Jake decided to start working on the wood stoves instead, one of them, the main one in the kitchen had to be put out first and four buckets of water dumped in to cool the fire enough to clean out the coals into a second bucket of water. It hissed and spit, even though he'd been certain everything would be out. He had to use most of their water for it, but could go back to the river if needed for more. The other stove just had to be loaded up, so he disconnected it and drug it out noisily. It left some scratches on the floor, which made him feel bad for a bit, it looked to be nice hardwood too. It felt like a stupid thing to worry about, since the owner of the place was probably long dead, but it wasn't his floor to mark up like that. Maybe, if he got a change he could refinish it or something?
This stove was smaller and lighter, which didn't mean light, not for one person. Hefting it up onto the wagon was possible at least. Barely. He'd need help with the bigger one, he decided, standing there, panting, a fine sheen of sweat clinging to his arms.
They had the meat too, already hanging and ready to go back with them. It took the others longer to finish, carrying strings of boots, belts and various other items with them. A few shirts, some jewelry that couldn't have fit any of the men at all, probably kept as loot. Gold? Silver? What were they going to do with that? Ask some girl to marry them? Probably right before they killed her and had sex with the corpse.
That wasn't kind, he realized, and probably not even true. They'd just rape the girl and leave her. Or kill her. That sounded more likely for the police in Westwood, if they could be called that anymore. They called themselves that, but it didn't make it true, did it? Real cops would eat these losers for lunch.
Or they could, if they were cannibals.
They got back to the house by two in the afternoon, and the meat got loaded directly into the smoke shed, a ten by ten fire powered structure that used cold smoke to... do something Jake didn't exactly understand to the meat. It wasn't enough and it still would need to be dried, a lot of it got cut into thin strips and laid out on old window screens for that.
Some of these went into the smoke house too, some into a screened box, to keep the bugs off, but allow air flow. A few larger parts were smoked whole, for dinner the next day. Jake worked on the project until it was done, then moved on to the next task, trying to keep busy. That was getting the wood stoves into place. The bigger one got set up in the front room, the smaller one up in the second bedroom. It had a fire place already.
Once those were in he went and scrubbed for a while, cold water rolling off of him in the little screened off wash area. Did old sheets on posts count as screens really? Well, it worked well enough. The cool water felt nice, the day had been warm, made more so by his heavy clothes. He noticed the swelling all over his right arm and stomach, red and inflamed from the insects. He'd live. Nothing to be done about it anyway.
Except for curse the things that stung him. Of course, he was pretty sure most of them were already dead. So he'd have to curse their buggy little souls. While he was at it he threw in one for Holsom. It was petty of him, but it matched how he felt about things, didn't it?
Before going in he looked at the greenhouse that was being constructed, a simple log frame that extended past the house to the west side, so it covered the underground dwelling completely. He'd never toured it, but it sounded dark. They needed to get candles for it. Or make them. Or maybe lamps or something like that? Otherwise everyone would have to crawl around in the dark. After a second he decided to let someone else deal with it. The mothers to-be were responsible for their babies and themselves, he wasn't. Screw them. Well, Holsom already had.
In more ways than one.
Jake wondered if Nate would actually throw any of them out? Maybe all of them? They already did less work than anyone else and would be bringing danger down on them. Or would have been, except for the new quarters that he'd come up with to keep them alive. None of them would thank him for coming up with the idea though, that was certain.
They ate more too.
Not a good return on investment. Plus, he felt angry about it all. So that warranted these women and their children all dying, right? Horribly eaten to death by two legged land sharks or raped to death by whoever found them?
Sure it did. If only he were a prick.
Or a psychopath.
He wasn't though. So that meant he'd have to help keep them all alive, feeling surly about it or not. Well crud. Hardly fair.
Burt saw him looking at the new construction and walked over, a large smile on his face. The man pointed happily at it.
“As large as we can get it with the amount of plastic we have right now. Not big enough to feed us all constantly, but at least we might be able to have fresh greens and a few other things longer into the year. We're going to finish it tomorrow. You can help if you're not too busy? Your idea after all.”
It wasn't, actually it had been Burt's idea, or Mary's. Jake could help though, since they had enough wood. The day after he wanted to take the wagon into town. He didn't bother saying why and no doubt seemed sullen when he mentioned it. Burt looked at him as if he wanted to steal it or something, gaze suspicious and curious. Finally he relented and fessed up to his plan.
“I want to get some bricks and metal shelves from the grocery store if they're still there. A few other things. Maybe find a girl that won't think I'm too hideous to be around or something. One of those new super-zombies maybe? The last one I met didn't seem that picky anymore. True, she tried to eat my throat out, but that's not too different than the women around here really, is it? Did you notice how they didn't rot?” Jake shifted the conversation on purpose, not wanting to key the man into how wonderful all the women there were. Burt was happy enough with Lois and probably didn't even consider that Jake's problems were more than a dating dry spell.
Was forever a “spell”?
More of a curse maybe...
“I did. I don't have a clue what that means though. Probably that they won't go down as quickly as the other kind on their own. For all we know those were around from the start and we just never saw them before.”
Jake shook his head.
“Maybe. Two of them were dressed like cleaners though, just like them. No one caught on to doing until nearly two months in. The girl...” Jake sighed. “I knew her in high school. I... We were friends. It didn't work out, same old thing, I just wasn't good enough for her in the end, I guess. Kind of like here.”
Only here he was older now, and more damaged. Harder. That meant he didn't give his heart as strongly or easily anymore. It kept him safe. Safer. The rejection still stung, but it didn't warp his mind half as much now. He hoped it didn't at least. Jake couldn't afford that. It was needed right where it was, beating away.
Still, just for a second he felt Rachel standing next to him. She seemed sad about something. It was his imagination though, not a ghost. Those didn't exist, or if they did, then she'd been dead for a lot longer than it seemed like, because he used to feel this same thing daily.
The next few days he made a point of staying busy and away from the house when he could, trying to avoid confrontation with anyone. Mainly Tipper and Heather. That meant over-nighting in town, hiding in an empty house one night and emptying one the next, two zombies, both in that rough stage between shambler and crawler. No one he knew, thankfully. It wasn't a huge town, only about two thousand people, or it had been, so he recognized a lot of them. Not these though.
By tearing apart a chimney, chiseling it first, then just wailing on it with a sledgehammer for a while, he got a large load of brick and some grating from the fireplace inside to use as screens for the air vents. They'd need bellows too, but those would have to be made. No one had those just sitting around anymore. Just to be safe he waited another day and took out a second fireplace, this one newer and harder as well, but also with better bricks. The metal sheets from the store were easier to get than he thought, being in eight to ten foot lengths as a rule. He got as many as would fit on the cart, the big metal one Burt had made first, and took the load back on the third morning. He got in just in time to have breakfast.
It was, Sammi informed him with her arms crossed, the very first real harvest day, and he had to stay and work, not go play in town anymore. She laughed, her little arms a bit thin for eleven. Everyone was, mainly. He nodded.
“Of course. Not a problem.”
Except the being there part. With them. The women. They looked at him, staring, some afraid, some just to glare, a hostile thing that he couldn't have earned with at least half of them. He hadn't done anything to them, not most of them, but they had to him. Rejection. A lot of it too. Didn't it make sense that he'd get to be the one judging them, not the other way around? Thinking about it he realized it really did. Finally he caught one staring at him, an unhappy look on her unpleasant face. More than just angry at him it seemed.
“What's wrong?” He asked, his voice almost sincere sounding. “Other than the being trapped in a zombie infested world with a bunch of people you never would have picked to be your friends I mean?”
She looked at him, shocked. He felt that way a bit himself, since, really, he'd intended to snap at her and tell her off for staring. Insult her a bit and make her feel bad for being a bitch. For some reason she actually told him what the deal was. Probably just taken off-guard.
“It's September seventh... My birthday. I'm thirty-one today. Unmarried, childless, and living in a zombie infested world. That part kind of sucks every day, but the getting older part just hit me, the whole “what am I doing with my life” thing. I'm a lawyer for God's sake. I mean I was. I studied all that time, sacrificed a chunk of my life and now all I have to show for it is a diploma I keep under my mattress. I was doing fine, I had my own practice at thirty and it rocked. A nice car, a decent house that had running water and everything, and a cat. Sure, the lonely cat lady, but the only thing good to come out of all of this is the weight loss. Only everyone else did that too, and no one cares. If I weighed forty pounds more still, I'd be exotic, but no, now I'm just saggy and thin like everyone is.”
Jake looked at her, probably for too long, because she looked down, clearly embarrassed.
“I didn't get you a present, and singing is out of the question until we can set up under ground. Want a hug?” It was a joke, he meant it as one at least, smiling and holding his arms out, but she nodded and accepted it happily enough to make him feel good about offering. Tipper came in and stared for a second.
“Um,” she said, as if she couldn't decide whether to say something or not. Her look was odd, as if she wanted to order him away from the woman or something, not shocked that someone in the place would bother hugging him. Basically she just looked pissy really.
“It's her birthday. She's thirty-one.” Jake said it warmly, trying to convey that the other cleaner had better act pleased or there would be... problems. Maybe not “shoot someone in the head” level, but he could sulk at her or something.
The woman smiled when Tipper murmured happy birthday and hugged her too. It was the living room, so a lot of people decided to do the same thing then. The woman, Susanne, still didn't get any presents, but she didn't seem to care as much after all that.
Jake had his own bed back, not having to share it with anyone just using him to... What had she been doing anyway? Heather could have found another place to sleep if she wanted, or a better looking guy to sleep next to or whatever. She'd done it instantly when she decided to, right? Not even hesitating for a second to consider him. So why bug him all that time? Probably just to screw with his head as a game. She liked him? She'd said it several times while holding him in the dark, hadn't she? See how much a woman's word is worth? Jake asked himself, but he knew it wasn't purely true. Almost everyone did the wrong thing sometime. Said something they didn't mean, or lashed out when they shouldn't.