The following days were filled with hard work and learning for Ethan. Henry seemed to perceive the successful planting of the garden beds as a graduation of sorts and began to give Ethan more responsibility around the farm while continuing to teach him. Building on what Ethan learned with the garden planters, Henry taught him the intricacies of maintaining Thompson Farm.
The days were long and exhausting, but Ethan found himself relishing the work. He was learning in leaps and bounds and eagerly rose each day to check on his garden and tend to the other tasks Henry entrusted him with. In the evenings, he fell into a deep, peaceful sleep after a hard day of work.
To his delight, Ethan found that as he toiled in the garden with the sprouting plants and flowers, he started to receive small trickles of the white orbs, similar to what he received from Joel, but smaller. These were almost unnoticeable on their own, but the feeling of contentment and peace was noticeable as he toiled in the garden with Scuppers at his heels. White motes of experience shot toward him as he puttered around the garden, tending to its every need.
His ability to sense the quality of the soil came in handy as he made slight adjustments to the garden, innately sensing what tweaks would best foster growth in his budding crops. Little shoots and leaves poked up from the soil in a seemingly random array throughout the garden planters, with Joel standing above the rest in the middle.
Joel, for his part, had taken root spectacularly and appeared to have grown several inches by Ethan’s reckoning — leaving him with dozens of questions about the plant. Ethan complained to Henry about not being able to search the internet for answers, so he could better anticipate how to best help Joel grow. Henry had only snorted before disappearing into the study on the main floor and returning a few moments later to slam down a large dusty book in front of Ethan.
“This is your Joogle now,” he said dryly.
“It’s not Joogle,” Ethan replied with a snort, pulling the massive tome towards him. “It’s… you know what, I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”
Henry grunted a signature grunt. “Quynh had a little library in the study. Feel free to check out any books… but,” he said, holding up a cautionary finger. “Make sure you return em from where you gottem, or Quynh will come back to haunt us both.”
Ethan adopted a serious face and wiggled his fingers with an air of mysticism. “Oooo, beware the ghost of library fines.”
Ethan leafed through the encyclopedias until he found the entry about Eucalyptus Deglupta. Reading it several times, he learned that the tree was native to tropical areas and, when mature, it shed its bark to reveal a multi-colored pattern. He was worried about what would happen in the winter, but his ability hadn’t steered him wrong yet, so he decided to trust it.
“Worst-case scenario,” he explained to Henry as they worked in the barn together, shoveling hay. “I’ll just build Joel a little greenhouse.” Henry had only grunted in the affirmative as he hefted a pitchfork full of hay into the corral where the dairy cow, Tina, chomped steadily away at the snack.
Ethan had continued his tradition of chatting with the plants, and now Scuppers, telling them about his day and what Henry was teaching him. “It’s cheaper than therapy,” Ethan whispered conspiratorially to Scuppers, who just lolled his tongue and pranced in place in response.
The work in the fields was coming along nicely as Ethan assisted Henry in planting different crops that would serve as their primary food source in the future. Henry said it was the easiest spring planting he’d had in many years since they were only planting for the two of them, plus a little extra just in case.
“Should have well more than we’ll need,” Henry said as he tipped back his bamboo hat and wiped his brow. They were standing at the edge of the field where they'd planted potatoes.
Henry’s face was a mask of distaste as he looked over their sprouting spuds. “We’ll need to wait a spell for the soil to warm up for corn.”
“What do you have against potatoes anyway?” Ethan asked with a grunt as he hefted a replacement fence post into place. “I have yet to meet someone who doesn’t enjoy french fries.”
“I don’t mind eatin’ ‘em,” he said as he spit into the dirt. “I just don’t wanna grow 'em.”
Ethan waited for him to explain further, but the old farmer remained silent. Ethan threw up his hands. “Well, I’m going to make it my life’s quest to replicate McDonald's french fries, and then maybe you’ll warm up to potatoes,” he said snarkily.
Henry only grunted in reply.
A few days later, Henry approached Ethan as he fed the chickens. Henry didn’t believe in naming the chickens as he believed they were mindless beasts — to be treated kindly, but not worthy of naming like a dog, horse, or even a cow.
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Ethan had insisted on at least naming the three roosters that patrolled the large coop and accompanying run. Henry had only raised his eyebrows when Ethan informed him that the roosters were now named Rocky, Colt, and Tum Tum.
Ethan tossed feed toward Tum Tum and a gaggle of hens as he walked over to Henry.
“I’m down to reserves on fuel,” Henry informed. “Wonderin’ if you can tell me where that tanker is you saw on your way into Azalea?”
“Why don’t I go with you?” Ethan replied eagerly. “You might need someone to watch your back if monsters show up.”
“Someone needs to keep an eye on the farm, son.”
“What about Scuppers?” Ethan said. “He’s almost back to full health, and he sniffed out that monster the other day before you or I saw it.”
Ethan was referring to when Scuppers had suddenly gone stiff on fully alert, a low growl emanating from his chest. Henry had spotted the scuttler that had alerted the dog moments later and promptly dispatched it with a single, well-placed shot.
Henry looked at Scuppers and pondered for a time, rubbing his hand along his stubbly jaw. Scuppers had since proven to be much better than they at sensing the monsters, making it easy for Ethan and Henry to take turns picking off the random stray monster that wandered onto the farm.
Eventually, Henry sighed and knelt next to Scuppers, giving him hearty pats on his flank. “Whatcha think, boy? You up to bein’ the man of the house?”
Scuppers set a carrot-shaped chew toy down, barked, and pranced in a happy circle.
Ethan eyed the toy. Scuppers seemed to have an endless supply of them somehow. “Seems like a yes to me!” he said.
“There!” Ethan exclaimed as the gas tanker truck came into view. Henry’s old Ford pickup truck rumbled along slowly as Henry deftly operated the manual transmission. The big tanker was askew on the gravel-strewn shoulder, as if the driver had jumped out while it was still moving and it had coasted off the side of the road.
Henry guided the truck to a stop behind the tanker and cut the engine. Ethan placed a hand on the door but stopped when Henry placed a cautionary hand on his shoulder. Henry’s eyes had taken on a focus Ethan had never seen before as he watched the old man survey the surrounding fields and forest.
It was like the old man had been transported back to the jungles of Vietnam as he analyzed their surroundings and potential means that enemies might sneak up on them. It was simultaneously reassuring, yet frightening to see.
I’m glad he’s on my team, Ethan thought.
After several minutes of hushed surveillance, Henry finally broke the silence. “We do this quick,” he said, fixing Ethan with his piercing blue gaze. “I’m going to check that it’s diesel, and then I’ll drive the tanker back. You keep an eye on that forest line and the road from Azalea,” he instructed while pointing at the forest and back to the small town down the road in turn.
“If the creatures come, they’ll come from one of those two spots,” he said with a serious nod. “You’ll follow me back in the truck.”
Ethan nodded along with the plan. “Just one problem,” he said apologetically. “I can’t drive stick.”
The look of dumbfounded frustration on Henry’s face almost made Ethan burst out laughing, but he bit his lip to hold it in.
“You… can’t drive stick? What kind of dad doesn’t teach his kid-” Henry cut off abruptly, instantly realizing his mistake. Ethan shifted uncomfortably in the ensuing silence, not sure what to say. He knew it wasn’t intentional.
“I… uh, sorry,” Henry said sheepishly, avoiding Ethan’s gaze.
“It’s fine,” Ethan said, waving his hands dismissively. “Let’s just focus on getting back to Scuppers ASAP.” Henry nodded his head, eager to move past the awkward comment.
“Keep that close,” he said, gesturing to Ethan’s rifle. “We’ll ride back together and come back for the truck later.” With that, he opened the creaky truck door and picked up his M16 and a small satchel. Ethan followed suit, also making sure he had his trusty garden hoe and pistol.
As Henry instructed, Ethan kept his eyes glued to the treeline and the road leading to Azalea as they approached the tanker, ready to call at the first sign of movement. The silence felt ominous, and he felt exposed in a way he hadn't when he’d gone into town on his bike.
Ethan glanced at Henry, who was looking through the driver's side window of the locked truck. The old man pushed his bamboo hat back to hang down his back and was cupping his eyes against the glass to see inside. Ethan decided to climb on top of the tanker to get a better view of the surrounding area while Henry worked. Shifting his rifle and hoe onto his back, he nimbly scaled the small ladder on the back of the tanker.
The surrounding area was silent and deserted — ominously so. Ethan couldn’t shake the feeling that something was bound to go wrong, as it so often had since the apocalypse started.
I’m just being paranoid, he told himself as he studied the road from Azalea and saw nothing amiss.
Ethan jumped as he heard a loud crash and whipped his head around to see that Henry had smashed open the driver's side window. He was brushing out the glass so he could climb into the cab.
“Tell me the number on the diamond-shaped placard on the back,” Henry called up to Ethan. Ethan nodded and scrambled back to the ladder and craned his neck to read the label on the back of the tanker.
“One-two-oh-two!” Ethan shouted back up to Henry, who was now seated in the cab. The old farmer's hand extended out the broken window, giving him the thumbs up. Ethan slapped the side of the tanker in excitement.
We got our own portable gas station now! he thought. We just need a slushy machine, and we’ll be set.
Ethan stood, a wide grin on his face, as he stretched his back. He turned to look toward Azalea, and his smile froze and slowly faded at what he saw. His eyes widened, and terror gripped his heart at the sight before him. Dozens of scuttlers were moving in a chaotic wave of limbs and gnashing mandibles — and they were headed right for them.
Best gas station snack?
