Forager (9781771275606) (17 page)

By the time I finished, the sun was down. Dusk filled the sky
and the sound of buzzing locusts filled the air. My legs were stiff
and sore from all the riding. Fred kept me company while I ate a
quick supper of bread and cheese and another apple, and then she
wandered off to eat grass. After eating, I checked the house,
keeping a keen eye out for bones. I’d rather sleep in the barn with
Fred nearby than spend a night in a house with
skeletons.

On quiet feet, I carefully went from room to room searching
for occupants. It only took a few minutes to discover that the
owner wasn’t there. Both bedrooms were furnished, but neither bed
looked as comfortable as the couch. Pulling a blanket off one of
them, I shook out the dust. I took off Sawyer’s hat and laid it on
the floor beside me.

The locusts continued to buzz. I’ve never liked their harsh
music, but as I lay down on the dusty sofa, hoping tomorrow would
be a better day, I fell asleep to their serenade.

The insistent cawing of a blue jay woke me the next
morning. Was there a bird with a more annoying squawk? Tossing the
blanket back, I rolled my legs off the couch and tried to stand.
The simmering fire in my thighs blossomed into a raging inferno. I
sat on the couch with my elbows on my knees and my hands in my
matted hair.
It was so twisted and tangled
that forcing my fingers through it made me think I was ripping
out.

I sighed, and suffered the pain of standing in the hope that
the bathroom shower still worked. Every step was painful, but my
efforts were rewarded when I turned on the tap.

The shower got me moving. I’m not sure if it was the ice cold
water turning the fire in my legs into piercing knives or washing
away twenty pounds of dirt. Either way, I was awake.

Picking up Sawyer’s hat from beside the couch, I went
outside. The warmth of the morning sun was welcome on my chilled
skin. Outside the barn, Fred greeted me with a snort. She held her
head high and stamped a hoof.
She seemed as
impatient to be off as I was.

My failure from yesterday knotted my gut into a storm of
worry. I was probably already in trouble with the mayor for leaving
town. If I came back empty-handed…I didn’t even want to think about
what he’d do to me.

I brushed and saddled Fred. I never imagined finding the right
harvester would be so hard. I’d done everything I could to find the
alternator. It wasn’t my fault those barns and sheds were a bust,
but it felt like it.

Finding the alternator was supposed to solve everything. Chane
would be safe, the Scavengers would get their food, those of us in
town wouldn’t go hungry, and I’d be a hero. I’d even hoped that
finding the alternator would make the mayor happy enough not to
banish me, or jolt me. Now, I realized that finding the right
combine was my only hope of returning. If I didn’t, the only reason
for going back was to return Fred to Sawyer.

I had to find that alternator.

I continued east, the morning sun perfectly positioned to
blind me. I pulled Sawyer’s hat low on my head. What I really
needed was a pair of sunglasses.

Fred snorted when I pulled the reins and dismounted. I
didn’t blame her. We were barely out of the drive. She was probably
thinking,
Seriously? You should have gone before we left.

Rooting around in Sawyer’s saddlebags, I finally found a pair.
I was glad I’d thought of them. Sunglasses were a prized item. I’d
only worn them a handful of times. The town owned several dozen
pair, but they were only issued to those working directly in the
bright sun.

We went on for another half mile until we came to the next
crossroads. Two hundred yards beyond it was a bridge spanning a
gurgling stream. The water was only a foot wide and couldn’t have
been more than a few inches deep. The banks, however, were very
steep and dropped at least twice my height.

I rode Fred to the edge of the bridge. It was wide enough to
let a combine pass, but none ever would. The planking that formed
the surface was so rotted and worn I didn’t dare let Fred put one
hoof on it.

Taking Fred down the steep bank wasn’t an option, either. Both
of us would break our necks. I sighed and turned us
around.

It was an irritating way to start the day, but it had one
advantage. The sun was no longer in front of me. I rode back to the
intersection and turned Fred south.

That road rose in a slow uphill climb. Widely spaced trees
bordered a barbwire fence to my right. Generally, barbwire kept
cattle and other farm animals from the roadway, this one kept the
cattle and such from falling down the steep bank. Because the creek
cut close to the road, there wouldn’t be any buildings on that
side. Still, I welcomed the change in scenery, and the soft burble
of the moving water became a comfortable companion in the otherwise
quiet stillness.

I didn’t want to turn from the creek bank when we crested the
hill and found the next intersection, but my chances of finding a
combine were a lot higher if there were buildings on both sides of
the road. I turned Fred west. With the sun at my back, I took off
Sawyer’s sunglasses and put them away.

A little later, I stopped next to three enormous steel
buildings that flanked a debris-strewn concrete pad. All that
remained of the house was broken lumber and shattered
glass.

I’d seen a few old newspaper photos of the devastation caused
by tornadoes. I guessed that’s what had happened here.
Surprisingly, the steel buildings were in good shape. A few dents
marred the sheet metal, but the buildings had not suffered the same
fate as the house.

I left Fred by the side of the road. She didn’t need to be
walking on broken glass and rusty nails. There were shoes to
protect my feet, and if something happened, I could always ride. By
now, I was confident that she wouldn’t wander far, just to whatever
vegetation tasted best.

The small side doors on the
sheds I’d broken into yesterday
looked like dog flaps compared to the
massive garage doors on all three buildings. They looked big enough
to push a school bus through—sideways. These doors weren’t the type
that worked on rollers from the outside, the only way to open these
was with electricity. I didn’t have any.

I went to the first of the large panes of glass in the huge
door of the closest building. I peeked inside, but the sun shining
right on the dust-caked windows blocked my view.

The doorknob turned easily enough, but the door wouldn’t
budge. I looked for a deadbolt, but there wasn’t one. I’d almost
decided to move to the next building when I realized the tornado
may have shifted the building enough to jam the door.

Holding the knob in the open position, I threw my shoulder
into the door. A sharp
screech
came from either the doorframe or my shoulder. The
door swung open and hit the inside wall. Just before it slammed
shut, I wedged my foot between it and the jamb.

Limping inside, I held my shoulder. The three glass panels in
the huge door let in more light than I would have expected,
considering the amount of dirt on them.

Four semi-trucks with trailers were parked side by side with
enough room to walk between them. Walking all the way to the end of
the trailers, I found the rest of the oversized garage
empty.

I hurried to the second building. Inside, I found two large
tractors, a plow, a sprayer, and a red combine. The harvester was
such a letdown that I almost didn’t bother checking the third
building. Nowhere I’d been before had more than one combine, but I
couldn’t walk away without looking.

The door opened easily, and I gazed in surprise at the
contents. Four tractors, a grain truck, and a gray combine all
rested inside the building in various states of repair. Between the
vehicles were several big rolling toolboxes. One of the large rear
wheels of the first tractor lay on the floor. The other three stood
with their engine compartments open, as did the combine. The only
thing visibly wrong with the grain truck was that it was sitting on
four flat tires.

One wall held every kind of tool I could think of and some I’d
never seen. The rest of that wall was what I guessed to be an
office. It was nothing more than sheets of unfinished plywood
erected to form a small private corner in the large building. There
was a door, and the office even sported a window. The window struck
me as odd, considering it was only looking out at the shop, and not
outside.

Until then, I’d never thought about farm implements breaking
down before the Collapse. Once I entered this building, though, it
made sense that with so much equipment being used, breakdowns would
have happened. Repair shops like this one would have been a
necessity.

Along the opposite wall stood rack after rack of replacement
parts. My heart beat faster. Somewhere in those racks was an
alternator; there had to be. There were way too many boxes, hoses,
belts, and assorted parts to not have at least one, the right one.
But how was I going to know the right one from the
wrong?

I rushed to the shelves. It only took a few seconds of reading
the part numbers printed on white labels to understand that
everything was arranged by those numbers. I didn’t know if that
helped or not. Were all the alternators in the same number
group?

They weren’t. Only a computer was smart enough to figure out
the numbering system. In one place, I found an alternator with a
box of bearings on one side and a fuel pump on the other. Further
down, one sat between two different kinds of oil
filters.

At first, every time I found an alternator it went on the
floor next to the rack. My thought was that even if I didn’t know
which one was the right one, I could take one of each back to
Charlie Meyer. He was the one that showed me the alternator in the
first place. He’d know right from wrong.

Walking down the rows of shelves, I examined part after part.
I quit putting boxes down at ten. There was no way to carry that
many home and I was only halfway through the inventory. There had
to be an easier way.

I leaned back against the racks and stared at the seemingly
endless supply of parts. How would the mechanics have known which
part was which? A computer was the obvious answer. I knew people
relied heavily on computers before the Collapse, but what did they
do if the power went out or the computer broke? Surely there was a
written list somewhere? Would a business owner only rely on one
source of information? I didn’t think so. It sounded too
risky.

Leaving the racks, I went to the office. The light coming
through the windows wasn’t enough to brighten this enclosed space.
I entered the shadowy room anyway. If there was a master list, it
was in here somewhere.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw that the operator
of this shop had been organized. The desk was neat and tidy with
only a computer screen, keyboard and mouse, and a telephone on it.
A refrigerator stood in one corner next to an empty vending machine
with its glass broken out. On the wall was a large board where
names and times were written. I guessed this to be a work schedule.
Surrounding the board and the rest of the walls were posters of
tractors and other farm equipment.

The top desk drawer held a few pens and pencils and half dozen
note pads. I slipped the small pads into my pockets. Clean paper,
even small pieces like these, was scarce. Moving to the three side
drawers, I found one held twenty or thirty computer discs. The
second held an old grease rag and a first aid kit. The bottom
drawer was the worst. Its sole contents were one empty glass bottle
and two small glasses. There were no instruction manuals, no parts
lists, no help.

Taking a handful of the computer discs, I moved out into the
better light of the main shop. By the pictures on the front, I
guessed that a few of them were games, or possibly movies. The rest
all had names that were the same as those printed on the sides of
the tractors and harvesters with the words “repair manual”
underneath.

I wanted to hurl those discs through the air as hard as I
could. I wanted to snap them in half and stomp on what was left.
Those discs were useless. They were worse than a locked safe. At
least with a safe I might accidently dial in the right combination.
Hurling the discs to the floor in disgust, I walked out.

Fred poked her head up from where she’d been munching and gave
me a stern look. I don’t think she liked the loud bang of the door
slamming behind me.

Taking her lead, I began walking down the road. I needed to
work out my frustration with my own two feet. There was every
chance I’d held the right alternator in my hands, and I was forced
to leave it behind. I was a failure, worse than a failure, I was a
fraud. Like a kid play-acting a role. I even had Sawyer’s hat for
my costume.

Would Sawyer have left the building empty-handed? There was no
reason to think that Sawyer would have been able to figure out
which alternator was which in that mass of parts. Yet, somehow,
he’d have some knowledge, some experience, or instinct to resolve
the issue. Me, all I could do was plod along.