Forager (9781771275606) Page 12

  Sawyer had told me not to get sidetracked. The most important thing I could do was find the alternator. The infection in his leg made me wonder it that was still true. He’d claimed to be feeling better, but the inflammation in his leg spoke louder. There might be something inside that house that could help him.

  I considered finding a way in, but decided that finding the harvester took priority. Besides, I could always sneak back and search the house another time. At least I hoped I could.

  For the rest of the day, I rode down the gravel road. More often than not, barbwire fences fringed the road beside me. It did nothing to keep the tall yellow prairie grass and the occasional wildflower from growing right up to the road, and sometimes on it. All of the barns and sheds were faded and worn. There was either no combine, or the wrong one. The uncaring sun continued to march across the sky, and I lost count of how many buildings I searched. There were red, yellow, blue, green, and gray combines. How was it possible for there to be so many different kinds? I’m not even sure any two had the same model number on any of them.

  Frustration built in me, rising higher and higher until I wanted to scream. It was maddening, entering all those dimly-lit barns and sheds. The worst buildings were those that held green combines. My heart always sped up. I’d try telling myself to calm down, to make sure it was the right one before I got excited. Nothing helped. It was such a letdown when the wrong numbers appeared on the big side panels. I wanted to give up. People were counting on me, though, especially Sawyer. I couldn’t let him down.

  The sun, now low in the western sky, was almost finished with its daily chore. The light wouldn’t last much longer, so I called it a day and start looking for a place to spend the night. I didn’t want to repeat last night’s uncomfortable bed. Granted, there were worse places to sleep than a hard concrete patio, but there were a lot better ones too.

  Fred and I rode to the next farm. There was a small barn, and the small white house appeared ordinary enough. The doorknob turned freely under my hand.

  This house was more my style than the one I’d entered this morning. A few magazines and newspapers were spread on an old coffee table in front of a soft-looking couch. That was as much as I needed to see.

  Putting Fred in a small fenced-off area near the barn, I even remembered to take off her saddle. Behind the barn, a bucket hung from a water pump. I filled the bucket, fed Fred her ration of oats, and gave her a really good grooming.

  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.

  Chapter Fifteen

  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 co
nfident 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.

  I longed to return home. The fun was gone from Foraging. I wanted the comfort of my bed, and my boring post watching for Scavengers. I wanted to sit down to one of Millie’s dinners and watch the laugh lines by her eyes grow deeper at the sight of me, and sneak covert glimpses of Chane who’d be sitting a few tables away. All of it was better than leading Fred down this lonely gravel road. I wanted things to go back the way they were, before the Scavenger attack, before I’d shot the deer, before I’d met Sawyer.

  I stopped, and Fred patiently waited by my side. It wasn’t true. I was glad I’d met Sawyer. He’d given me the opportunity to be out here, a chance to be something more. That settled it. Then and there, I decided to prove Sawyer right. To show him, and everyone else, that I wasn’t just some kid. And most of all, I needed to do it for myself.

  Mounting Fred, I urged her down the road. The next two buildings didn’t have combines so I kept going. The road rose and fell in front of me in gentle waves. On either side, nature was reclaiming the deserted acres. The once-tidy fields teemed with prairie grasses, thistles, and weeds of every kind.<
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  After another mile, I saw a white building with a large green panel door and a green metal roof. It was unusual, because it sat all by itself about thirty feet off the road. There was no house, no barn, not even any trees nearby.

  I rode Fred up the small incline of the turn off. Old gravel crunched under her hooves.

  Dismounting, I found the door padlocked. Making my way around the building, I looked for a side door. Instead, on the back side of the building, a foot or so below eye level, a nail pounded into the shed. The nail held a key ring with a single key.

  The ring disintegrated in my hand when I took if off the nail. All that remained were small reddish orange flakes. The key felt sturdier. I gently banged it against the building a couple of times to knock off the worst of the rust. It held together.

  The key fit the lock, but the lock didn’t open. I wondered for a moment if the key was for something else—except it had to be for this door. There was nothing else out here to lock up. Pulling the key out of the lock, I thumped the lock against the door a couple of times hoping that would loosen whatever was binding it.

  I tried again. The lock was stubborn. Putting a little more pressure on the key, I tugged on the lock. The key twisted off with a sharp snap of metal. My heart sank, until I realized the key’s last task was complete. The lock was open.

  Pulling the heavy panel door open as far as I could, my breath came hard and fast. Inside was a green combine. I quickly moved around to the big panels on the side. Through the dust the yellow numbers read one-two-seven-four. My pulse raced. It was the right number, but was it the right year?

  Racing up the harvester’s steps, I threw open the door and knelt down to look at the identification panel. The last two digits were zero nine.

  Breathing a huge sigh of relief, I jumped down from the cab with a fist pump. A huge smile lit my face. I held my back straight and my shoulders wide.