Dan and the Bottle Ch. 22

There were also five old gas station/convenience store combinations in the area that would come in handy, once the tanks, pumps, and plumbing had been straightened out. Each of the old stores could be repurposed as well, serving as trading posts and small repair shops; one, that sat in front of a two hundred and fifty acre field, would serve well as the offices for both the town junkyard and a decent sized swap meet/farmer's market. Each of the old stations had three tanks under the ground, twenty five hundred gallons each, for each of three grades... regular, super, and diesel.

The first of the teams went to work on these, first pumping each one full of heated water with a mixture of numerous different degreasers and detergents, allowed to sit for several days to soak, then pumped dry. Then two-man teams in breathing apparatus similar to Scuba gear, descended into each tank, inspecting each one for cracks or other signs of leakage.

Repairs were made, and fuel began to arrive by the tanker load. Just in time... the new diesel generator had arrived just the day before, and gas itself was in rather short supply.

The generator building was located a quarter of a mile away, and set up with an above ground, gravity fed two hundred gallon tank, which would have to be refilled a couple of times a month... but it would keep them powered up while they figured out what was wrong with the ten massive windmills set up at the western edge of town, out just beyond the furthest of the old, fallow fields.

While the techs addressed the power situation, the new residents took the time to empty the old houses and barns of anything that might be of some use, or trade value, stashing it all in several old pole barns while other tech teams moved in, the rebuilders, declaring some of the old farms 'salvageable,' while most of them were basically condemned.

Rebuilding the fifteen farmhouses required by the beginning community didn't stop there, though... after all, this was squarely in the center of what had once been called 'tornado alley'. All of the local buildings would get the same treatment, built entirely underground, with a level of strength unheard of in this region in over a century. After a long talk with Caleb and the others, Gene Schoen, who had taken an interest, sat down at his drawing board and, after a long talk with his engineers, decided to just abandon the old buildings altogether and start rebuilding from scratch, using the Cave as their model. They would build a series of underground homes, barns, and equipment sheds, proof against the tornadoes that still plagued the area in the spring and early summer. As a bonus, the grounds above the new homes would be completely usable as farmland.

Caleb looked on in satisfaction as the last of the loads of muck from the various orchards was unloaded into the huge compost pit. With nearly a ton of rotten windfalls from the orchards of apples, peaches, plums, and pears, and a good two hundred pounds of animal waste every few days, plus kitchen scraps and the contents of their composting toilets, within a year or so, they'd have a nice big stock of fertilizer. Considering the number of fields they were clearing for crops, they would need it.

Mike and Rachel turned up at Mark's store three days later, hand in hand, which raised a few eyebrows.

"Hi Mark! How's business?" Mike asked, as they came in.

Mike smiled from behind the long counter, though he eyed their clasped hands a bit jealously. He'd had his eye on Rachel himself for quite a while, but he knew she wasn't wild about a guy who spent so much time away from home.

Leading the two back to the break room, he poured himself a cup of coffee and tall glasses of apple juice for each of them, then sat back down to see what they had in mind.

Mike took a long swig and spoke. "We've got a bit of a deer problem out at the farm... and Rachel is just about out of ammunition for her husband's old rifle. I was wondering... if we brought you a couple of the field dressed carcasses, could we get a few hundred rounds for it, and maybe a few hundred for her old shotgun?"

"Well, hell, yes! I can always find buyers for fresh venison. What caliber do you need?"

Rachel spoke up. "It's a .308... and the shotgun is a twelve gage. I need some slugs and some bird shot for that... we've had some crows getting into the cornfield, too."

"No rabbits?"

"Not enough to worry about, no... and I've been trapping them for a few years now, putting them in cages and raising them for furs and stew meat."

"Okay. How soon would you be bringing in the deer?"

Mike grinned. "I've got one in the bed of the truck right now. Well... three quarters of it, actually. We kept a quarter for our own use."

Mark called Pete in, telling him what to pull from the shelves, while Mike went out to the truck to bring in the deer carcass.

While Mike was out of the room, Mark eyed Rachel speculatively, until she started to fidget a bit.

"Have you been doing what I think you've been doin' with that kid?"

She had the good grace to blush for a moment.

"Well, what did you think was going to happen? You place a twenty something man-child with me, height o' spring, knowing damn well that I haven't been with a man since my husband was killed, and expect us to live like a couple of monks? You been smokin' too many o' them left-handed cigarettes?"

He smiled back at her mildly. "I haven't had any of that shit in stock in over three months."

"Don't change the subject. You know damn well how long I've been alone. It might have been you, if you'd quit going out on the road and settled down. I've seen the way you look at me sometimes."

"Well, Hot Damn, woman, you know I can't quit the road... I love what I do too much."

She smiled sadly at this and nodded.

Jim Archer, junior, sat solemnly in the large common room between his mother and his wife, both of them holding his hands tightly while listening as the Cave's current preacher droned on. He didn't really have to be reminded of his father's accomplishments over the past thirty years or so; he'd lived through most of them, and had participated in many. Still, it was only respectful that he be here today, to see the old man off in style.

Jan sat back, listening as her husband of more than fifty years was eulogized by the old minister; it was a reminder of her own mortality. At seventy one, she knew she wasn't far behind him... she'd see him again, soon enough. At least he'd gone out quietly, in his sleep. She'd always been afraid he'd meet a violent end, as so many in the Cave had, over the past few decades since the blast doors to the underground bunker had been re-opened for the first time. Her only real regret was that he hadn't lived to see the rest of the country taken back from the invaders who plagued them to this day. At the very least, he'd gotten that movement off to a good start.

Jenny sat on the other side of her mother, thinking along similar lines... wondering how long it would be before her mom moved on to be reunited with her dad.

At the end of the half hour long service, six men in uniform stepped forward, to gently lift the coffin and carry it through the main doors to the bunker, out to the outdoor grave, to the hilltop that had been chosen as his burial site. No wood chipper for this body; their old commander would be buried in the side of the hill under which he'd lived. It would soon become a tradition, to salute the Commander, for troops entering and leaving the complex. As his coffin was lowered slowly into the grave, seven men stepped forward, unslung their rifles, pointed them skyward and off toward the west, and fired off three rounds each, the traditional twenty one gun salute.

Don Anderson sat in the back row at the service, thinking back on the man who had done so much for himself and his own people. His quiet, unassuming command style had taught Don a lot, and the way he put others at ease even as he gave orders that were carried out immediately, without question, was something Don knew he'd never be able to emulate.

Frank Bergen sat behind his daughter and son-in-law, reflecting back on the man he'd known, literally, all of his life. Only his wife heard him mutter the words under his breath.

"Rest in peace, Brother."