The New Seasons: Chapter III

Autumn

I truly became hyper-focused on my little covert well project. I mean, how could I possibly ignore working on it when I spent so much time thinking about it? Doing some kind of action was the only time my racing thoughts slowed down. Which means that despite the near crippling heat, I continued to work on my hidden well. So much so, that when I finally drew my first little bit of water out, I had mixed feelings. Sure, I was elated my hard work had given me a feat and that I – me of all people – constructed something that worked. And I did it by following some diagrams and watching a few YouTube videos. But a part of me felt a tinge of disappointment because now what would I focus on? Also, there was the fact that since I had been so successful in hiding my efforts, there was not one person to share my accomplishment with. I thought of Stuart again and felt a new wave of guilt that I lied to him at that last meeting. I should probably let him know what I had accomplished because of his guidance.

When I thought of that last meeting with Stuart, I started thinking about my new biggest dilemma which was transportation. I had been through this several times since that meeting. How could I possibly stockpile fuel? I was able to prevent myself from obsessing on this new problem while I was working on my well. But now that the well was pretty much done, my mind quickly shifted gears before I even tested to make sure the water was safe. It was, by the way, but it tasted awful.

The fuel dilemma started a rotation in my thoughts and crept back in to the forefront while I dumped the bitter water on my garden. Food prices were high which meant fuel prices were soaring. By the end of August, I had only managed to stockpile about 3 gallons of gas. Which was okay because I had nowhere to store it. I didn’t really want to keep flammable liquid next to my well-shed which was nothing more than a giant matchstick. So, I started to dig another hole a few feet to the side. I’d store the fuel underground in some containers I found on Amazon. That is, I would do that once I could buy the containers and dig a hole big enough to hold them. Until then, I found a couple of old gas containers in with grandpa’s tools. I filled those up and kept them in grandma’s garage but spread out so that my mom wouldn’t catch on to what I was doing. None of my family needed to know about any of what I was doing behind grandma’s garage.

Of course, stock piling fuel was a short-term solution. Even if I had all the fuel in the world I wouldn’t be able to maintain a vehicle on my own. Which made me question what I was even doing all this for. Did I really expect to be the lone survivor when whatever was coming happened? Did I really want to be the lone survivor? Was all this work worth it if it should work out that I alone survived? Big deal. I survived. I had this nagging thought that if I won the survivor lottery I’d just be prolonging the inevitable. So, was all this worth it?

I didn’t answer any of that but kept digging a hole for the fuel containers. No, I didn’t want to be the only survivor but I sure wasn’t willing not try to survive at all.

The first of September I stood outside my shed and looked at it. It was months of work and I was feeling a bit proud.

I had built a well with terrible tasting mud water. But a couple of YouTube videos taught me how to fix that. While I couldn’t claim it provided good tasting water, I could admit it was not terrible tasting water. Or that I didn’t die from drinking it. I counted that as a win.

I also had a supply of food. If I was frugal, it should last for about 3 months. Only about half of it was already expired that I had snuck out of work. Again, counting that as a win. The rest I had accumulated by trying to buy double canned goods during grocery trips.

Following the instructions of another YouTube video, I built a little greenhouse garden. I took some old wood scraps grandpa had left in the yard and constructed a rather crude but functional raised garden. Then I took some old shower doors and hinged them on top to make give it a greenhouse effect and to keep the deer from eating my crops. More and more deer boldly strolled through town so hungry they weren’t really afraid of humans anymore.

I used my well water to water my garden. It took a while for me to determine if the buds were, in fact, crops or just weeds. I figured either way, I was happy some life was growing in my ugly little makeshift garden. More important, my well water was not killing it. I took that as a good sign.

My little garden seemed to be producing more life than what I could see happening elsewhere in town. We were on severe water restrictions and what little green people had planted in our little high-mountain desert community in years past was now brown and drying out. Blooming on the first day of spring meant by the end of August we were already back to dead and brown. Our town seemed to be returning to, shall we say, our natural landscaping? Spring had come early and so fall also came early. Without the nourishment of water all summer the leaves on the trees turned to autumn colors much earlier than we were used to. And then we had a few severe wind storms that just seemed to knock out what little life was left in them. The trees were bare by mid-September.

Between the intense heat and all our foliage dying so early people were getting cranky. And vindictive. If they couldn’t find a solution they were going to find someone to punish for our predicament.

The law was unable to punish the scapegoat Rocky Hudson so the townspeople took it upon themselves. It felt like we had stepped back in time to posse and vigilante style justice. The Hudson home was vandalized by a group who must have thought they were being clever by spray painting a water tower on their garage. The message with the picture asked what about our H2O2? One of my coworkers who was still in high school explained to me they probably meant H2O. “At least,” she said her smile disappearing as she thought about it, “I hope they did.” Her name was Carpenter and I always figured she may have felt the need to work extra hard to overcome the stupid name her parents gave her. Even though she was 8 years younger than me I could tell she was smart. But she never made me feel stupid so I felt somewhat comfortable asking her questions. Although I didn’t ask about H2O2, I figured I could Google that one later. Which I did and I agreed with her.

The hostile behavior didn’t stop there though. Rocky’s wife, Carol, stopped going to the store for groceries after someone followed her down the aisles continually asking where her husband was. She only does online pickups now and, I’m told, Rocky is always in the car with her.

Perhaps the biggest payback is the fact tenants are leaving his properties and no new tenants are moving in. Huge lots of property are for sale all through town and no buyers. The town is slowly starting to look like a ghost town. A dry, dusty ghost town. But there aren’t a lot of options for people to move to. Some even had to come back. Those of us left in town are those that had no place to go to. There was nowhere for us to run to because this is our only home. Which brought in a collective feeling of despair.

One day in October, I decided to finally be brave and let Stuart know about my covert well. I wanted him to know he wasn’t a failure in sharing the word. But to be honest, I just needed someone I could brag to. At least a little bit. So, I set out to personally let him know his influence and share my success story. His house wasn’t difficult to find, he had shared his address so many times on flyers that I was able to find it easy enough. But when I pulled up in front of his house I saw a security fence around his property and a locked gate. A sign read “No Trespassing” and another sign warned the fence was electric. There was a security camera hooked on the gate so I spoke to it and said I had just come to thank him for his help but I didn’t want to say for what. I was still wary about sharing the fact that I had built a well and I wasn’t about to do it on a public sidewalk into a camera that may or may not be recording. I wasn’t sure if anyone was listening or not so I waited a few minutes in silence and then started to walk to my car. It was entirely possible Stuart had been with those that had fled the town and was no longer here. Maybe the new owners had installed the security measures?

But then I hear the gate open. I turned and saw Stuart with a thick beard which made me wonder if his hair on his shaved head had migrated to his face. He stayed behind the gate line and nervously scanned both directions. “Are you here alone?” he asked with his hand resting on his side.

Was peaceful Stuart carrying a concealed weapon? His response made me nervous and I slowly nodded my head.

He stepped out to the sidewalk and looked around again. Then he nodded and smiled albeit a forced, cautious smile and said, “Well, come on in then.”

Judging by his reaction I didn’t really want to come in but I slowly followed him anyway. As soon as we were both past the gate line, he pushed some buttons on his phone and the gate closed with a heavy tang sound.

I looked at him and I’m sure my face registered every misgiving I was feeling. He shook his head and said, “Just a precaution. I had to cut people off from using my well because they were overrunning the place. No respect to time or day let alone my property. I wanted to help but I drew the line when they started trying to come into my house.” He stopped and turned to me, “I have to protect my family.”

I nodded my head and suddenly regretted my decision to come. But also felt vindicated in my decision to keep my well a secret.

“I’d offer you something to drink but,” he shrugged, “you know how it is now.”

I nodded but wondered about his well. The well that he had so freely offered to share he wouldn’t even share a glass of water from now?

“My well actually is dry now,” he drawled. “Too many people expected too much from it.”

I looked out the window in the direction of it.

“So,” he said once we were sitting down. I sat on his couch and he sat in a rather uncomfortable but stylish looking chair. “You wanted to thank me?”

I nodded. “I did.” The words were having a hard time coming out. This was the first time I was going to say them out loud.

He waited and looked at his watch.

“I built a well.” The words came out much softer than I intended.

His eyebrows raised and he looked at me.

“I built a well in my backyard by following your directions.”

He studied me. “Are you mocking me?”

“No,” I said quickly. “I really did. I just didn’t tell anyone. I hid it in my shed. My grandpa’s shed actually.”

His face remained impassive until he shrugged his shoulders slowly. “Smart woman.”

“My family made so much fun of me I didn’t want them to know,” I hurried on because I didn’t feel like a smart woman at all. In fact, no one had ever called me that before.

“I’m glad it worked out for you,” he said with a small smile.

“Anyway,” I said, “I just wanted you to know.”

He nodded his head slowly.

“Do you know how long this is going to last?” I continued surprising myself.

He didn’t say anything but his brow furrowed.

“I mean, I’m trying to stockpile supplies. I figured out a method for food but I don’t know how much I’ll need. Then there is the fuel. How are we even supposed to stockpile fuel? How much do you think we’ll need?” I took a breath. “How long is this going to last?”

He looked at me. “I don’t know how long the shift will take. It might take a few cycles of seasons or it could happen in one.” That last thought must have made him think of something because he looked down and seemed to drift into a deep thought.

Which was good because I had no idea what he was talking about. I assumed he was referring to something in all that literature he gave me the first time I met him. And I tried to read it. I really did try. But I didn’t understand most of it and to be honest, it put me to sleep. So, I just skipped to the diagrams and mostly followed the illustrations on building a well. It was now apparent that I missed the very important why we should build wells and stockpile supplies.

He looked at me again. “I kind of think it will happen quickly and soon. Don’t you?”

He was asking me for my opinion thinking I knew what he was talking about. It should have been a safe assumption since I have listened to two of his presentations and he gave me copies of all that literature. But I really had no idea what shift he was talking about

Ever since I could remember, I have this bad habit of nodding when I don’t understand what is being said. I did it now.

He nodded his head thinking we were in agreement. “Yeah, it will probably be quick.”

We sat for a moment. He thinking we were on the same page. Me feeling a little restless that I only had more questions than answers.

“So,” he continued, “I recommend to save as much as you possibly can because we are in for one heck of a ride.”

That was not comforting and the opposite of helpful.

I stood up to leave because I didn’t want to be there any longer. Sure, I didn’t know what exactly was going on but I could sure pick up on the doom and gloom vibe his place emanated. I just needed to get out of the place. I walked to the door and he followed me. It was clear he didn’t want me there any longer than I wanted to be there.

“Look,” he said, “I appreciate you sharing your success about your well with me.” I stopped and turned to him.

He studied me for a moment then said in a near whisper, “To be honest, I have two more wells around back but I’m not telling anyone about them.” He winked at me.

I let out a sigh of relief. This meant we had an understanding between each other. Neither of us would tell on the other. My secret was safe with him. His secret was safe with me.

A woman nervously walked into the room

“It’s okay Kara,” he said walking over to her. “This is a fellow well owner.” He looked at me. “There are a few of us in town.”

That little bit of information made something inside me swell. Knowing I wasn’t alone with my covert well made me feel better. Judging by all of his fortification, I also knew I was right not to tell anyone about my well and that made me feel smart. No, I would never describe myself as smart, but something similar to it that I couldn’t think of the right word for.

“Nice to meet you,” I said to his wife. I turned and walked through the doorway. As I pulled the door closed behind me, I looked at them both. He had his arm around her almost in a protective embrace. Whatever his motives had been, he had tried to help others. And now he was living in a fortress for protection from the people he tried to help.

“Thanks again,” I said and left.

Stuart had tried to help others. Even now, he was still trying to help his family. And I had done all that work just to be a lone survivor. Stuart shrunk his circle to just his family maybe I needed to enlarge my circle to include my family.

First things first, I had to figure out what else was in that literature. Where were we headed? What did he mean by shift? I should probably give that literature another look when I got back to the shed.