Fighting the Storm

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Etan Griffith grumbled about the early mornings, having to be up and in town before the sun came up. Snow plows never had made it all the way up to the house where he grew up outside of Wolf Branch, or the house just down the road he now shared with Alex.

The frequent snow days had been a treat when he was a kid. Having to go to school nearly into summer never outweighed the pleasure of sleeping in and playing in the snow all day long.

He’d never imagined being the one who had to drive at a crawl over snowy roads to get to town to open the classroom on time, no matter how badly he wanted just a few more minutes of sleep.

Even on those mornings, the comfort and familiarity settled over Etan like a well-loved blanket as soon as he stepped through the cannery’s double doors. That was the only time the huge building was silent and still.

Two rows of wide stainless steel tables ran the length of the room, with connections to the black pipes overhead dropping down every few feet. The cauldron-sized pressure canners they’d need today took up one whole wall, as did storage shelves crowded with every kitchen tool imaginable.

Deep square prep sinks and a row of commercial ranges and ovens rounded out the space, along with more specialty machines and devices than even Etan’s grandparents had known how to use.

The cannery finally started to warm up around him with a crowd of kids and adults, bringing three big deer and ten chickens from local flocks stowed in the old town truck. Despite many happy hours spent in the heat and noise of the cannery with his grandparents, Etan had never learned how to process meat.

Processing the animals down into manageable chunks was hardly his favorite thing in the world. But he certainly appreciated the quick and easy meals later on.

He and Alex both stayed out of the way when the huge band saws in the corner fired up to handle the venison. The high-pitched whir and drop was familiar from hours of helping his father and grandfather build or repair things. Watching this saw used for breaking down a deer once - knowing what that drop in the sound of the saw meant - had been enough for both Etan and Alex.

So today they busied themselves starting up the silvery barrels of the pressure canners and bringing out out heavy skillets and stock pots. All of the massive industrial strength ranges would be busy getting the meat browned and chicken stock ready.

The long, echoing space, all concrete and cinderblocks and steel surfaces, filled with chatter and the unmistakable ring of the big saw. But none of the squeaks and bangs of equipment trouble Etan remembered from his childhood. Alex and an enthusiastic group of locals had gone to work almost as soon as they’d arrived in Wolf Branch two years ago, cleaning up the abandoned building, updating every pipe and gear and nozzle.

Fresh from Chicago and leaving his engineering career behind, Alex had led the way in turning a hulking old empty building into the thriving focus and heart of their new community.

Crashing glass from the front of the building had Etan jerking his head up and around. The remains of a couple of quart jars were scattered on the floor, light from the overhead windows highlighting the jagged, sparkling bits. Jessie Estep, one of the young teenage boys from Maple Ridge, his face blazing red, ran toward the office for a broom.

Etan snorted and turned back to the pot he was filling with water.

“The only thing Alex can’t replace or repair,” a woman said from his other side. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he figures it out, though.”

“Hey Gena. He frets about that more than you’ve believe. Iris and her hunting party brought in a good haul.”

Gena laughed, looking back toward the noisy back room. She’d been part of the group rescued from Maple Ridge back in December, the day after the nightmare raid on Wolf Branch. Her dark blonde hair shifted over her shoulders, and she was a bit shorter than Etan. He could see Gena’s partner Iris, her black hair caught back in a braid that made sense with what she was demonstrating.

“She’s happy as a pig in s**t, as my great-grandmother would have said. The hound dogs are, too. I’m happy to sit that part out, but Iris says even city girls have to know how to cook venison to make it out here.”

“The cooking part I can handle,” Etan said. “I’m glad someone else wants to do the hunting.”

Jessie ran back out, stopping himself so abruptly beside the broken glass than his shoes gave a harsh shriek against the concrete floor. His cheeks and ears deepened to ripe tomato red, but he shrugged and grinned at Etan and Gena before sweeping up the glass.

“How’s Jessie doing?” Etan said, arranging meat forks and tongs beside the cooktop.

“Still worried about his parents, but he’s not talking about them coming to get him anymore. I think seeing how many of the rest of us have tried to adjust helped a little. It's so tough not knowing.”

Jessie’s family had been far away when disaster struck in Maple Ridge, Wolf Branch, and the rest of the country and the world. Along with Gena’s family, Alex’s, and so many others. Iris was one of the few who had both parents with her.

“Classes starting up soon will help get him settled,” Etan said. “Did Linda talk to you about maybe helping teach a few?”

Gena paused in sorting out tiny jars filled with the surprising number of herbs and spices they’d been able to grow in Alex’s greenhouse. She rolled her eyes at Etan.

“Linda talked to me, yeah. I’m no poet or source of artistic prose after a few years of law school, but I can handle basic English. Same with math that isn’t Alex-level. Iris beat Linda to it, though, by a few days. She painted the loveliest impressionist vision of me in a classroom surrounded by my eager pupils. I promptly suggested I’d be happy to teach, as long as she handles the art classes.”

Etan grinned, wondering if he could get a look at that painting. That was how Iris’s dreaming talent came out, in wild and often frightening paintings as soon as she woke. Gena knew better than Iris or anyone else what the images actually meant.

Alex often got a strong idea about the paintings, probably because he’d spent years listening to Etan’s dreams in the middle of the night. Those dreams had led the two of them to give up the lives they’d loved in Chicago and venture back to these mountains.

And Etan could no longer deny how that choice had saved their lives, just as it had many others who’d arrived in Wolf Branch before and after them. Worldwide, chronic food shortages had weakened the distribution systems and the societies that depended on them. A genetically engineered fungus, purposely released into the corn crops so many staple foods and industries were built upon, destroyed modern food chains and populations and so much that went with them.

News sources like radio, television, and the Internet were years gone. But best guesses and dreams suggested hundreds of millions dead in North America, billions more worldwide.

“Hey Gena.” Alex had returned from the meat processing room, face paler than usual under the scattering of freckles. “I think that’s enough deer dismemberment for me for today. What can I help with out here?”

She grinned and handed him a thicker than normal pair of kitchen scissors.

“As soon as they finish up in there, we’ll be ready for breaking the chickens down. Sounds like you’re our man.”