Red the First by C. D. Verhoff Read Free Book Online Page B

worker, in
his early thirties, named Jerome Firestine. The kid told everybody
to call him Nate. They’d come all the way from New York based on
Jerome’s hunch that they were supposed to go to Ohio. Nate and
Jerome moved into a house down the street, but within a couple of
weeks, the kid set up his own homestead closer to the town square.
Red had reservations about letting someone so young live alone, but
Nate was an independent little cuss and had survive don his own for
months before hooking up with Jerome. More people trickled in every
week, many of them on bicycles, some on foot, a few carpooling. It
was a mystery how they had found the place. The common explanation
was simple: I felt called.
    Red and Elizabeth felt the
responsibility to get all of them through the winter. They had
explored many of the homes in the area already, so they helped the
newcomers find the best homes to support rustic living.
    Red shared firewood but he taught the
new arrivals how to cut it for themselves, and was kept busy
maintaining the axes and splitting mauls in sharp condition. Come
spring, Red and Elizabeth were sharing what they had learned about
gardening and divided up the seeds Michael had insisted they
saved—Red was now glad for the boy’s obsession with plants and with
gardening. It never would have occurred to him to save seeds from
the tomatoes, peppers, and other vegetables, much less the flowers.
Only a few zucchini seeds this year! Ten plants would provide all
they needed, he knew now.
    In late summer, Elizabeth taught them
how to can fruits and vegetables. Soon other cottages along the
road were populated. A village formed. By the end of the year,
seventy-two people, ranging in age from eighteen months to
eighty-one years, had joined the community and more arrived every
week.
    Some of the newcomers had useable
skills such as masonry and carpentry, but most professions had
become obsolete with the fall of civilization. Men and women
struggled to find new ways to be useful.
    There were whispers about members of
the community possessing unusual abilities. Somehow word had leaked
out about Michael’s gardening ability, so people brought their
seeds to him for a special blessing. When an important tool broke,
it was brought to Red because he had the knack for doing impossible
repairs.
    An eight-year-old girl from a
neighboring establishment could predict the weather with one
hundred percent accuracy, which was useful for planning harvests
and parties alike, but mostly the subject of special gifts was
avoided until one late-autumn evening, it came to the
forefront.
    Learning to farm on a larger scale than
a few tomato plants in their back yards occupied the time of dozens
of people, as the town’s population grew. Their search for fuel was
spreading out over an ever increasing radius, and what little they
found was used to run heavy farm equipment. Keith Brown, who had
been a highway worker before the plague, had taken to farming
better than many, accustomed as he was to operating the heavy
machinery used in road construction. Keith was hauling one of the
one-ton round hay bales in the scoop of a tractor when it rolled
off, pinning him painfully to the seat. He moaned pitifully as town
folk gathered around, unsure what to do.
    Ollie Morningside arrived on the scene.
He came from a long line of farmers and everybody called him Farmer
Morningside, a name he didn’t seem to mind. He had became an
important resource and teacher since the plague. When he saw what
had happened, his hands went to his temples. “Sweet Jesus in
heaven, Keith, how many times did I tell you to use the lift, not
the scoop!”
    “ I’m sorry…” the injured man
said weakly.
    “ I was afraid something like
this might happen,” Farmer Morningside nervously rolled up his
baseball cap in his hands, his voice softening. “I told him to use
the forklift.” He rubbed his head. “The forklift. Yeah, yeah,
that’s what we need, the forklift.” He