Chapter 3

December 3rd, 2:00pm – Slippery Rock, PA

The militia members sat underneath the pavilion around various metal garbage cans, heat radiating from the logs burning within. Someone was walking around with cups of coffee, everyone eagerly drinking the warm liquid. Steve, Taylor, and Harry were huddled together to preserve body heat. The cold weather hadn’t been so bad during drills; they were all moving around enough to stay cozy. Now that practice was over, though, the sweat on their backs and brows felt like sharp, cold thorns that drained the warmth from their bodies.

Taylor shivered slightly, pulling her coat around her. “That warm shower sounds amazing right about now,” she muttered.

Harry nodded. “I’m looking forward to changing into thermal pajamas when we get back home.”

“Are there any other chores for us to do when we get home?” Steve asked.

“I don’t think we should hunt today,” Harry replied. “It’s too cold for that. Hopefully Chloe and Tori got some fish. Even if they didn’t, I could go for one of Meghan’s jars of beef stew.”

Taylor’s stomach growled in response. They always brought food with them to keep their energy up, but she could use a hot, hearty meal after practicing so hard all day.

“Hi there, guys,” Bobby greeted as he walked over. He glanced at Taylor and smiled bashfully. “And Taylor.” Bobby was one of the vendors from the trading post with whom Steve, Harry, and Bryan had made friends when they’d saved his mother from a cholera outbreak. Bobby never knew there were any females in their group until Taylor joined the militia; for the first few months, the women had never visited the trading post and the men kept quiet about their living situation. The less people knew about the cabin, the better, as far as they were concerned.

It didn’t take Bobby long to learn, once she joined the militia, that Taylor could hold her own—better than most of the older men there could—and that she didn’t take anyone’s crap. Whenever other militia members would give her flack for being a “little girl trying to be tough,” she’d put them in their place. Harry was always filled with pride when he saw her defend herself against arrogant chauvinists; he never had to intervene as she’d easily come back at any man who challenged her. It wasn’t long before Taylor was treated like one of the guys, and Bobby admired her greatly for her strength. She reminded him of his mother having to be strong and take care of him and his brother after his father had died. She and Taylor would probably get along quite well.

Taylor looked at him and smiled. “Hey there, Bobby,” she replied casually. Six years his junior, he was the only person near her age in the militia, so they would often discuss pre-Blackout hobbies like their favorite movies and video games. He was always polite to her, and her father and Steve had taken a liking to him.

“How's your town holding up?” Steve asked. “Are the people from the tent cities still helping out?”

Bobby nodded. “We’d probably be much worse off if it wasn’t for them,” he responded. “I’m really glad they moved into the vacant homes. They’ve done a great job teaching people how to hunt and fish, and many of them contributed extra supplies to the community’s rations. Many of us would be close to starving by now if it wasn’t for them.” He sighed. “That doesn’t mean we still won’t, though; it’s getting harder to find food, and the rations are getting low even with everyone just taking the bare minimum and reducing portion sizes. I’m sure there are those who are hoarding food—which honestly I totally understand because of all the hard work we put into our vegetable garden—but most of the neighborhood has been great.”

“Maybe the militia can figure out a way to get more food to the towns, at least until spring,” Harry said.

“I hope so,” Bobby began, “otherwise I worry that a lot of us won’t make it to spring.” He shuffled his feet. “Um, I also wanted to ask: will Doctor Bryan be coming to any of the militia meetings?”

“Probably not,” Steve replied. “Why? Your mom isn’t sick again, is she?”

“No, she’s fine. I just…well…I was thinking. There’s probably going to be an outbreak of the flu at some point—it is that time of year, after all—and I was hoping to maybe get with him to get a game plan together in the event another communicable disease hits the town. We don’t have a resident doctor; it’d be nice to have a little bit of know-how to prevent too many people from getting gravely ill.”

Harry nodded. “Good thinking,” he agreed. “I’ll talk to Bryan. Maybe you guys can meet at the trading post to discuss arrangements, or he can come to your house on cold days.”

“I’d really appreciate that,” Bobby said. “Thank you.” He finished his tea, throwing the paper cup into the fire. “I should get going.” He shook Steve’s and Harry’s hand, smiling again at Taylor. “I’ll see you at the next meeting, if I don’t see you at the trading post first.”

“I’m sure you’ll see us around the trading post soon,” Steve said. “Hopefully we’ll have some warmer days so the dairy farmer and baker will show up.”

“I hope so,” Bobby agreed. “I have lots of potatoes I’d like to trade for canned food.”

As Bobby walked away, Taylor shook her head. “We have it pretty good,” she whispered. “I feel bad for these people. I wish there was more I could do.”

“We’ll figure out a way,” her father said. “Without them, there’d be no militia, and I worry about what kind of people we’d be dealing with without them around.”