Pt. 7

He had found the coffee in a Ford pickup that had run off the road over an embankment. It had remained upright but set at a precarious angle with one of its rear wheels off the ground. It was what they called a "Bumpside." The term referred to the convex trim line along the body of the truck. He guessed that it was an early 1970's model. It was painted turquoise green and cream. On the doors on both sides it said "Pedersen Construction" with a phone number. There didn't appear to be any damage to the truck. He surmised that the elderly woman who had been driving may have suffered a heart attack from what she had experienced that day. Her small frame lay wedged between the steering column and the driver side door, her arms hung down towards the floorboards. The gases produced in her after death had caused a grotesque swelling of her body. He was reminded of a line of a poem that he had learned in school... "I was sick with dread, but I bravely said, I'll just take a peep inside, I guess he's cooked, it's time I looked, and then the door I opened wide." She must have been on her way home from the grocery store. Canned goods and other items had spilled onto the floor from overturned paper sacks. A swarm of flies and ants were gorging themselves near a container of "Moose Tracks" ice cream which had melted onto the seat. There were two cans of "Hills Brothers" original blend coffee that he put in one of the paper sacks along with a roll of paper towels, a package of white handkerchiefs, and a small can of sliced pineapple. There was a tool box that ran behind the cab of the truck. He popped open one of the hatches and shoved the sack inside. The rest of the items he turned over to the "scavenge detail." Later that day on his way back to his quarters, he quietly recovered what he had hidden.

He made a small fire in the woodstove and put a good pint of water in a large tin can and set it on the stove to heat. He had laid out one of the white handkerchiefs and carefully placed a full spoon of the ground coffee in the center. Then he secured the coffee with a wire twist tie that he had found. When the water was getting hot, he put the handkerchief in the water and let it steep for a few minutes. He poured the coffee into a ceramic mug that he had found alongside the foundation of the old house. On the side of the mug was written, Drink your coffee...it's chaos out there."

He had set one of the old chairs outside the door on the concrete slab. That side of the shed faced to the east. He sat drinking his coffee and watching the sun come up through the trees. Fireball was contentedly grazing in a patch of lamb’s quarters a few yards away. He often made a tea from the leaves of the plants. It seemed to help the burning in his hip. It was the "Seventh Day" so there would be no work details today, though there would be a "conclave" later that night. The "Seers" had decided that the "conclave" on the "Seventh Day" would be held after the sun went down. They must have believed that it gave more dramatic effect to the weekly book burning. There was a small village about ten miles to the west named "Antler." He decided that he would ride Fireball to the village and glean whatever he could find. He thought that he would have sufficient time to be back for the "conclave."

Hanging from a nail on one of the rafters was a worn pair of "Liberty" bib overalls. On the day that he had taken up residence here, he noticed them suspended from a plastic clothesline that ran between two cedar posts sunk in the yard. Whoever this farm belonged to before must have been about his same size. It felt good to be washed and have something clean to put on. He took a few moments to scrub his other clothes as best that he could and hang them on the clothesline to dry. In an old grain sack he put a plastic gallon jug filled with water. In another he put two quarts of oats, a few sugar cubes, what remained of the vodka and the can of sliced pineapple. Then he tied the two together with a length of baler twine. This way they would hang comfortably across Fireball's withers. With another length of twine he tied a loop which would slip over his head. The other end he tied a bowline knot around the trigger guard of the Colt pistol. He slipped the loop over his head and tucked the .45 into his overalls.

He had braided a simple bosal from some olive colored paracord that he had found. He slipped it over Fireball's nose and led her over to the chair that set outside the door. He found that getting astride this old Belgian was easier by using the chair. He smiled to himself thinking that he wasn't a kid anymore who could leap up on a horse like Lash La Rue. He estimated that she stood about eighteen hands at her withers. "Well ol' girl, are you ready for our big adventure?”...he said. The road leading to Antler ran to the west. It normally wasn't a heavily trafficked road. Often you could see farmers on the road moving their equipment to one of the many fields of corn or wheat that spread endlessly into the distance. But on this morning there was nothing. There were no sounds of birds, no lowing of cattle, no anxious barking from someone's blue heeler. There was a large piece of plastic that was caught in a barbed wire fence that ran beside the road. It was what farmers used to wrap their round bales of hay in. It made a rattling sound as it flapped in the breeze. Other than that there was nothing. Fireball held her head high and seemed to have quite a spring in her step this morning, he thought. Maybe she sensed that today she wouldn't be tethered to some maggot infested cow carcass. The morning sun felt warm on his back as they headed west to Antler.