August 15, 2010
Shane slows down and stops outside Thomaston, eying the sign on a driveway that indicates a chicken farm of some sort. It could either be a real haven for the night or a nightmare. All depends on what happened to the chickens.
"Getting close enough to dark we should find a place for the night," he says.
Sophia eyes the sign before asking, "Why a chicken farm?"
"Lot of these places, even if they brought in county or rural water for the house, they have well water." He turns down the winding drive, staying alert. The owners could still be alive and well, and he figures on fewer Hershels in this world and more wary folks like him.
Worse, it could be a home base to a bandit group, but he doubts it. With so much real estate to choose from, no one's going to voluntarily shack up on a chicken farm.
He explains that theory to Sophia, who laughs. "They do smell something awful."
"Just be glad you never lived near a hayfield crop dusted with chicken shit fertilizer." There's a childhood memory he could do without.
She wrinkles her nose, leaning forward to study the property that emerges from the trees. When he stops the car, he doesn't have to ask her to assess.
"House, no garage, pole barn and two chicken houses. Might be like the last because there's no vehicles visible, but people like to park at the back door that we can't see. Probably no chickens in the barns because there's no walkers in sight.
He compliments the observations and pulls the car forward to the back porch. It'll keep them mostly out of sight and check that one last blind spot at the same time. There's no other vehicle here except for theirs and the tractor in one slot of the pole barn.
Pocketing the car keys, he tells Sophia to follow, glad that she draws her knife without being told. The door is actually locked, but he checks the usual hiding places, finding the hidden key in the base of a ceramic turtle in the flower bed.
They're lucky this time. Whatever happened to the family that lived here, it wasn't inside the home. With each room cleared, he's still uneasy until their trip out to the two chicken houses shows nothing but empty, smelly open space.
"They must have been between flocks," he says. The alternative, hundreds of chickens starved and roasted in the big buildings, is one he's glad they're missing out on.
"At least they got their garden done before, right?"
The garden gone wild is surrounded by a neat row of T-posts and field wire. Shane can see tomatoes, field peas, and okra, just from here. He redirects their path and Sophia grins as she eases the gate open.
The residents must have made impulsive trips to the garden too, because Sophia locates a half bushel basket and tucks it on her hip.
As overgrown as the garden is, he calls out a caution. "Watch where you step or put your hands, kiddo. It's a nice place for snakes to find shade and something to eat."
He regrets it a little when she turns apprehensive.
"Most snakes, you'll never know they're there. Hear you coming and leave. But if you get too close, it's like that scene in Jurassic Park where the T-Rex is trying to eat people. It doesn't know you won't eat it."
"So it thinks I'm a T-Rex?" The momentary fear is gone, chased away by amusement.
"Yep. Don't get me wrong. Snake's tasty cooked up right, but we don't want to scare one into biting us."
She's picked several tomatoes, avoiding the ones which have become food for birds or bugs. "You've eaten snake?"
"A time or two for a wild game fundraiser."
He's walking the rows, using a hoe to nudge the overgrown zucchini. Nothing stirs other than spiders, so he selects two and unearths a couple of onions before rejoining her where she's eyeing the okra.
"Gotta cut it." He pulls out his pocket knife to demonstrate. "If the knife won't go through the stem easy, it's probably too old to eat. Find the ones about two, three inches that are still a pretty green and not faded."
He lets her keep the knife, reminding himself she needs one of her own. The hunting knife is for walkers, not food. He passes on that caution, too.
Sophia makes a face as she shuffles through the plants harvesting pods. "Oh, God. No mixing up the knives, got it."
"Let's skip the peas for now. Pick some and take them with us, maybe."
"What are they?"
He picks a pod and breaks it open, since he's not entirely sure. But the row of field peas inside is unmistakable. "Black eyes."
"Oh, I like those." She offers the basket. "This enough for supper?"
"Yeah. We got those steaks that should be thawing good to go with the veggies."
She follows him out of the garden, and they latch the gate. He spots the well house and stops by to see if there's a generator. There isn't, so he sends Sophia ahead while he goes to retrieve one of the ugly monsters from the chicken house. It's got enough diesel for their purposes, although he hates the idea of the noise.
Once he has it up and running and the well pump plugged in, he returns to the house.
"Why do we need the generator?" Sophia asks. She's in the pantry already, stacking the non-perishables onto the kitchen counter.
"Most wells have a storage tank above ground, but it's usually not huge. Maybe forty, fifty gallons. Once it's drained, the pump needs electricity to draw up more."
He's guessing with access to the generators used for their poultry, the owners here didn't see the need for a permanent system like the peanut farm.
"And we don't know how much is still in the tank, right?"
"Yeah. Figure we get showers, refill water jugs and bottles and get a good supper in. Stove's propane, so I'm betting the hot water heater is too."
Sophia turns the handle at the kitchen sink, letting the water run to find out. She's used to being efficient though, because she starts washing the vegetables and placing them on a dish towel.
"Yep. Hot. Ouch."
He chuckles, earning himself a little glare before she adjusts the water. It just makes him grin that she's getting confident enough that she's safe with him to have such a typical teenage reaction.
"Alright. I'll get the ice chest. You think we need anything else out of the car other than empties?"
She glances at the food she's already moved out of the pantry and shakes her head. By the time he returns with everything, she's finished washing the vegetables and moved on to boiling water.
He knows the well water is probably fine without the boiling, but without knowing the last time the well was tested, better safe than sorry. Not like they've got an emergency room to go to now.
The house is hot, not as well insulated as the little stone one was. He decides to risk the windows being open to get a cross breeze going. The house has double hung windows, so he drops the top sash down. Walkers can't reach the opening and they can get some of the breeze from outside.
"I miss air conditioning," Sophia mumbles.
"You and me both, kiddo." Even the Bug isn't a break there, because it's air cooled without an air conditioner. He's mostly used to it, driving a Jeep like he did, but he even misses the cranky A/C of the patrol car.
He unwraps the package of meat simply marked 'steak' and grins at the cube steaks. "You like chicken fried steak?'
"Yeah."
"Bet your mama makes a good one." Carol made squirrels tasty, so he figures a full kitchen would have her working wonders.
"She does. You know how?"
"Can't make everything under the sun, but living by myself, eating restaurant food gets real old. Not too healthy either." While he learned to cook as a kid just to have hot meals in general at home, as an adult, he learned to keep up with his fitness regimen. "We don't have eggs to make it really good, but this'll work."
Shane passes her a can of evaporated milk. He doesn't make most of the food though, just chopping the vegetables. He walks her through the steps like he promised for the steak and for the vegetable ratatouille. She's attentive and absorbs information on the first round. He spares a moment to think his grandmother would have found her a joy to teach.
Only the gravy intimidates her, but he figures she can try it another day. She still watches attentively.
"Pour off all the oil you cooked the meat in except about four or five tablespoons. Add in the flour and brown it." He works as he talks. It's hot over the stove, but it'll be worth it.
"And the bits left from the meat stay behind?"
"That's part of what makes it tasty. See how the flour's turning brown?" She nods. "Want ro pour in the rest of that can of milk?"
She pours it in slowly as he stirs watching the gravy thicken. "That's all?"
"Yeah. Most gravy is just oil, flour, and either water or milk. Salt and pepper to taste especially if you aren't using oil that meat cooked in."
She plates up the steak and ratatouille so he can pour gravy over the steaks.
"Now this ain't a healthy meal on the meat and gravy side of things, but I figure we've earned the treat," he tells her. It goes without saying that beef steak of any type, even cheap cube steak, is something they won't really see again.
He takes care to compliment the food, watching as she smiles in response with less of the blush he's seen before in praising her. It is really good, and he realizes how much he's missed fresh vegetables.
"Do you have a garden back home?' Sophia asks.
He shakes his head. "Work schedule is usually a little too crazy. Lady down the road does a farmers market booth, so I just bought from her."
It's a bittersweet memory. Gloria was one of the first fatalities in King County from the flu. At sixty-nine, her body didn't stand a chance with the virus. He wonders if her big garden's gone wild like this one.
"So you didn't live in town like Carl did?"
"Nah. Not enough privacy in town. Bought me a place out by the river instead."
"Do you have a boat?"
"Little jon boat, yeah. Enough to get by in the oxbow and the river too. Used to take it over to the lake sometimes." He never could understand paying more for a bass boat than he spent on his Jeep.
"Are we going to stay out there?"
Shane thinks it over. His place is remote, barely even in King County, miles out of the county seat Rick lives in. But that may make it safer, and they could fish the river and hunt in the woods behind his neighbor's place.
"Probably best. We can leave messages in town and check in periodically."
"I don't know how to fish. Dad said I talked too much."
Hell, half the fun of taking Carl fishing was shooting the breeze with the kid. "You have met me, right? Don't think you can outtalk me."
She giggles.
"You should pick it up real easy. Nothing to it compares to taking down walkers."
After supper, she's exploring the house and he's washing the dishes, he wishes it wasn't selfish to hope it takes a little while for Rick to wander home. He's looking forward to teaching her more.
"Going out to get our bags," she says, just as he sets the last pan in the drain rack.
She brings them in, along with the bag from the pharmacy.
"You still game for a haircut then?"
She shrugs. "It'll be cooler and out of my way, right?"
"Yeah. Best to do it before your shower."
She grabs a chair from the table and tugs it out to the back porch. He cracks open the packaging on the clippers and installs the batteries. When he really takes a look at the clipper guards, he realizes he may have misled her on how short her hair will be. The kit only goes up to a number four guard.
"We should dye it first, right? My friend dyed his hair and turned his scalp kind of blue."
"I'll take your word for it on that." He's never messed with hair dye before, other than temporary Halloween spray. Being single keeps him from the intricacies as well.
He follows her to the bathroom and they work their way through the instructions on the color she selected. It doesn't take long to have her formerly blonde hair all uniformly mahogany brown. Or at least that's the color the box describes.
She peers in the mirror. "It's kinda weird."
"Probably going to get weirder with the cut." He explains the clipper guard issue.
"Could you cut it too? One of the boys has a ponytail with the sides shaved. I always thought it looked kind of cool."
"I can try." He rummages in the medicine cabinet and along the counter, finding what he's looking for: a small pair of hair trimming scissors, a comb, and a couple of hair ties. "Alright, out to the porch."
He figures, worst case scenario, she ends up with a half-inch buzz cut, which is longer than his and her mother's.
"Could just stick a bowl on your head and shave around it," he teases.
"No way. Then I would end up looking like Moe from The Three Stooges."
"I'm surprised you know who that is," he remarks, parting her hair to twist the top into a top knot. He's got a good idea of the style she's suggesting, since he had a teammate with something like that back at college.
"It waa one of my dad's favorites, but kinda funny. I liked Abbott and Costello better."
"Oh, really?" Shane grins as she starts into one of the routines just as he begins the shave of the lower two-thirds of her hair.
The once blonde locks fall around her, swirling in the breeze and strands drifting out into the yard. He lets her happy chatter wash over him, pushing away the nausea that the buzzing sound unexpectedly rouses in him. He moves quickly to get to the point he can put the clippers down.
Drawing on the memory of Lori cutting Carl's hair in the quarry, he releases the top knot and sets to work with the scissors. By the time he's got the top about two inches long, he thinks it doesn't look too terrible.
The final verdict is Sophia's happy exclamation from the bathroom. "I look like Pink, with brown hair."
Once she's mentioned the singer, Shane can't help but agree. She doesn't exactly look like a boy, not really, but it's at least ambiguous now.
"Well, since I seem to have found a new calling as a barber, why don't you get showered?"
She hums happily and goes to fetch her pack. He goes on a search and explore expedition himself while she's busy, noting the boy in the house seems the right size for Sophia. Je tosses several pairs of pants and T-shirts on the bed for Sophia to go through.
In the desk drawer, he finds several pocket knives of different sizes and adds those to the pile on the bed. The kid had a gym bag, luckily emptied of clothes, which will serve her a little better than the smaller one she has now.
He ignores the teenage girl's room for now, because she's probably college age based on the textbooks. In the master, he checks the sizes on the jeans, but the men's jeans are two inches too short and at least a size too big in the waist. Since he took a minimal amount of clothing with him, he will make do with what he has for now.
Sophia emerges, playing with her hair absently. He knows the feeling. He's gotten used to feeling the air on his scalp, but it's not been this short since college.
"Still good?" he asks, passing her in the hallway to go get his own bag.
"I like it."
"Go see if any of the boy's stuff will fit you."
She disappears down the hall while he shuts himself in the bathroom to check out what he's been ignoring.
Once the bandaging is all peeled away, he can see the infection setting in. He sighs and cleans the wound again. All he can do is pray.
At least they'll be home by tomorrow.