Trevor returned his attention to the papers.
Not much had happened in the ten days since the raid on the warehouse. During that time, Trevor concentrated on consolidating the situation around the estate.
The Brewers, Shep, and Sheila lived in the main mansion. Sal, Danny Washburn, and Evan Godfrey stayed in the three apartments above the garage. Omar and his family occupied the A-Frame with Nina in the rooms above their garage.
The Rheimmers welcomed four of Stonewall’s followers to their farm. Better still, five more of Stonewall’s troop used supplies from an Agway warehouse to re-start another dormant farm. That meant more crops, more cattle (some found grazing aimlessly in countryside) and more hope for the growing band of survivors.
Those of Stonewall’s crew who remained at the lake took residence in a quaint cluster of homes just past the Methodist Church where Sal ran his kitchen.
Despite Omar's chain-smoking, he proved invaluable. Earlier that week, he led a scavenging party to the Environmental Sciences Department at the Penn State Lehman Campus where they secured a supply of doped N and P type silicon: essential ingredients for building solar panels. Combined with the 'charge controller', batteries and 'inverter' in storage at the mansion, Trevor possessed the materials for a solar power array.
A work crew cut the tops off several trees to give the estate a better view of the southern sky, the best angle for collecting solar radiation.
Still, Omar warned that the long dark days of winter neared. Therefore, traditional generators would remain the primary energy source. Unfortunately, the limited quantity of portable generators could not meet the growing demand. Some of the occupied homes around the lake relied completely on candles for lighting and fireplaces for heating.
Of course, the new homesteads-including the new farm-conspired to spread thin Trevor’s most valuable resource: the Grenadiers.
Back in early August, the estate's garrison counted more than 60 dogs of various types. Disease, accidents, and engagements claimed several K9 lives during the summer. The search for Nina Forest sacrificed another nine. Four more had been killed or mortally wounded since.
The K9s' charge now included guarding the estate, two farms, and several homes around the lake. Furthermore, at any one time at least four bitches carried pups. Therein lay some good news: as many as 100 new Grenadiers would mature to fighting age by spring.
Interestingly, the canines mated within breed lines, maintaining the unique advantages and specific roles of each pedigree. They did their part in the grand scheme. More links on more chains, Trevor supposed.
The idea of specific roles carried over to many of the humans, too. Omar's tinkering would be critical in the times ahead, but that was obvious as was the contributions from warriors such as Shepherd and Nina.
Finding 'diamonds in the rough' satisfied Trevor even more. For example, Danny Washburn could fight fine, but his lighthearted attitude provided relief from the gloom. Others, such as Sal Corso and his kitchen, found a niche beyond the battles.
Kristy Kaufman-one of Stonewall's 'officers'- insisted on wearing make up and clothing looted from the finest stores and carried a mirror to check her hair-which she did often-and her outfits always matched. This fascination with propriety and luxury did not come from vanity, but personal dignity: she refused to yield to the Apocalypse.
In the old world, Kristy worked as an Accounting Director at a bank. Trevor tapped her organizational skills to track the community in terms of their needs, residences, skills, and more. With help from Lori Brewer, Kristy managed a census of sorts.
Stone stepped away from the desk and onto the balcony. 'Indian Summer' had faded and a cold October breeze chilled his arms. He would need a jacket for the day's work. Still, the goose bumps came not from the chill but from anticipation.
He considered today a test. He knew they would never truly go forward if they did everything piecemeal therefore, multiple tasks lay on the day's agenda.
Last night, K9 patrols caught scent of hostiles near the village of Noxen to the north; some kind of pack animals. At dawn, Trevor had dispatched a war party of Rottweilers and Huskies to confront, assess, and eliminate the threat.
In addition, Omar would lead a team to the new farm for a review of essential needs including water supply issues and the possibility of rigging a solar power system there.
Each task-the K9 war party and Omar’s work force-ranked as important. However, neither matched the magnitude of the raid on the airport.
During Nina's tour of duty at a rescue station outside of Philadelphia, she heard radio chatter that an army tactical air support unit abandoned prize equipment at the Scranton/Wilkes-Barre airport. Trevor organized a strike force to reach the airport and grab any goodies.
On any other day, such a raid would be a big project. On that day, it was but one of three projects. Trevor knew that he needed to be aggressive to maintain the momentum of his mission. He knew that soon ‘survive’ must change to ‘fight’.
– An assault team mustered in the driveway. Trevor joined them after throwing a camouflage jacket over his black T-shirt and heavy gray pants.
The group chatted excitedly as they checked guns and utility belts.
Trevor had amassed a small army for the mission and they dressed the part. Jon Brewer, 'Bear' Ross, and Danny Washburn wore green BDUs. Nina Forest and Jerry Shepherd dressed in their SWAT tactical outfits. Garrett 'Stonewall' McAllister completed the line up in his heavy confederate coat, hat, and sword, all snatched months ago from a South Carolina museum.
As they prepared, they shared lighthearted jokes and jovial conversation, except for one person: Nina's stiff lip and narrow eyes suggested the levity grated on her. She ignored the talk and focused on strapping tight a pistol-packed rig. Nina stretched her leg and rested a foot on the tire of a Humvee as she worked the Velcro of the holster around her upper thigh.
Danny Washburn stopped in the middle of a joke about a hitchhiking nun and a truck driver. He stepped to Nina then slowly-intently-caressed his eyes over her outstretched leg.
Danny said, 'Say baby, do those legs go aaalll the way up?'
'They go all the way up,' she said. 'All the way up your ass.'
He moaned, 'Ooo…hey, I’m just kiddin’ ‘round.'
'ATF, right? That’s all you guys ever do, kid around. One word for you: ‘Waco.’'
That one word recalled the death of numerous ATF agents during an infamous 1993 raid.
'Why you-'
'Relax,' she said without a smile in sight. 'I’m just kiddin’ ‘round.'
'Hey, easy does it,' Trevor broke in as he rested his M4 carbine on the roof of the Humvee and tied his boot.
Danny Washburn said, 'I think your friend here is looking for trouble.'
'Trouble?' Trevor finished with the laces, stood, and gave Nina an inquisitive stare as if deciphering a code on her face. 'No, she’s not looking for trouble.'
Danny came back, 'Well she’s looking for something.'
The edge in Danny’s voice dulled. He liked Danny for that; things rolled off his back.
Trevor agreed, 'Now that’s true.'
'What’s true?' Nina asked.
'You’re looking for something,' Trevor answered as he tightened his utility belt.
'Oh, I am, am I?'
'Yep,' he sounded very matter-of-fact. 'But you don’t know what it is. I don’t think you even realize you’re looking. Not really. Not yet.'
'Oh brother. Let me guess. Am I looking for true love? Prince Charming? Do I need to go find a frog to kiss?'
Washburn quipped, 'Ribbit.'
'Nah,' Trevor shook his head.
'Well, are you going to tell me? What am I looking for?'
