Conflicted Home (The Survivalist Book 9) by A American (learn to read books TXT) 📕

“There’s more. Looks like there’s been a coup. The military took over and is trying to drag the President from whatever hole he’s hiding in.”

Neither of them thought much of it. Like me, they said it didn’t really matter who claimed to be in charge. We agreed it was up to us to take care of things. No one was coming to help.

“But it sure pissed the old man off,” I said.

Thad looked surprised. “I wouldn’t have thought he cared.”

I laughed. “He’s pissed he wasn’t told. I guess Sheffield knew about it but didn’t tell him. That’s what he’s pissed about.”

Thad smiled broadly. “I bet that did stick in his craw. What’s he doing?”

Shrugging, I replied, “He stomped off towards the house with a thermos of coffee under his arm. I’m guessing he’s burning up the radios trying to talk to someone.”

“Good,” Thad said, “He needs a way to vent all that hate he’s got in him.”

“Indeed,” I replied. Then I looked at Danny and asked, “Did you find that crock?”

Nodding in the direction of the shed, he said, “Yeah, it’s sitting over there. You find what you needed to make it?”

“Well. I think I have. But we’ll see.” I stood up and added, “I’m about to go find out. Hopefully, in a week or two we’ll have some vinegar.”

“That’d be good. We’ll have plenty to pickle here soon,” Thad said.

I looked at the garden. It was lush and green. “How’s the tomato crop looking?”

Smiling once again, Thad replied, “Oh we’re going to have a bumper crop. It ain’t been easy. I’ve had to check the plants twice a day and pick the horn worms off them. But we’re going to have a bunch.”

“Good. Miss Kay will be able to can a bunch and we can store fresh ones in ash.”

“I can’t believe that works,” Danny replied.

I shrugged. “I know. But it does.”

Danny looked at me and changed the subject. “You know. You’re full of ideas. You know of any way we can cool the house? Even a little? We keep the windows open and all, but it’s just so damn hot.”

I thought about it for a minute before replying. “Well, there is something I’ve been wanting to try. We’ll need a bunch of two-liter bottles and some plywood or something. No, I have a better idea. We just need the bottles. I’ll get the girls to find as many as they can and bring them here. Then we’ll build it.”

Laughing, Thad asked, “How you gonna cool a house with two-liter bottles?”

I gave him a big smile. “I’ll show you later. Well, looks like I got work to do.” Standing up, I added, “I’ll see you boys later.”

I left them to watch the kids play and made my way to the shed where I found Dalton sitting on the steps with the crock in his lap examining it.

“Don’t get any ideas. That thing is mine and I’ve got plans for it,” I said.

He looked up. “I’ve always liked these. Never had a use for them really, just always appreciated the form.” He looked at it again, turning it over. “What’s your plan for it?”

“I’m going to make vinegar with it.”

“No shit? You’re still going to ruin that wine?” He stood up holding the crock. “I’ll help. What do we need to do?”

“Wait here. I’ll get the other stuff and we’ll get started.”

I went to the war wagon and got the grape skins and honey, then we walked over to the house. Stepping over the lazy-ass dogs, we went inside. The girls were lying around the living room, reading or otherwise wasting time. “Hey, you two. I’ve got a job for you.”

Lee Ann rolled over to look at me. “Awe, come on, Dad, it’s really hot out.”

“Off your butts. I need you two to go check every recycling bin in the neighborhood and bring back every two-liter bottle you find.”

Taylor was obviously confused. “What for?”

I pointed at her. “Don’t worry about that. Just go get them.” I clapped my hands, “Let’s go; on your feet!” With absolutely no enthusiasm, they got up. “And take a weapon with you too.”

“No one’s going to mess with us here,” Taylor said.

“It’s that kind of thinking that gets people killed.” Dalton replied. “You should never be more than an arm’s reach from your weapon.”

I turned my hip out and pointed to my pistol, adding, “I was just playing in the sprinkler with the kids and I had mine on. Take yours.”

Mel came out of the kitchen. “Hi, Dalton.” Then she looked at me. I know she hates unexpected visitors, even now. “What are you doing?”

I held up the bucket of grape skins and the jug of honey. “We’re going to make vinegar.”

She looked back at the kitchen. “Don’t make a mess in my kitchen.”

“I’ll make sure we clean up, Mel,” Dalton said.

Reluctantly, she replied, “Alright. I guess I’ll go over and see Bobbie.”

Mel left and we carried our ingredients into the kitchen. Dalton suddenly stopped in his tracks and exclaimed, “Holy mother of God, man! What in the blue hell is that?”

He was pointing above the sink. I looked over and smiled. “That’s my Biltong.”

Setting the crock down on the island, he walked over to the sink and inspected the meat hanging there. “What is it? Jerky?”

“Kind of. But better, I think.” I reached up and took a piece down. I bent it to test the moisture content. The meat flexed but didn’t crack. Taking out my pocket knife, I cut it in half. The outside was dry, but the inside was the consistency of taffy. I popped a piece in my mouth and chewed. “Not bad,” I said, offering the other half to Dalton.

He took it and sniffed it, then took a bite. With a very serious look, he chewed the dry meat for a long time. Once he swallowed it, he looked at me and said, “That’s the best damn jerky I’ve ever had! How the hell do you make