She pushed back the black veil from her face, looking from one to the other, and almost calmly said "I know... but now he'll never get to meet his son!"

Jan looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean, hun? His son is right over there!"

"Not that son.... this son!" she replied, rubbing at her belly.

Both of the Archers raised their eyebrows at this; Jim turned to the young woman and replied "Seriously? He was what.... eighty nine?"

The young woman smiled. "Closer to ninety two... he still managed to keep me hopping!"

Jim shot a look at Jan and grinned. Considering the young woman was in her early thirties, and appeared to be much younger, with full breasts, a firm belly, and a nicely curved ass, he found himself just a bit jealous of the old man they'd just buried. He hoped he could keep Jan that happy by that age.... hell, he hoped he'd still be breathing, at that age!

"Well.... considering his son has a life of his own, and a home here, with his wife and kids, I don't think he'll object if you go on living in Bob's old apartment. You know his son might want a few of his dad's old possessions?"

She frowned and shook her head. "We already talked about it.... there wasn't much there to start with. Matter of fact, they gave me a bunch of old baby clothes for his 'little brother'."

Jim breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing they needed was a bunch of family drama and resentful feelings. Still, just when he thought he'd heard everything.....

East of them, in western Kansas, Mark Billings had made contact with a large group of farmers and ranchers who had been largely overlooked by the invading troops. The prevailing wind patterns had kept their little area free from fallout, as well, so they had pretty much sat out the war in relative peace. In fact, if not for the lack of certain things, they might not have known that there had been a war at all.

They mostly wanted to stay well clear of the fight with the Cubans and the Chinese, but they were quite willing to trade with the Militia; fuel, especially, was always at a premium for them. Even with over a dozen distilleries operating, their tractors and other equipment took up vast amounts, and they were always running a bit short.... having a semi-reliable source of authentic gasoline and diesel fuel sounded like a Godsend to them.

They, in turn, could trade literally hundreds of tons of corn, wheat, rye, apples, beef cattle, and other foodstuffs. Negotiating a trade deal with people in that area hadn't been hard. He was still there, in fact, when the first fuel trucks rolled in, followed by a large pick-up load of motor oil and other lubricants.

There were a few young people there who did want to get out, see some of the parts of the country to the west, and several dozen of them piled into cars that had sat, dormant, in barns and equipment sheds for years, fuel being too precious to waste on joyriding. Most of them were plain, if old, sedans from the time of their great grandfathers, but there were also a good number of light trucks, loaded up with dozens of cans of gas and alcohol, along with a few hot rods that hadn't seen the light of day in ages.

Caleb Johansen, being a little more practical than some of his fellows, wasn't taking any chances.... he was wearing a shoulder holster with his great grandfather's old .45 Colt automatic, and in the backseat of the ancient '71 Chevelle was a Remington 870 pump shotgun and a scoped .338 Winchester rifle, along with a small wooden crate full of ammunition for the three guns. If nothing else, he'd be able to shoot something for supper, should the need arise. He didn't really expect it to; he had a cooler full of sandwiches and bottles of water in the backseat, too, and he knew he wasn't the only one in the little caravan carrying extra food.

Then again, he wasn't the only one who was armed, either.

He'd miss the farm where he'd grown up, but at the same time, he was itching to get away, to have a bit of adventure.

His girlfriend, Jeanine, sat quietly in the passenger seat, listening to the CB radio, as some of the others in the group of a dozen cars and as many trucks chattered back and forth. Some were talking about how long the trip would take, considering that none had ever been out of state before. Others were doing what young adults do, gossiping and flirting back and forth, just enjoying the ride.

They were following directions given to them by several of the drivers who had brought the fuel to trade, and after a day and a half of driving, even with the slowdowns in places where old, wrecked cars required them to slowly manuever around the pile ups, they were soon pulling into the area where the Wyoming Milita held sway, and not long after that, they met up with the first of many patrols on the roads.

Cathy Taylor pulled up at the crossroads with the rest of her patrol, shutting down the rebuilt Harley Sportster and clicking the throat mic.

"Skirmish line, ladies... weapons hot, but keep 'em pointed in a safe direction. Let's see what they want."

'They' were the caravan of cars and trucks from western Kansas.

The six women in Cathy's patrol lined up across the road, effectively blocking it, and Cathy herself held up a hand, palm out, signaling the first truck in the procession to stop. When it did, she walked around to the driver's side, looking at the young couple in the twin bucket seats.

"Are you folks lost?"

"I don't think so... we followed the directions Mr. Billings gave us."

"Mark Billings? Last I heard, he was in Kansas...."

Carl Walton nodded. "That's where we came from. We wanted to get out, come out this way, see for ourselves what was going on. He told us you're fighting the Cubans and the Chinese, and we want to help out."

Cathy was a little surprised at this, but not as much as she might have been a few months or years prior. She had seen this a few times before.... kids fresh off the farm, looking to play soldier. The young man in the driver's seat was definitely a farm kid, too... corn fed, big, and built like a brick wall, hands heavily calloused from years of hard work.

She nodded and replied "Well, you're in the right place. Lt. Cathy Taylor, Jackson Hole Rebels.... allied to the Wyoming State Constitutional Militia. Welcome to Clancy, Wyoming."

Carl nodded.... "So who do we talk to about signing up?"

Cathy frowned a little and pointed down the road.

"The first thing you want to do is head to the town hall... check in there, somebody there will direct you to the houses that are vacant and available. How many in your group?"

"Forty seven. We all know farming, and most of us know how to shoot. We brought along our own guns, most of us, anyway. Got a bunch of seed grain, too."

"Okay... well, there's a few whole neighborhoods where the houses have been fixed up, Frank Bergen's crews do a pretty good job. Head down this road about a quarter mile, it's the big old stone building on the right... there's a big parking lot to the left, across the street from the Hall. The guy you want to talk to is Mike Reynolds, he'll set you up with places to stay, talk to you about jobs and training schedules, and hook you up with credits to help you get started."

"Credits?"

"Our medium of exchange.... you earn certain amounts of credits, based on what jobs you do, that can be spent at the local stores."

"I've got some of these..." he replied, digging a roll of ancient dollar bills from his wallet.

She looked at the small roll of bills in his hand and grinned. "Honey, those we use to start fires in our woodstoves. There's too many of them floating around. We don't need them.... our system is mostly electronic, and we back it up with the value of hard work."

"You don't use paper money at all?"

She shook her head. "So far, we haven't needed to. If it can't be settled with credits, we handle it with barter."

He nodded absently as he considered this.... it wasn't so different from what they'd done, back in Kansas. Some had wanted to use gold, but there wasn't really enough in town to create a proper market. They'd settled on bartering, basically, by default.

Mike Reynolds watched as the assortment of dusty old cars and trucks pulled into the large parking lot, the occupants stretching cramped muscles as they got out of the vehicles, and headed for the front doors of the building. Some, he noticed, were armed, pistols in holsters at belts and in shoulder rigs.

He saw the guards tense up, and announced "Stand easy, folks.... they don't look like unfriendlies. Let's give 'em the chance to make their case."

Caleb grabbed the mic for the CB as they were pulling into the parking lot and clicked the button. "Ok, people, listen up... we don't know how these folks treat armed people here, so let's not make any sudden moves when we go inside. We didn't come this far to get shot before we could talk to someone in charge."

Mike stepped out of his office to the lobby, looking over the new people curiously, looking for a leader of this new group.

Caleb stepped forward. "Mister Reynolds?"

Mike smiled and nodded.... Cathy must have told them who to look for. He knew she was patrolling the eastern quadrant today.

"I'm Caleb Johansen, and this here is my girlfriend, Jeanine, and we're all from Kansas.... Mark Billings told us we'd be welcome here. Lieutenant Taylor said we should talk to you about getting set up."

Mike stuck his hand out, smiling. "Welcome to Wyoming.... exactly what did Mark tell you?"

Caleb shook the proferred hand. "He said we could come out here if we wanted to help out in the war... he told us you folks are fighting the Chinese and the Cubans who took over the country, and if we wanted to help, we should come out here for training and you'd find something for us to do. We can earn our keep; we all know farmin', huntin', trappin' and things like how to raise a barn an' build a house.... we've been doing that sort of thing all our lives."

Mike smiled. If nothing else, some of these kids could free up some of the folks on the communal farms while they were being trained. With these kids putting in some time in the fields, he could send more of his experienced people out on patrol; Another twenty or thirty young men who knew their way around a rifle wasn't necessarily a bad thing, either.

"Okay.... for now, I'll have you all go to one of the conference rooms for a little while, while I get some people in here to show you around. We've got a couple of neighborhoods of empty houses that are pretty much ready to go. I'll have Miss Jennings come in, take names, set you up with preliminary accounts, that sort of thing. Do any of you know how to read?"

"Oh, yes Sir.... our parents taught us, from the old books. We have other skills, too... I know how to work on tractors, my buddy Larry, over there, used to reload all of our ammunition, he brought most of his equipment with him. Kenny is a pretty fair carpenter; I am, too, far as that goes. We all know the basic stuff, of course... which kinds of trees make the best firewood, when to harvest crops, how to skin and butcher animals, that sort of thing. Just tell us what you want done."

Mike grinned, thinking this was going to be easier than he thought... much easier than the last group that had shown up, from someplace in Missouri. That group had almost been more trouble than they'd been worth, survivors from a big city who thought they could get by scrounging from the nearby countryside, trading junk for the things they needed to live on. There were few old grocery stores here to scavenge, and those that were still standing had either been emptied out long ago or had been put back into use by the locals.

"Ok, that's great... we'll have some of our people assess your skills over the next week or so, and let you choose the jobs you're best suited for. Oh... if you're a couple, and want to live together in one house, be sure to mention that when quarters are being assigned. We've got plenty of extra housing, but there's no point in being wasteful with it, is there?"

Caleb and Jeanine found themselves assigned a nice two-bedroom ranch-type house, sandwiched in between families that had been established here already, though neither was truly native to the area.

Cassie and Doris watched the young couple move in next door, and waited until they had the aging Chevy unloaded before going over to introduce themselves, taking along a platter of smoked ribs and a big bowl of mashed potatoes, figuring that they were probably tired from the drive and unloading, and wouldn't feel like cooking right away. Mickey was still away, training people back at the Cave, so any company was good company right now. It was their way of welcoming the newcomers to the neighborhood.

They were well recieved, as it turned out; neither Caleb nor Jeanine really felt like cooking, and the concept of an 'electric stove' was foreign to them.

As they sat in the living room, swapping histories, both Caleb and Jeanine grew wide-eyed.... it was apparent they'd been brought up in an old fashioned place, and the very idea of two women sharing one man, or, for that matter, of the two slightly older women sharing a bed, was utterly foreign to them.

Cassie smiled at this; she and her two lovers had been together for so long, she couldn't imagine Not having both of them.

Doris was a bit more practical; her first question for the younger couple was "Did Mike have you set up with starter accounts yet?"

Caleb nodded. "Yes, Ma'am... fifteen hundred credits apiece. He said that should be enough to get us through the first few months. We've got a bunch of food we brought with us, too.... mostly dried and home canned stuff. Beans, peas, corn meal, tomatoes, apples, that sort of thing. Didn't bring much meat along, we didn't want it gettin' too hot in the back of the car... we didn't have any way of keepin' it cool."

Doris nodded... "Okay.... well, once you get settled, we'll go over what you have, help you figure out what all you need. Just for starters, I'd guess you could use some of the perihables, milk, butter, eggs, that sort of thing, maybe a few packages of ground beef, some other meats."

Jeanine smiled at this... she'd already been making up a grocery list in her head, and the older woman was pretty much right on the mark.

"We could use a bunch of fresh vegetables, too... I didn't pack any onions, or lettuce, or potatoes. Do they have a farmer's market here?"

Cassie smiled at this. "No, hun.... we've got a regular grocery store here, a few blocks away. They sell pretty much anything you need. We've got a communal kitchen here, does a lot of canning, most of that goes to the store. I think they just finished canning a couple of thousand jars of blueberry and grape jelly, so that's going cheap right now... bakery's right next door, you can always get fresh bread there."

Caleb looked up at this. "Where's the icehouse at? We'll need to keep a lot of this stuff cold."

Cassie grinned at this. "Nobody's been around to show you the appliances yet, have they?"

"No, Ma'am.... we just got here a few hours ago. Back at the farm, we had an icebox, kept it in the root cellar.... we had to get a block of ice every week or so."

"Honey, here, we have electricity... c'mon, I'll show you the fridge."

A brief tour of the house showed the younger couple just how primitive their old homes had been, by comparison to the place they'd moved into; they'd had a limited amount of electricity, of course, enough to work the water pump at the well and a few streetlights, but the ancient refrigerators in their community had conked out decades ago, and replacements had been few and far between.

Cassie showed them the kitchen appliances first, explaining each one in turn, then took them into the bathroom for another novelty--flushing toilets.

Jeanine took all of this in with contented sighs... the outhouse at her family's farm had been cold and drafty in the winter, hot and smelly in the summer, and a pain to keep up year round.

Caleb, meanwhile, watched, wide-eyed, as Cassie demonstrated the shower. 'No more goin' out in the rain to clean up'! he thought, marveling at the hot water pouring from the shower head.

Cassie smiled at their reactions, pointing out that they'd still have to feed the woodstoves in the basement, as there wasn't a nearby source of natural gas, and the methane from the composting stations on the edge of town, near the farms, was used at the generator plant to make much of the electricity they used. They would be billed for that automatically, of course; every household in town paid a flat rate of twenty credits a month to pay the men who worked at the generator, the composting stations, and hauling the animal and plant waste to them, as well as the sewage treatment plant.