The Greens of Jericho

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Different Circumstances: Part 13A of ? by Marzee Doats


Author's Note: I continue to stretch the timeline that was implied by the show as aired.  I take issue with an episode titled Heart of Winter taking place before the official beginning of winter, and have therefore elected to set this part a few days into winter.  This does do weird things to the Hawkins/Sara Mason thread, but since I'm not covering that here (though I will get back to Hawkins eventually) you'll just have to decide for yourself whether or not Sara stayed with the Hawkinses longer, or if that storyline and this one are not concurrent.

Warnings: References to starvation and its possible remedies, including another desperate act by a hopeless person.

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Tuesday, December 26, three months after the bombs

"Nothing?"  Jake repeated his father's words, his voice echoing with disbelief.  He shoved a small log into the wood burning stove and, closing it, turned to face Johnston.  "Not even rabbits?  Heather and I, we were out at the ranch yesterday," he said, sounding somewhat desperate.  "Baron got a rabbit, sometime in the last week.  It was a big mess all over the garage step."

The day before had been the quietest, strangest Christmas Jake had ever experienced.  They were almost out of food, and so far the aid drops promised at Black Jack had not materialized.  What they had left on hand wouldn't have fed them for a day before the bombs but now, with scrimping and skipping meals, it might last three or four more days.  Johnston and Eric had left on a hunting trip on the twenty fourth, carrying the hopes of the entire family with them, and now they were back, empty handed.  When the twenty fifth had dawned cold, clear, and with no sign of the two men's return, the family had - by unspoken agreement - gone about their business without even mentioning the significance of the date to one another.  Only Heather had said something to Jake, quietly, sounding almost embarrassed, as they'd both slowly awoken. 

Everyone was sleeping more now, going to bed almost as soon as it was dark and getting up only with the sun.  It had been nearly ten in the morning, Jake figured, when they had pulled themselves out of bed.  "Merry Christmas, Jake," Heather had whispered, offering him a tremulous smile and finally a kiss.  He'd returned the greeting, though it had sounded hollow to his own ears, and had laid both hands gently over the swell of their child, hoping to feel something - anything - that would tell him that their baby was okay.  "He's just sleeping," Heather had insisted, leaning toward her husband.  "He was pretty active last night, remember?"

"I know," Jake had nodded, kissing the top of her head.  They had been in bed by seven on Christmas Eve and had lain facing one another for a long time, his hands splayed across her belly while he had counted each kick, telling himself that everything was fine.  "I know," Jake had repeated, willing it to be true as he'd pulled her into his embrace.   Heather had lost weight over the preceding two or three weeks, which worried Jake and had made her pregnancy - she was carrying completely in front - that much more prominent.  They were now reduced to one meal a day - Heather and April got two - and Jake's ever present sense of frustration had flared in that moment.  None of it was fair, he'd thought, tightening his hold on his wife.  When he'd finally let her go, he'd stepped over to his dresser and had dug a hidden treat out from beneath his socks. "Last one," he'd told her holding up the ridiculously tiny peanut butter granola bar.  "Split it with ya," he'd offered, forcing a grin he didn't really feel. 

They had each consumed their half of the granola bar in two bites, scarfing it down without even tasting it, really.  They had both started to dress then, exchanging the thick layers of clothing they'd worn to bed for even thicker layers that would keep them, if not warm then at least from freezing, as they went about the work of the day.  Buttoning a flannel shirt of Jake's - in order to find enough warm clothing, she'd gone back to borrowing from his wardrobe - Heather had sat down suddenly on the edge of the bed and had waved him over quickly.  "B.G. liked the granola bar," she'd smiled, holding his hand to her side so he could feel the baby moving.  "See, everything's good.  B.G. says, 'thanks, Dad'," Heather had claimed.  Heaving a relieved sigh, Jake's smile had been genuine this time. 

In the afternoon, after their one meal - watery soup, warmed cornmeal mush, and two eggs split seven ways - they had headed out to the ranch.  It had been nearly a week since anyone had been out, and though the horses had been turned out to fend for themselves on the range, it was still necessary that someone check up on things every once in awhile.  Jake, Eric and their parents had agreed that if it came down to it, and if any of the horses appeared to be starving or if they found themselves completely without food, they would euthanize.  Driving out to the ranch in Charlotte, not letting the speed get above thirty in order to save gas, Jake had caught himself almost hoping to find a starved horse.

But, what they had discovered upon their arrival instead was the concrete step in front of the garage side door covered in dried blood, bits of rabbit fur, and even a few bones.  There hadn't been any sign of Baron.  Heather had gotten slightly hysterical at the sight, reminding Jake of how she'd always yelled at Baron for chasing rabbits or birds and how she'd always left cleaning things up to Jake or the ranch foreman when the dog had actually caught something.  "I'm so - so glad he knows - knows how to - to feed himself," she'd blubbered against his shoulder.  The dog food had run out about two weeks earlier and they'd had to turn Baron out to fend for himself, just like the horses.  Jake had held onto Heather tightly while she'd cried and then had shooed her in the house to get warm.  Together, they'd built a small fire in the family room fireplace before Jake had left - locking the door behind him - to see what signs he could find of their horses.

An hour later, Jake had let himself into the house, pulling off his boots and leaving them, along with his rifle, in the mud room.  He'd gone out as far as he'd dared, given the cold and his now constant feeling of lethargy and lightheadedness, the result of their subsistence diet.  At one point, Jake had seen eight or nine horses in the distance - too far for him to walk - and he'd turned back then, looping around, hoping in vain to come across more.  Padding through the kitchen, Jake had entered the family room to find that Heather had put up and decorated a small artificial tree that in years past had graced the sideboard in dining room during Christmas.  She'd also let Baron, who'd been lolling happily in front of the fire, into the house.  The dog had looked emaciated, his ribs prominent beneath his matted fur, but he'd been eagerly soaking up his mistress's attention and had barked excitedly when Jake had come into the room.    

"I had to do something," Heather had confessed, blushing, when Jake had complimented her decorating efforts.  "I had to mark the day somehow."  Not knowing what else to do, Jake had kissed her.  She'd tasted like the cherry ChapStick she'd vowed to save for a special occasion, and after all he'd reminded himself, it was Christmas.  He'd led Heather to the couch then, and they had settled in - under the blankets she'd pulled off the guest room bed - to wait for the fire to die out before they'd headed back to town.

"Nah, nothin'," Johnston muttered, pulling Jake out of his thoughts about the previous day and back into the present.  "Never seen anything like it before," he admitted, offering a grim frown.  "Nothing was out there."

Stanley Richmond stepped closer to the fire, rubbing his gloved hands together.  "Think it was the fallout?" he questioned, glancing at Jericho's former mayor.  "Maybe it was the radiation that killed the deer?"

"There'd still be dead animals," Eric argued, shaking his head.  "Something.  I mean it was weird," he said, expelling a frustrated breath.  "Like all the game had vanished."

Processing this piece of grave news, Jake crossed his arms, almost defensively, over his chest.  "Well, how far out did you go?" he demanded.

"Fifteen miles," Johnston answered, his jaw clenched.  "Out by Mill Pond, along the creek there."

"Guess we're gonna hafta drive, huh, Jake?" Stanley suggested, looking at his best friend.

"Yeah, but we have to be careful about burning gas rations," Eric argued.  He crossed his arms over his chest, rubbing his arms with his gloved hands.  "It's the middle of winter," he reminded unnecessarily.  "We need - we need everything we can for the generator."

"We can live without power for now," Jake snapped in return.  "Make fires to stay warm," he added, gesturing at the wood stove.  "But we won't see spring if we don't eat."  Annoyance and frustration flashed in his eyes.  "And - you know - we've got two pregnant women at home," Jake said, jerking his head in his father's direction, including him in the claim while most definitely excluding Eric.  "So, to me, it's just a little more important that they're eating than that you've got power."

"I'm very aware of that fact," Eric ground out in reply, "Trust me.  And I happen to think - for April and for Heather - it's important that we have a functioning clinic."

"And we do," Johnston interrupted before Jake could get off his next volley.  "And gettin' into this argument again will get us nowhere useful," he told his sons, looking back and forth between them.  The scarcity of their resources was a constant subject of discussion, and Jake and Eric were often at odds with one another.  They were all at odds with Gray Anderson.  Three days after Johnston and Jake had gone to Black Jack, having heard some of the information Jake had learned from Mindy Henry about New Bern, Gray - claiming eminent domain - had seized forty gallons of the forty six Mary Bailey had scrounged up for her generator.  Without a judge in Jericho, Gray had signed the order himself and then sent Jimmy to do his dirty work.  Mary had complained loudly to anyone who'd listen - the fuel belonged to her, after all, and they didn't have the right to just take it - and had asked Eric to fix it, but there had been no getting the gas back. 

At that point, Gray had still been operating the generator at the med center for six hours a day and at town hall for three hours a day, but that had all changed with the next town council meeting.  Johnston wasn't proud of what he'd done, and he hadn't told anyone - not Gail, not their sons - but he'd gone to four of the six council members, all people he'd worked with and had known he could count on, and had convinced them to make a motion to stop powering town hall in an attempt to conserve fuel in favor of other needs.  The vote had been four to three, and Gray had been livid, but even he knew better than to oppose the will of the town council.  Ron Mortimer had protected Johnston, maintaining under scrutiny that the concern was all his own, and for the time being, the clinic had electricity and even a little heat.  But now they were within spitting distance of starvation, and they had to do something about that, too.

"Stanley and I will have to use whatever gas we can spare," Jake declared when it became obvious his father wasn't planning to say anything more.  "Go out west, go out as far as it takes."  He shook his head, fighting the distinctly helpless feeling that rolled through him like a wave.  "The rest of the hunting parties will just have to scrounge around locally."

"Yeah, sounds good," Stanley nodded.  "And, uh, Mimi's comin' with us," he muttered, suddenly finding his feet to be very interesting.

"What?" Jake blurted out, shooting his friend an incredulous look. 

"Well, in case something happens to me," he reasoned, shrugging, "I want to make sure she knows how to trap and shoot, okay?"

"Sure man," Jake answered, fighting a smirk.

Stanley glared at him.  "What?  What's wrong with tryin' to make sure she's prepared?"

Jake held his hands up in mock surrender.  "Hey, all I'm sayin' is that in five years, the only gun Heather's ever been willing to touch is a grease gun, and she's a little more ... shall we say, rugged?  Than Mimi."

"Look, you take care of things the way you think is right," Stanley retorted, his tone perhaps a little more biting than he'd intended.  "And let me do the same.  She's comin' along," he insisted, frowning.  "And for Heather's sake, we'll all just keep hopin' nothing ever happens to you."

"Okay, fellas," Johnston interjected, again before Jake could make his reply.  The constant feeling of hunger was getting to them all, amplifying their increasingly erratic emotions and he recognized, a hard lump forming in the pit of his empty stomach, that this conversation had the potential to spin quickly out of control.  He took a step toward them - between them.  "That's enough of that." 

"Sure, whatever," Jake agreed, catching his friend's eye.  "Bring her along.  Least with Mimi there, no way we'll be gone two days.  Heather'll like that."  Stanley acknowledged him with a tight-lipped grimace but didn't say anything.

"'All right, look," Johnston sighed.  "The farther out you get, the hairier the roads are, and with food as scarce as it is, there's bound to be trouble out there."  He pointed at his pack, half undone on the floor of the bar.  "That sleeping bag's rated to forty below."  He took another step toward his son.  "Here's a windproof lighter for you," he added, holding the item out to Jake.  "You're gonna need them both."  Johnston clapped him on the shoulder then, resisting the sudden urge to hug his son.  "Good hunting."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tuesday, January 1, five years before the bombs

Jake awoke slowly, gradually becoming aware of his legs tangled with hers, the scent of her strawberry shampoo in his nostrils, and his hand clutched in hers, over her breast.  'Heather,' he thought, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth as he fought to go back to sleep.  'Heather!'  Jake's eyes snapped open.  He found himself staring at the blue and beige stripes of his comforter which she'd pulled up over her head, leaving only a few wild strands of hair to stick out.  His other hand was resting on the pillow above her head, and he reached for a lock of that hair, playing with it as he started to sit up, disentangling his legs from hers.  "Babe," Jake murmured, glancing down at Heather. He pulled his hand loose but still she didn't stir.  "Deep sleeper, I take it," he chuckled softly, giving up on kissing her good morning.  She would never know, and he'd kiss her when she was awake, Jake decided, rolling away from her to check the time.

Glancing at his alarm clock, he groaned.  It was two minutes to seven, and they'd only gone to bed a little over four hours before.   Deciding that a trip to the bathroom was in order, Jake forced himself to stand - the cold floor against his bare feet was a bit of a shock - but after that he was definitely getting back in bed, snuggling up to Heather, and sleeping until noon.  Hurrying across the room, he slipped out the door, pulling it shut behind him, though he didn't try to latch it closed.  The house was over a hundred years old, and although it had been updated more than once in the intervening years, Jake's door was if not original then pretty close to it.  The old door had swollen and contracted innumerable times since its installation and now squeaked horribly whenever he closed it.  Jake figured it was the one thing that might wake Heather up.

Heather.  Jake caught himself smiling just from thinking about her as he padded down the hall to the bathroom.  She'd phoned him early on the morning of the thirtieth, two days before, greeting him with a rather sultry a cappella rendition of What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?  Then, laughing self-consciously, she had explained that her father and brother had declared her to be moping about and had strongly suggested that perhaps she should spend New Year's in Jericho.  "If you're willing to pick me up, I can change my flight and be in Wichita tomorrow," she'd told him in a rush of breath.  He'd agreed before she'd managed to complete her sentence.

Exiting the bathroom a few minutes later, Jake found himself facing a glowering EJ Green.  "What - what in the hell do you think you're doing!?!" his grandfather demanded in a harsh, irate whisper.  Grandpa looked Jake up and down, taking in his bare feet and chest, and the gray jersey knit shorts, the only stitch of clothing his grandson was wearing.  He turned, stabbing a finger in the direction of Jake's bedroom door which had swung open leaving them both with a clear view of Heather, who had rolled over and buried her head under her pillow.  "You were supposed to take her home!" Grandpa reminded, his expression livid.  "Not - not take her to bed!"

"I didn't," Jake ground out, his voice pitched low.  Surprisingly, he felt himself start to blush, his face fairly burning.  Stepping around his grandfather - who eyed him suspiciously - Jake moved into his doorway and pulled the door closed, making enough noise in the process to conceivably wake the dead.  There was no way, he knew, that Heather could have slept through it.  "Nothing happened, and anyway, we're adults and it's - it's not your business," he insisted, walking toward his grandfather with the hope that the older man would at least be willing to have this discussion at the other end of the hall. 

"None of my business?" Grandpa growled, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Jake.  "This is still my house and -"

"Gramps!" Jake interrupted, returning the older man's hard stare.  "Nothing happened," he repeated through gritted teeth.  "We fell asleep downstairs, and then it was so late... it didn't make sense to take her home."  Closing his eyes, Jake let himself think about the events of the prior sixteen hours.

He'd met Heather as she'd exited the security area at just after five on New Year's Eve, pulling her into his arms and hugging her tightly.  "That was too long," Jake had told her, pressing his mouth to hers.  Driving home to Jericho, they'd talked nearly the entire time, both of them very happy to be reunited.  They had stopped only once, at the halfway point, to use the restroom and grab something to eat at a fast food joint, hurrying through their meals so they could get back on the road. 

Heather had started to doze when they were about a half hour from Jericho, waking up as Jake had turned off of I-70 onto Route 40, a few minutes before nine.  Throwing her a quick smile, he'd suggested that they continue into town for the First Night festivities, but Heather had claimed to have a better idea.  Undoing her seatbelt, she'd slid across the truck's bench seat to plant a kiss on his cheek, her breath warming his skin as she'd countered with, "How 'bout the ranch?  I know Gramps will be there, but..." Heather had shrugged, "I'd really like to have a nice, quiet New Year's with just us."

More than happy to indulge that particular wish, Jake had executed a last second turn onto Granville and, after pointing out Eric's and April's new house as they'd driven past it, he'd taken the jog over onto Walnut before turning onto Route 9, headed northwest to the Green Ranch outside of town.  Grandpa Green had been delighted to see Heather, pulling her into a big hug as she'd walked in the door.  Amazingly, he'd even deigned to leave the young couple alone in the family room, with only Baron for a chaperone, for nearly two hours.  Curling up under his arm, Heather had stolen the remote from Jake and had tuned the TV to CNN, insisting that they watch The Year in Review.  He'd grumbled at her choice but had elected not to force the issue.  Smiling at him, Heather had argued that it was important to stay informed about the world before deciding that she'd much rather kiss his frown away.  Somehow, they had ended up missing the entire review of the events from April through August.

At ten to midnight, Grandpa had reappeared bearing three champagne flutes and a bottle of Krug.  Jake had been given the job of opening the champagne, a task he'd performed enthusiastically, sending the cork flying halfway across the room with Baron in hot pursuit.  Giggling, Heather had barely managed to rescue the item from the puppy's mouth before he could chew it to bits or - worse - swallow it whole.  The three of them had toasted one another as they'd counted down the last fifteen seconds of the year, watching the tape delayed ball drop in Times Square.  At the stroke of midnight, Heather had kissed Grandpa on the cheek, drawing an indignant protest from Jake whom she'd quickly silenced by kissing him most decidedly on the mouth. 

Chuckling in delight, Grandpa had beamed at them both.  "Good night, sweetheart," he'd told Heather, kissing her on the forehead after she'd extracted herself from Jake's embrace.  "Happy New Year!  Now don't stay up too late," he'd admonished, throwing his grandson a pointed look when Heather, fighting a yawn, had punctuated his argument.  Jake had promised to drive her home soon, and satisfied with that arrangement, Grandpa had headed up to bed.  But neither Jake nor Heather had been in any hurry to be separated again, even for just a few hours while they slept, and so she had suggested they see what else was on TV.  They'd finished off their champagne and, cuddling together on the couch, had tuned into some inane comedy, both promptly drifting off to sleep.

"Didn't make sense to take her home!" Grandpa thundered quietly at Jake.  "Of all the stupid, cockamamie -"  He broke off, his lips pressed together in a tight, disapproving line.  "Didja even stop for just one moment and think?" he demanded.  "This is a small town and people are just startin' to get to know Heather.  Did you consider for one second what this could do to her reputation?  She's a teacher!" Grandpa reminded, scowling.  "And in this particular district, there's still a morals clause in her contract -"

"Wait a minute," Jake interrupted, an anxious note suddenly echoing in his tone.  "You can't be serious.  It's the twenty first century for God's sake."  Grandpa's only answer was to meet Jake's worried gaze with an unblinking stare.  "Oh, hell," he swore, eyes closed again, shaking his head.  "God damn it."  Exhaling in frustration, Jake opened his eyes, facing his grandfather with a much more contrite expression.  "But they wouldn't -"

"Fire her?  Humiliate her in front of the whole town by forcing a school board inquiry?" Grandpa suggested, his gaze boring into Jake.  "Most probably wouldn't, but it only takes one and I can think of a few."

"Karen 'Bitchmore' Harper."

"That'd be one," Grandpa Green nodded, his mouth puckering in distaste. 

"Heather's not even supposed to be home for another week, you know," Jake reasoned.  "So no way anyone could know she was here.  And besides, nothing happened," he repeated, allowing an exasperated groan.   

The claim was mostly true.  Jake had startled awake at about twenty minutes to three when Baron had licked his hand, whimpering for an escort outside.  Groaning himself, Jake had woken Heather with a kiss and, after instructing her to 'stay right there', had taken the puppy out to do his business before settling him in the mudroom for the remainder of the night.  Heather had still been awake but looking very bleary-eyed when he'd returned to the family room and Jake, not entirely sure he wouldn't drive them right off the road and into a ditch if he'd tried to take her home, had found himself pulling her to her feet and into his arms.  Kissing her lazily, he'd suggested she spend the night.  Heather had agreed. 

By the time they'd made it upstairs they were both much more alert, especially to one another.  Jake had loaned Heather a t-shirt and a pair of red and green plaid flannel boxer shorts - a Christmas present from April, he'd confessed - to sleep in.  Giggling and blushing, she'd made him turn around while she'd changed clothes, and Jake, although he'd changed at the same time, had teased in return that she was more the welcome to watch him.  Dressed, they had turned to face one another, the bed between them.  For a moment, Heather's expression had betrayed her nervousness, but then she'd taken a deep breath and had smiled at Jake, moving to help him pull down the covers.  Crawling into bed, Heather had moved immediately into his arms, twisting around so she could press her mouth to his.  They'd continued to exchange kisses, Jake's hand finding its way under her t-shirt while her hands roamed over his chest.  But they had soon both been yawning, and had been forced to admit that they were too tired to go any farther. 

Finally, stretching to turn off the lamp, Jake had pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose, murmuring, "Let's get some sleep."  He'd lain down, and then Heather had pressed herself into his side, pillowing her head on his chest.  At that moment it had occurred to Jake that while he'd slept with women in the past he'd never simply gone to sleep with someone, intending nothing more than to sleep.  The realization should have scared him, he'd thought, but it didn't.  "Hey," Jake had mumbled, turning his head toward Heather's, "I love you."

He'd felt her head move against his shoulder, and then their gazes had locked despite the darkness.  "Love you, too," she'd yawned.

"You're not in high school anymore, Jake," Grandpa reminded, allowing a sigh.  His shoulders seemed to slump and he shook his head.  "And Heather's not Emily Sullivan.  You need - you need to think about what you're doin'."

"I know," Jake said, his tone clipped.  He had always known his grandfather's - his grandparents' - opinion of Emily.  She was fine as a first, high school girlfriend, but not as anything more, not when her father was the felon Jonah Prowse and her mother - a Crabtree by birth - had actually married up, marrying Jonah.  Betsy Green, who hadn't thought Gail O'Brien was good enough for her only son, had certainly never considered Emily Sullivan to be good enough for her grandson, and on the matter of Emily, Betsy and her husband had been in complete agreement.  Jake could almost hear his grandmother saying, 'Emily's a nice enough girl, but ....' the implication being that she wasn't marriage material, not for a Green, not given her family background.  "Heather and Emily..." he shrugged helplessly, "It's - it's completely different."

"It is," Grandpa agreed.  "Emily teaches at the high school.  She grew up here.  People know her, and where she came from," he cataloged, not blinking.  "They expect less and forgive more.  But Heather?"  Grandpa turned to point at the bedroom door again.  "You're endangering her reputation and possibly her career, and I don't think you wanna be doin' that."  He paused for a beat before adding, "Besides all that, this is still my house.  Don't do this again," Grandpa told Jake, earning a glare from his grandson.  "Even if nothing happens."

Without responding, Jake turned on his heel and stalked the short distance down the hallway to his bedroom.  Shoving the door open, he caught Heather, her back toward him, fastening her bra.  Hours before he'd teased her about her proficiency at taking it off under her shirt and extracting it out her sleeve.  Then she'd yawned and giggled, making some offhand remark about gym class; now she gasped, looking back over her shoulder at him, her eyes wide.  Quickly kicking the door closed, Jake returned her stare.  "Hey," he muttered apologetically.  "So, uh, you heard that, huh?"

The second eye caught in its hook and she looked away, scooping the wrinkled long sleeve t-shirt she'd been wearing the day before off the end of the bed.  "You know I think I just better go," Heather told him, her voice muffled as she yanked the shirt on over her head.  Turning to face him, she crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed one bare foot against the other.  "He's - he's upset," she said, gesturing at the door, "And I just better go."

"Is Gramps right?" Jake asked, taking a step toward her.  "About the morals clause and your job?  'Cause I'm pretty sure that's illegal.  We could ask Eric."

"But I signed it," Heather argued, shaking her head.  "Even if it is illegal.  And, I think Gramps would probably still be mad, so can you just take me home?" she requested, "Or loan me some keys?"

"God, this is just so stupid," Jake muttered, scrubbing his hand over his face.  He looked at Heather, his gaze focusing on her once more as he started to chew his lip.   "You know what we should do," he sighed, "We should just get married."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tuesday, December 26, three months after the bombs

Jake stared out the window which was cracked open just enough that a stinging breeze blew in on him, chilling the exposed skin of his face.  He was lightheaded from hunger, not having eaten since noon the day before, and tired - always tired these days.  At least the draft was helping to keep him awake, he realized, stifling a yawn.

After the impromptu debrief with his father and Eric at Bailey's, Jake and Stanley had headed out to the Richmond Ranch to meet Mimi and pick up the rest of their supplies.  Mimi hadn't seemed particularly interested in joining them, but Stanley had continued to insist that she was coming, and she'd given in, though not particularly gracefully.  Now the three of them bounced along the road - Stanley's truck was in major need of new shocks - in silence. 

He wasn't sure what his two companions were contemplating, but as always was the case these days, Jake's thoughts drifted to food - or more precisely, the lack of it and their increasingly desperate need for it.  As had become habit, he ran through his mental calculus, considering each factor in their current situation.  After three months, and even after combining the Greens' three pantries, there was very little left of what they had started with.  They still had some of their allotment from the Thanksgiving airdrop - though that was disappearing quickly - and Stanley continued to provide corn and potatoes when he could, always joking that he had to look after his 'nieces or nephews'.  They were still getting a few eggs, but was it time to butcher the non-producing hens?  Would the Hydes have meat or milk for them this week?  Had that last frost gotten to the vegetables growing in the planter boxes Johnston and Drake had built inside the garage?  And would they get something - anything - hunting this time?  But yet again, he had no answers to the equation so he just kept playing with it.  The only thing Jake knew for certain was that he couldn't watch Heather or his mother or April starve, and so he had to do everything in his power to prevent that outcome.

"My grandmother went faster than this," Mimi declared sarcastically, breaking Jake's dark train of thought.  "And she didn't even have a car."

Normally it was the kind of joke Jake would have laughed at, especially being aimed as it was at Stanley, but this morning he didn't have the heart.  He found himself frowning.  "We have to take it easy," he explained, rolling his eyes, "We only have a half a tank."

"Hopefully we'll make it to Flint Springs," Stanley added.

His head whipping around, Jake stared at his friend, open-mouthed.  "Hopefully?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing.  "What do you mean hopefully?"  After starving to death, the last thing Jake wanted to do was have to walk ten miles back to Jericho because they ran out of gas.

Stanley deliberately misunderstood the question, answering instead, "It's got a river.  It's prime white tail terrain."

Mimi, sitting between the two men, glanced first at Jake and then at Stanley, shaking her head.  "You know this is crazy," she argued, glaring at her lover.  "I told you I can't hunt, and now you want me to kill Bambi," Mimi complained, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Look," Stanley grumbled in return, "You have to learn, all right?  Everyone's doin' their part," he reminded.  "Bonnie's been out twice."

"Well, good for frickin' Bonnie," Mimi snapped, clearly exasperated.  "Bonnie grew up on a farm," she reminded, "The closest I ever got to the outdoors was the Ralph Lauren section at Neiman Marcus."

"There you go.  Bargain hunting," Stanley replied easily.  Jake was almost certain that his friend was enjoying the debate.  "Same thing, but with a gun."

"Bargains?  At Neimans?" Mimi scoffed, shaking her head.  "Sometimes I forget the biggest designer in your closet is Wrangler," she snorted.

Still staring out the window, Jake chuckled, surprising himself.  Stanley frowned and, looking over Mimi, glared at his friend.  "Wha - what're you laughing at?"

Meeting the other man's gaze, Jake shrugged.  "Well, I've never seen you in a domestic squabble before," he drawled.

"This isn't squabbling," Mimi argued.

"Knock it off," Stanley added, returning his gaze to the road.  "And if you wanna talk domestic squabbles," he snorted, "Just remember, last time you and Heather were in this truck you had a - a tiff about whether - when we blew up - we'd be dead or just burned and maimed."
 
Mimi turned toward Jake, giving him an appraising look.  "Really?  This is what you argue about?" she chuckled softly.  "So, how is Heather Green," she continued, not waiting for a reply.  "Ready to have that baby?"

Jake's eyebrows rose.  Heather going into labor was currently the worst of his long list of nightmares.  She was only twenty four or twenty five weeks pregnant, and while giving birth at this point would have been iffy before the bombs, now it would be a death sentence for their child.  Losing their baby - a real worry, now, as they stood on the brink of starvation - would devastate Heather, and could endanger her health.  It was the darkest of his dark thoughts and worries, always at the front of his mind, and so Jake persevered, doing what little he could to make sure they were fed.  Frowning, he shook his head, trying to push those fears away, if only for a moment.  "Well, she needs to wait 'til April," Jake muttered, his voice gruff.  "And she knows - whoa!"

"Whoa!" Jake shouted, louder this time, as he grabbed the dash with his gloved hand to brace himself as the truck came out of yet another curve in the road.  Stanley hit the brakes and the vehicle skidded to a stop.  "Oh my God," he swore, whispering.  In silence, they all stared at the field just off the side of the road.  There was trash, strewn in clumps, for as far as the eye could see.  The flotsam and jetsam of used up and no longer important things, Jake realized as he scanned the scene, a hard pit forming in his stomach.  The field was trampled down as if there had been a stampede and then, in a flash of unexpected movement against the still horizon, a pack ... a pack of dogs, his brain identified after a moment, ran across the road in front of the truck, intent on something and paying them no mind.

The animals were a motley crew of mostly mutts, though Jake recognized a boxer and what he guessed was some sort of large terrier mix in the group.  The dogs paused to nose through one of the garbage piles, undoubtedly searching for food.  Without discussion, Jake and Stanley both opened their doors, Mimi scrambling out the driver's side behind them.  The scene before them seemed to grow more ominous as they walked toward it, unconsciously slowing their pace the closer they got. 

"These dogs have tags."  Mimi's voice, laced with apprehension, seemed to ring out in the crisp air like a shot.   She pointed to the nearest animal, a brown and white short-haired mix about half the size of Baron which was wearing a black collar accented with little diamond-shaped rivets. 

"Look at this," Stanley added, pointing to the remains of a campfire, a pile of rags, a discarded cracker box, flapping in the breeze.  Looking up, he scanned the field in front of them, taking in the heaps of refuse that went on for as far as the eye could see.  "God," he muttered.

In a daze, they moved passed the dogs, shuffling farther into the field.  It seemed unreal, like a dream but Jake didn't bother to pinch himself, knowing he wasn't going to wake up from this particular nightmare.  A plastic bag blew by his foot and stepping on it, he bent over to pick it up, reading, "Wall Drugs."  Jake shook his head, remembering a visit to the famous store when he was eleven or twelve and his mother had decreed that for their family's summer vacation trip they were going to Mount Rushmore.  They had tried the free ice water, eaten roast beef sandwiches in the café, taken pictures with the dinosaur and jackalope, and then, that night in their motel room, they had split a tin of Wall Drug fudge four ways.  He and Eric, forced to share double beds in a succession of motel rooms for five days, had fought over the covers, kicking one another, and the drive between Kansas and South Dakota, Jake couldn't help but remember, had seemed to take forever.  He looked up, meeting his companions' uneasy gazes and clarified, "Wall, South Dakota."

"Do - do you think that's where all these people are coming from?" Mimi asked, her eyes wide as she stared, unblinking, at the unimaginable sight before them.

People, Jake thought, letting his head drop forward.  He looked down at the ground and found himself looking at the discarded top off a Dinty Moore beef stew can.  All of this ... this stuff had come from people, it represented people.  "Think about it," he sighed, "South Dakota without heat, electricity, or food being trucked in."  They didn't have any of those things either of course, but the ten extra degrees - give or take - that they had on South Dakota at this time of year really could end up being the difference between life or death, Jake decided, letting go of the plastic bag.

"It's gotta be even worse in North Dakota, Montana," Stanley offered, expelling a heavy breath.

Meanwhile, Mimi continued to walk farther into the field, compelled by her growing sense of horror and some contrary and frightening need to bear witness.  All along - everything that had happened - she'd told herself that each new thing was the worst that could happen.  Almost unwillingly, she had survived the bombs, the fallout, learning that Washington DC - her entire life - was gone.  She'd survived farm work and finding Stanley lying beaten and unconscious in his field.  Mimi remembered how hard her heart had been pounding, and how for a moment she'd feared that he was dead.  But here, standing in this field, it occurred to her that maybe she hadn't had it so bad - or at least that it could have been worse. 

She walked toward a piece of canvas, either a piece of tent or perhaps something that would have been used to cover the back of a truck.  Whatever it was, the olive green drab cloth was spread over the biggest pile of junk they had seen yet, and her curiosity was piqued.  Mimi looked down. 

"Oh my God," she gasped, taking an instinctive step back.  She pulled her cap off, heedless of the cold, running her fingers through her hair.  There was a hand.  The pile under the canvas wasn't things; rather it was a person, two people, dead.  The mound was the closest thing to a grave their companions had been able to manage before they had been forced to move on.

Jake and Stanley hurried to catch up with her, Jake squatting and folding the canvas back to reveal the corpse of a young woman - younger than Mimi, and probably younger than Heather.  He stared at her frozen, peaceful expression, and caught himself hoping that she'd simply fallen asleep in the bitter cold one night and just hadn't awoken the next morning.  "I read about this," Jake explained, clearing his throat.  "Black Jack.  Mass migration."  The story was coming out in short, clipped phrases; he didn't trust himself to give more than the headlines.  "Hundreds of thousands of people heading south," he continued, recovering the dead woman before standing back up.  "Trying to outrun winter."

Covering her mouth with her hand, Mimi forced herself to take a calming breath.  She glanced at Stanley, but then for some reason her gaze came to rest on Jake.  He'd never seen her expression so serious.  "Should we be doing that, too?" she asked, her voice small and uncertain in the whipping wind.

"No," Jake snapped immediately, his frown severe.  "It's five or six hundred miles to Oklahoma.  More to Texas or New Mexico, and we don't even know if we can get all the way to Flint Springs on the gas we have," he reminded, throwing his hands up in exasperation.  "You wanna start walking?"

"Jake's right," Stanley interrupted, blowing out a frustrated breath.  "At least if we stay put, we've got shelter, and come spring, we'll plant.  It's a little lean right now," he argued, "But at least if we can get through...."  He broke off, shrugging helplessly.

"I'm stayin' - we're stayin' put," Jake added, "Me and Heather.  We have to make a stand somewhere and it's Jericho."  He was scared of what was going to happen to them if they couldn't find sources of food soon, but running away would only make things worse.  In Jericho they were with their family at least.  They had a home that - if nothing else - was warmer than a tent pitched out on the prairie.  They had access to the clinic and doctors, a place for their baby to be born.  The only choice was to make things work here.  "Jericho's it," he repeated.

"I was just asking a question," Mimi muttered.  "I mean," she continued, huffing softly, "The last thing I'm gonna do is walk to Texas!"

They all knew that they needed to get going, but they found that they couldn't leave.  The need to wrap their heads around the situation - to understand what had happened there - kept them rooted to that field.  Stanley decided to measure the length of the field, pacing it off. 

"How far is it?" Jake called after his friend, seeing him reach the other end. 

"Sixty!" Stanley shouted back, "It's about sixty yards."

Mimi started to work the computation aloud.  "So, sixty yards with almost one point five people per yard, that's ninety almost a hundred people just across," she calculated, following behind Jake as he began to walk toward Stanley who was moving back toward them.

"With the ground trampled, you'd have to figure five or ten times that many people came through here," Jake suggested, glancing at Mimi over his shoulder.

"Almost a thousand people?" Mimi questioned, a dismayed note ringing in her tone.  Shaking her head she replaced her hat, pulling it down to the tips of her ears.  "Where are they going?"

Jake shrugged.  "Well, like I said.  South Texas, Mexico, any place warmer."

"Yeah," Stanley agreed, meeting them in the middle of the field.  He tucked both his gloved hands up into his armpits to warm them.  "But it'd take weeks to get there by foot," he argued.  "And, God knows how many people had the same idea.  Mexico's borders could be closed."

"We don't even know if there still is a Mexico," Mimi frowned.

Stanley expelled a long breath, which condensed into a white puff in the cold air.  "Maybe - maybe we should try to catch up to them," he muttered.

"We can barely feed ourselves, let alone hundreds more," Jake reminded.  He knew, too, that his family and the Richmonds were still better off than most in and around Jericho.  There had been a lot of grumbling in town lately over the refugees Roger Hammond had led to Jericho, though Jake wasn't sure if Stanley, somewhat isolated out on his farm, was aware of everything going on.  Gray Anderson would probably shoot Jake if he led a second wave of refugees into town.  Besides, while he felt bad for these desperate people, Jake couldn't help but feel that if it was a question of his own survival - his family's survival - versus theirs, then he would choose his family.  "We gotta keep going," he declared, forcing a stone-faced expression.  "All right?  Let's go."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tuesday, January 1, five years before the bombs

Her eyes wide, she stared back at him, her lips forming a small 'o'.  Heather crossed her arms over her chest, protectively, her breath hitching when she finally remembered to inhale.  "Was that supposed - were you actually proposing?  Or did you just - I really hope - pick a bad time to start thinking out loud?" she inquired finally, her forehead wrinkling.

"Well, why not?" Jake returned with a frown.  "Doesn't it feel like it's - like that's where we're headed?" he asked, his pulse suddenly racing.  He took another step toward Heather, starting to reach for her hand before he thought better of it and dropped his arm to his side, balling his hand into a fist.

"Yes," Heather nodded, her eyes falling momentarily closed.  "But - but not like this, okay?" she requested, blinking to keep her tears at bay.  She swiped the back of her hand across one eye.  Her head was spinning and she caught herself thinking that, as far as proposals went, this was worse than the one she'd received from Mark Metzger just over six months before.  Heather wanted to say 'yes', but not like this, not when he'd practically been forced into asking by his grandfather.  All she could do was hope that Jake would ask her again at some other time.  At some other time, and because it was his idea.  Biting her lip, Heather took a deep breath and caught his eye.  "Look," she declared, affecting a composure she didn't completely feel, "I think I better just go."

"No," he countered, moving next to her, this time taking her hand into his.  He laced their fingers together.  "Don't go," he pleaded, his expression clouding.

A ghost of a smile graced her lips.  "Jake, I love you," Heather told him, "But I don't want you to do this because your grandfather yelled at you."  Their gazes locked, and she could tell that he wanted nothing more than to argue the point.  She also knew that she couldn't let him.  Resting her free hand on his shoulder, Heather lifted herself on tiptoe so she could press a soft kiss to his mouth.  "I'm not mad," she reassured, "Okay?  But I'm gonna go - go home." 

With that, Heather took a step away from him and, a blush flaring on her cheeks, quickly pulled off the boxer shorts she was wearing.  She tried to tug her t-shirt down to cover her panties, but as soon as she reached for her jeans the shirt rode up and, shrugging, she gave up.  Giggling nervously, she glanced at Jake, watching the play of emotions on his face.  "We're okay, right?" she asked as she zipped up her pants.  Heather stepped close again, her bare toes grazing his, and laid her hand on his arm.  "Jake?" she murmured, tilting her head up.  "We're okay."

He took a deep, not completely steady breath and nodded.  "Yeah, sure," he exhaled softly.  "We're okay."  Jake swallowed hard, adding, "I - I love you," before then wrapping both his arms around her tightly.  His mouth descended upon hers.  Jake was almost desperate, he knew, to remind her - and himself - of everything they had together, how good they were for one another.  But when they pulled apart a few seconds later, they both attempted to hide their turbulent emotions behind smiles. 

Heather pressed her hand to his chest, right over his heart, letting it rest there for a moment before she took a step back.  "Love you, too," she answered, slipping past Jake and then out the door.

'We're okay.'  The words echoed in Jake's brain as he fell to a seat on the end of the bed and then, emitting a frustrated groan, threw himself back on the mattress.  What did that even mean after what had just happened?  His hand had landed on top of a pillow, and Jake pulled it to him, hugging it to his chest and burying his nose in the end.  Amazingly, after just a few hours, Heather's scent clung to the fabric and he inhaled deeply, letting it wash over him.  It calmed him, as much as her voice in his ear or her mere presence at his side could.  Jake couldn't believe he'd let her walk away.

But what choice had he had?  That traitorous thought drove him to sit up, and tossing the pillow away, he climbed to his feet.  He wanted to go after her, but then what?  Jake didn't know.  Looking around, he caught sight of the picture frame that Heather had given him for Christmas and which now sat on his bedside table amongst everything else: the alarm clock he rarely used - only, really, when he needed to be somewhere on time for her - the lamp,  some loose change, his watch, wallet and cell phone.  He took three steps toward the nightstand and grabbed the frame, drinking in the photographs.  They'd had such a good time that day - they almost always did - and, he remembered with a soft smile, how they had been mistaken for newlyweds by both photographers.  Apparently their friendship and affection - their love for each other - was obvious to nearly everyone.

He'd loved everything about that day, Jake realized, from Heather's enthusiasm for the trip despite her initial fear that she'd get airsick, to her incredible interest in what was happening and what they saw, to the questions she'd asked and the discussion, sometimes serious, sometimes silly, that those questions had sparked, to the fact she'd bet against Hank Doolittle and had won.  He concentrated on the picture of the two of them kissing, thinking about how Heather responded to his every kiss and every caress.  She intoxicated him in every way, but had also awoken a protective streak in him.  Only he hadn't protected her today. 

Jake wasn't really worried about Heather's reputation, the morals clause in her contract, or any gossip about her spending the night at the ranch getting around town.  Only he, she and Grandpa knew, so there wasn't much danger of it getting out.  But he was worried about the disappointment he'd seen in her eyes when she'd told him 'not like this'.  He'd hurt her, he realized, throwing out 'we should just get married' in his frustration.    She'd been right to question if he'd been proposing or just thinking out loud.  And it sure as hell didn't help, Jake decided, his anger at himself flaring, that he'd probably outdone her prick of an ex-boyfriend to win the distinction of having made the worst proposal of marriage she'd ever received.  "Damn it," he swore quietly, setting the picture frame back down on the nightstand.

Stalking the short distance between the bed and his bureau, Jake castigated himself for messing this up - for ruining that moment for Heather.  The words, he admitted to himself, had come out of his mouth without truly passing through his brain, but that didn't mean he didn't mean them.  Considering this thought, Jake grabbed jeans and a t-shirt out of the dresser.  'We should just get married,' and 'that's where we're headed'.  Neither was stated terribly eloquently but it was the truth.  A truth that didn't scare him, Jake began to comprehend as he pulled his jeans on.  What scared him was what had just happened; he'd disappointed Heather and had driven her away. 

From outside - the front porch or the driveway just below his room - Jake heard Baron bark.  He finished pulling on his shirt, and then moved around the bed to the window in time to see Grandpa hand Heather into the truck and close the door.  The older man yelled at the puppy to be quiet - Jake couldn't hear his grandfather, but Baron did stop barking - and then moved around the front of the truck to open the driver's door.  "No," Jake declared aloud, surprising himself.  "No!"  He exited the room running.

Jake practically jumped down the stairs, and then almost bit it when he started to slip on a throw rug in the entry.  Flinging the front door open, he saw the truck make the loop in front of the garage, turning so that they were headed back down the driveway.  He leapt off the porch, his bare feet slapping on the walk's cold flagstone, sending a jolt up his spine.  It was flurrying, he realized, his feet now stinging as he ran across the paved drive and through the muddy and dormant flowerbed at the center of the circle, Baron hot on his heels.  "Stop!" he shouted.  The truck was just a few feet ahead of him and he chased it down, pounding on the side.  "Stop!  Stop!  Stop, stop, stop!"

"What in the world, Jake?" Grandpa barked, flinging open his door.  "Are you tryin' to get yourself run over?" he demanded, starting to climb out of the truck's cab.

Panting, his grandson waved him off.  "Don't - just - just give me a minute."  With that he moved past his grandfather and around the front of the truck.  Jake caught Heather's eye through the windshield, holding her gaze. 

Heather felt her heart start to beat harder under the intensity of his stare.  Her mouth went dry and she held her breath.  By the time he'd reached her door, she'd rolled down her window.  "Jake," she murmured, eyes wide.  Uncertainty was written across her expression.  "We're - we're okay," she reminded, "I'm just going -"

"I was thinking out loud," he interrupted, resting both hands just inside the open window.  "You're right about that.  But I was still thinkin' about - about what's important to me, what I - what I want.  And I'm sorry it came out like it did," Jake apologized, "But I can do it better, I promise."  He took a breath finally and reached through the window for her hand, tugging on it.  "Come for a walk with me."

She emitted a shaky giggle, glancing first at Grandpa Green, who'd climbed back into the driver's seat and was studying them both with undisguised interest, and then at Jake who's gaze was so intense.  "Jake, you don't have to do this," Heather protested, her eyes wide.  "I'm a big girl, and I'm fine."

"I'm not doing this because I have to," he argued, unlocking her door from the inside before popping it open.  "And not because of anyone else's opinion," he added, glaring at his grandfather, "Or what anyone else thinks.  I'm doing this because it's what I want."  Jake let go of her hand and backed up, pulling the truck door open.  He stepped into the shelter of the door and reached, this time, for both her hands.  "I - I hope it's what you want, too," he said softly, squeezing her fingers.

Too stunned - too elated - to answer, Heather allowed him to draw her out of the truck and into a hug.  He buried his face in her hair, yelping when she accidentally trod on his chilled toes.  That was enough to free Heather from her shock-fueled muteness, and she frowned at him in concern.  "Jake!" she protested, taking a step back, "Where are your shoes?  And your coat?"

"Inside," he dismissed, rubbing his injured toes against his other leg to warm them. "I'll get 'em in a minute.  Couldn't let you leave," Jake confessed, offering her a tentative smile.  He took a deep breath and, brushing a strand of hair off her face, asked, "So will you go for a walk with me?"

Her eyes wide, Heather nodded.  "Okay," she murmured, barely audible.  "Well, if you put some shoes on," she added a second later, her tone one of gentle scolding.

"So where'r you two goin'?" Grandpa inquired, startling them both.

Jake drew Heather back to him and she turned in his arms so that they were both facing his grandfather.  "We're gonna go check out the view from the water tower," Jake answered, glancing down at Heather.  She met his gaze with a shy smile, and he couldn't stop himself from brushing his mouth over hers.  "Sound good?" he inquired.

"The view?" Grandpa snorted, his tone skeptical.  "What the - whatever for?"

After exchanging a quick look with Heather, Jake faced his grandfather, his expression suddenly serious.  "I've got a question I need to ask."

"Well then," Grandpa said, a grin breaking out on his face, "Better get to it.  Now, how's pancakes sound for breakfast when you get back?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tuesday, December 26, three months after the bombs

Trying to keep warm, Johnston had practically jogged the whole way home from Bailey's.  He arrived winded - panting - and entered the house through the front door, slamming it behind him against the cold.  Dropping his backpack next to the front door and slipping his rifle off his back, he hurried into the living room.

"Hi, honey," Gail greeted, looking over her shoulder and offering him a smile.  She stirred the fire with the poker, shivering against the chill that gripped the room.  "How'd it go?" she inquired quietly.

"Eh, the whole thing was a bust," Johnston admitted with a deep sigh.  He set his rifle down, checking the safety out of habit before leaning it against one of the club chairs.  He turned to face his wife.   "I'm sorry, hon," he apologized.  "Two days, and we didn't even see anything to shoot at," he grumbled, shaking his head.  "But Jake's out there now, and hopefully he and Stanley will have better luck than we did."  Johnston glanced around the room before cocking his head, listening to the house.  Aside from the crackling of the fire and the wind whipping against the building, there wasn't a sound.  "Where's everybody?  April and Heather?"

"They're both at the clinic, along with the boys," Gail answered, hugging herself against the cold.  "Heather's still working on windmill plans for some reason, and April's agreed to loan her office.  Heat and light won her over," she chuckled.  "But they both promised me they'd take naps."

"Good," Johnston nodded.  "Did they eat?" he asked, taking off his gloves and dropping them on the club chair's seat.   He moved over to join her in front of the fire.  "Today, I mean?  Did you eat?"

"The girls ate this morning.  Ramen noodle hash with egg," she laughed softly.  "My own creation.  I'm thinking of putting together a cookbook.  Maybe a group effort, through the church.  'The Main Street PC Women's Auxiliary Post-Apocalyptic Cookbook'," Gail suggested, allowing a wry grin.  "And, I'm fine," she assured him patting his arm, "I'll be fine 'til dinner," Gail said, as aware as he that it was barely ten in the morning.  "No need to worry about me."

"Sweetie..."

"Johnston, I'll be fine," she interrupted, a stubborn note ringing in her voice.  "I've got some carrots and half a cabbage, plus one potato left from Stanley," Gail listed.  "We'll have soup for dinner tonight, and if Jake brings something home, we'll throw it in, too.  It's just a few hours away," she argued, flashing a smile that was brighter and braver than they both knew she felt.  "We just have to keep stretching until ....  Well, until."

Closing his eyes momentarily, Johnston nodded.  They were all waiting on that elusive 'until'.  Until one of the hunting parties has some success.  Until there was another airdrop.  Until the proverbial cavalry rode into town and saved the day.  For a man who had always been as self-sufficient as Johnston - who'd always made his own luck and done for himself - it was hard to wait for 'until'.  And, it was harder still to watch his family face starvation.

"So, Jimmy stopped by earlier this morning, after his shift," Gail informed him a few seconds later, interrupting his bleak train of thought.  Jimmy had taken to dropping by a few times a week to clue them in on what was happening in town that they might not have otherwise heard about right away.  Whether his actions were out of some odd, unspoken loyalty to Johnston or just some secret desire to get back at Gray Anderson who, suspecting disloyalty, didn't treat the deputy so well, none of them knew, but they certainly appreciated the information. Johnston grunted and she took it as a request to continue.  "He found the Harpers dead last night," Gail explained, letting out a long breath.  "He thought it had - it had been a few days.  Before - before Christmas, likely," she recounted, the muted horror she felt over the situation evident in how she stumbled over her words.  "The fire was out, the house was freezing, there wasn't any food.  Jimmy said that, near as he could figure, Karen - she shot - she shot both Ryan and George in their beds."  Gail let out a deep sigh.  "And - and then she turned the gun on herself."

"Aw, hell," Johnston muttered, absently unzipping his jacket.  He had long found Karen Harper to be a humorless, strident woman, and he'd had a hard time even treating her civilly after learning how she had punished his sons when she'd been their babysitter, but he'd certainly never wished her or her family any harm.  "Do Heather and Jake know?" Johnston asked, knowing that their son and daughter-in-law had disliked Karen Harper even more than he had.  But Heather had taught Ryan Harper, and the boy had undoubtedly claimed a piece of her heart, as all her students did.  And, no one could dislike the long-suffering George Harper, who had always tried to do his best for his family, even if they wondered over his choice of wife.

"Not yet," she returned quietly, "But I'm sure they'll hear soon enough."

Nodding his agreement, Johnston shrugged out of his jacket and then quickly pulled it back on.  It was almost as cold inside as out he realized, shivering.  "I hope it's warmer in that clinic than it is in this house," he grumbled.

"I think this house has dropped ten degrees in the last hour," Gail admitted, leaning against Johnston when he wrapped one arm around her.  "Feels like a storm's coming in."

"We better seal up these windows the best way we can," he suggested, moving toward the bay window at the front of the house.  Sunlight streamed in through the shutters, but then a gust of wind rattled the house, adding emphasis to his point. 

"I've been going around collecting old sheets and linens," Gail informed him, pointing to a tall pile of linens that rested on the coffee table.  "We'll shove them under the doors," she decided.  "Oh!" she laughed, turning back toward the desk in the corner.  "Oh, look what I found hidden away in the attic.  Jake's old footlocker."  Gail held up a three quarters full bottle of Scotch for her husband to see.  "Lord knows how long that's been there."

"A decade at least," Johnston snorted, taking the bottle from her.   He examined the label, grinning gently from behind his beard.  "Well, at least he was drinking the good stuff.  I used to hide the most awful rotgut in the world behind my mother's china cabinet," he admitted with a chuckle, weighing the bottle in his hand.  Looking up a few seconds later he caught his wife watching him, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth.  Johnston knew that look.  His grin widening, he raised an eyebrow in silent question.

"Whaddya think?" she asked, smiling. 

"On an empty stomach?" he countered - futilely, he knew.  He'd always been powerless to resist that particular smile. 

Gail's smile grew.  "I'll get the glasses," she decided, allowing a throaty chuckle.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

If you don't know What Are You Doing New Year's Eve? then here's a pretty good version of the song. :-)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kU_BBNeumLI


Wall Drugs is one a must-see on your way to or from Mt. Rushmore. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wall_Drug or http://www.walldrug.com/