Sunrise

“You’re calling me a freak? Now you’ve got to wrestle.”

I reached out and grabbed her wrist, twisting her arm and pulling her out of her seat toward me. I caught her by surprise, wrenching her arm around and pulling her into my lap. “I guess I like wrestling after all,” I said, laughing.

I released her arm and craned my neck over her shoulder. She turned her head, and we kissed. She wrapped her

newly freed arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” she said when the kiss ended.

“Yeah?”

“We’re ru

“Yeah,” I said, sighing heavily. I’d noticed the same thing—Apple River Canyon State Park was mostly stumps now.

“I want to try to get one of those wind turbines ru

“Wind turbines?”

“The big windmill things, east of Warren. There’re sixty or seventy of them. I’ve been talking to your uncle, and I think we might be able to do it—rig them to run under local control and use them to heat greenhouses. We’d need a lot of components—mostly parts from electric water heaters, some big metal tanks, insulation—oh, and tools. Some heavy gauge—”

“Okay, I get the picture.”

“I want to build another Bikezilla too.”

“So we need a couple of bicycles and a snowmobile. We’ve got enough kale to trade now. You ask Uncle Paul if we could take some to Warren to trade?”

“Yeah. He said to check with you.”

“What? Why?”

“I du

“Okay, good.” Darla kissed me again and slid off my lap. I didn’t mind. Somehow the talk of windmills, kale, and ru

Chapter 15

The next morning Ben found me in one of the greenhouses. Darla and I were picking kale, bagging it for trade.

“Lieutenant,” Ben said, “are you mounting an expedition to Warren today?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “We’re going to try to trade some kale for electrical parts Darla needs.”

“I request permission to accompany your expedition.”

“Sure, you can come along.” Then I hastily added, “If you bring Alyssa.”

Darla shot a sharp look my way, but I ignored

her. I didn’t think Ben would have any problem on a day trip to Warren, but if he did, I wanted Alyssa there too. She was the only one who could calm him on the rare occasions he melted down.

“When do we leave, sir?”

I’d told Ben to quit calling me “lieutenant” and “sir” about a million times. It didn’t help. “Meet us in the kitchen in about a half hour.”

Ben saluted and left the greenhouse.

The four of us piled into the captured pickup truck. Usually we walked the five miles to Warren—gas was nearly impossible to come by—but Darla had a huge shopping list of electrical components, tools, and parts. If the trip was successful, we’d need the carrying capacity of the truck.

As we approached Warren, Ben spoke up. “Where is the wall?”

“What wall?” Alyssa asked.

“The wall that Warren needs to build. Since no one has air power, tanks, or heavy ordinance, a wall is an effective means of defending the town. They should have built one by now. In fact, we need to move to town—”

“Move to town? Why?” I asked.

Ben had kept talking. “—because the farm ca

“But the greenhouses—”

“The postapocalyptic society will inevitably devolve into a feudal system. We will live in town in times of danger and travel to the greenhouses outside to farm, or move all food production inside the walls, or perhaps inside a larger fixed defense system of some sort.”

“If I can get the windmills ru

“Why not run power lines to the town?” I asked.

Ben answered, “Your solution would leave the power source vulnerable. The windmills could be attacked—or the power lines cut—leaving the town completely at the mercy of a besieging army.”

As Darla turned the truck into the parking lot at Dr. McCarthy’s clinic, Ben added, “Whether we move to the windmills or not, the town must adopt a better defensive posture. We should not have been able to come this far unchallenged.”

“I’ll talk to them about it,” I said.

Dr. McCarthy and Belinda were at the counter in the clinic, reading by the light of an oil lamp. “Slow day?” I asked.

“Yes, thank God,” Dr. McCarthy replied. “Only three rooms occupied. Two cases of pneumonia and a reinfected wound. Hope you aren’t bringing me any business.”

“Nope. Everything’s okay out at the farm. Well, except for Mom.”

“What are her symptoms?”

“She’s not sick, really. Just hardly ever sleeps. Spends a lot of time compulsively sorting old pictures.”

“I’d prescribe an SSRI if I had any or refer her to a specialist in cognitive behavioral therapy, if there were any in Warren.”

“What’s she got?”

“Maybe post-traumatic stress disorder? I’m not an expert. Maybe she’ll get better with time.”

“There’s nothing we can do?”

“Wait. Reassure her if you can. She was a big help with the hospital and Mayor Petty. I think she’ll pull through.” I slung my backpack off my shoulder and pulled out a large bag of kale. “For your patients. Anyone showing signs of scurvy?”

“Not yet, but they’ll be starting to present symptoms soon.”

“Don’t tell anyone he gave you that for free,” Darla said. “We’ve got a bunch more we’re going to try to trade.” Dr. McCarthy nodded.

“Who’s in charge now?” I asked.

“Bob Petty. Same as always.”

“What? Really? After the forked-up mess he made of retaking Warren?”

“Yes. Really. Soon as he was getting around okay in that wheelchair, he picked up where he left off. Seems more determined than ever to run things. Couple of people suggested holding elections, but nothing came of it.”

The mayor’s office was a three-room brick building across the railroad tracks from Warren’s tiny downtown. The front office was deserted, but I saw a bustle of activity in the conference room. Eight women sat around the table, laboriously copying a notice about food distribution. The mayor chatted with the women from his wheelchair at the head of the table.

The mayor looked up as I stepped into the room. “Alex, pleasant surprise. What brings you to Warren?”

“Glad to see you’re on your . . . feeling better, I mean.” I felt my face flush at my near-gaffe.

“Doc’s a miracle worker.”

“Yeah, he is. I’ve got a list of stuff we’d like to trade for. Our kale came in—we brought some to trade.” “Already? Our kale’s barely sprouting.”

“How long did it take them to plant?” Darla whispered scornfully.

Evidently Mayor Petty overheard her. “The town’s greenhouses were badly damaged during the occupation. Folks had to clean up their own homes too. And not everyone has as fine a green thumb as the Halprins. Your aunt could grow turnips in the tailings from a coal mine if she put her mind to it.”

“Not anymore,” I said quietly.

“Yes,” Mayor Petty replied in a similar tone. “Sorry. What were you looking to trade for, anyway? Got plenty of pork.” “Darla’s got a list.”

Darla pushed past me and handed the list to Mayor Petty. He slid a pair of reading glasses over his nose and peered down at the paper. “Believe Abe Miller, outside town, might still have a snowmobile. Don’t know if he’ll give it up or not, though. Should be plenty of bicycles around—city doesn’t own any, of course. I’ve got no idea where you’d find all this electrical stuff.”

“You should check your inventory,” Ben said.

“What inventory?”