Vaxdemic Book 2, Chapter 14
Chapter 14
I’ve reminded myself several times lately that I love my life. I love my wife Claire, my son Brock, our seven dogs, and my little homestead in the middle of the former suburbs. I have to remind myself because my appointed job of Mayor has become hell lately. It was bad enough when I simply had to deal with the new people moving in and trying to steal from each other. Lately we’ve had greater problems.
Let’s start with the lesser one, because it doesn’t make me afraid to leave. We now have a map of the people who have moved into the city. They all have addresses and homes which means we can now map the power distribution, or we could have. I remember people complaining online years ago about local building codes, and how the government was keeping them down and suppressing their freedom. Until recently I felt at least some small support for them. Those days are dead thanks to our new residence who have taken to SCAVENGING THE CITIE’S POWERLINES! A few don’t even bother climbing the poles, they just break out an axe and chop them down. Almost all have the same excuse, ‘they’re wiring their houses for when the dam is done’. None have an answer when I ask how we’re going to get the power to them without the lines. I’m feeling an impotent rage that used to be associated with arguing on the with strangers on the internet.
Some didn’t stop at the powerlines. One individual Harold had to talk me out of shooting was digging up the water and sewer lines. It was rather hard for him to hide it since the smell of feted awful spread for miles in every direction. Filling the hole did nothing to kill the odor. We had to wait a week till Matt arrived and then another week before someone with the relevant skills could be found and sent our way. This individual has yet to give anyone a reason as to why he did this, and it is only by the intervention of Pastor Roth that I did not dispossess him of his land. I’m not sure if I have that power, but I’m pretty sure I’d have community support if I tried. We have since made it very clear that the former utilities are not to be scavenged in any way.
The work for distribution doesn’t stop there. We have to make sure the homes can actually use the electricity when we generate it. I’ve appointed our lone electrician as city planner. We both were smiling that day. Him because he thought he was getting a powerful position. Me because I was planning on shoving this awful chore from my plate to his. He has since regretted the appointment, but he’s doing a great job from what I can tell. The six young men we sent with him to scavenge equipment from the industrial park have come a long way in learning the trade. They come back telling me of houses with exposed wire, inexplicable bundles nailed and screwed to walls, and freshly build homesteads that are wired in such a way to electrify the metal frame of the very building the resident was hoping to power. I do my best to not laugh when I hear these stories, mostly because I don’t want my new city planner to quit.
He certainly has his work cut out for him. They aren’t just setting up the new residents for power, but removing lines and equipment from areas that we don’t want to power. Many of these buildings haven’t seen electricity in over two years of no care and rough exposure. We are very aware that when the grid goes live, we may simply burn the city down. This is further complicated because at some point in the city’s past they started burying power lines, but then they stopped, then started again. My city planner showed me at least thirty different spots they’ve seen the lines go to ground. We can’t seem to decide whether to cut the lines, or cut the houses at the boxes. I don’t know what the population of the city used to be. It’s not a major city like New York or Chicago, but it was big enough to have an international airport, and large train yard, so it’s going to take seven people a long time to get things right.
Unfortunately, I can’t avoid my next problem any longer. My only solace is that this incident is over. We’ve had a murderer on the loose. It’s amazing how quickly a few hundred people can get to know each other. I didn’t think I would but I’ve learned the faces of the new homesteaders pretty quick. This is one of the reasons I find it so troubling that some stranger could come in and do what this one did.
At first it was just some pets and livestock. One homesteader came to me complaining that all his animals were dying day after day. They weren’t shot, and nothing was attacking them. The closest thing we have to a veterinarian in the city is Claire. It took a lot to coax her out of the walls around the farm. I had to let her bring her M107A1, her LE6991, at least one hand gun, as well as Bip and Bop. My wife has become far more proficient in firearms than myself in my absence. She reminded me of an anime character with all those guns hanging off her by various straps, while wearing one of her new dresses. Since I still enjoy some adult activities, I kept these thoughts to myself. After the walk to the homestead and an examination of a young horse, she could concluded it was sickness or poison. The newly minted farmer was so shaken by this he stayed up for two days with his own gun waiting for whoever poisoned his animals. On the third day, the poisoner found him.
I’m not used to early morning visitors. I’ve got a nice routine I’ve started with Claire that involves breakfast, a little family time, and some time with the dogs and geese. This morning, they were at my gate before the coffee hit the pot. Have I mentioned home much I hate being Mayor? Since I’m the one whose “in charge”, I was the third or fourth person to know. The young farmer had been stabbed, and worse had been done to his family. This was a disturbing wake up call. I did my best to calm everyone down to a level I pretended to fell myself, but I knew it didn’t work.
Over the next week, I didn’t see anyone who wasn’t armed all the time. Tensions were high and I guess what happened next was inevitable. One person got suspicious of another, and started watching them at night. Well, the person who was being watched assumed the person watching was the killer. I got awoken in the middle of the night to find out each had shot the other. Neither wound was fatal. We have a former nurse practitioner in the city and she was able to stich up the fortunately unfortunate flesh wounds. I want to once again state, I hate being Mayor.
All this leads me to Skip. I really don’t care for Skip, he’s the kind of person who makes you nervous just by being around. Matt introduced us when I explained what had happened. Skip, is not Skip’s real name. I would use his real name but he won’t tell me what it is. Skip is in his fifties, he’s former military, and he makes my wife look tame from his taste in weapons. I remember asking Matt what kind of contractor Skip was, but I don’t remember receiving an answer. Skip is our new sheriff. In exchange for his services, he asked for the old mall and its surrounding land. On the map that’s about thirty acres right next to the old highway that cuts through the city. I agreed on the condition that he find the killer first. I don’t know or care what he wants with that gutted building, but if it keeps us safe, I’m willing to put up with him.
The first day he arrived I was immediately convinced I’d made a mistake. He arrived with two dogs, that at first, I thought were small muscular horses. He calls them Snuggles and Bunbun, Skip tells me his wife named them. Over the next two days I got nothing but complaints of this grizzled old vet prowling through people’s yards, the local woods, and abandoned buildings with his two titanic dogs. I did my best to reassure everyone that he’s the right man to catch this killer, and if we’re scared of the new sheriff, imagine how the killer feels. I will note that after seeing Snuggles and Bunbun, I asked Claire if we had anything bigger than the fifty caliber, she brought the other day. Even my basement of ammo feels rather low just knowing those things are alive and prowling around.
Fortunately, Skip proved he knew what he was doing. He caught the man who stabbed the farmer. He even still had the knife on him, dried blood crusted on the handle. We didn’t get to question him though as Skip shot him as he was running from the two demons, he calls dogs. I was a little surprised the man didn’t simply die from fear while being chases by two dogs that easily outweighed him by a good fifty pounds each. Others admitted to seeing the stranger snooping around weeks before and assumed he was a new homesteader, but no one knew his name. One of the new residences did recognize something about him. The clothes he wore looked like the uniforms worn at Gurrings, the iron works that Dean Saugus was now master of.
It's been a week since the killer was caught. Without anyone seeing it happen our new sheriff has moved into his new home. It now has metal doors, and things that look suspiciously like gun nests mounted around the roof. No one saw when he did these things, and they, like me don’t want to ask Skip directly. That hasn’t stopped people from asking me. I can only hope he scares the people at the iron works like he scares me. Have I mentioned I hate being Mayor? I’m heading back to the Dam next week.
Bob Stackey
April 20, 2024