This section is from Ivan's perspective.
This was one of the best nights of rest I've had since I left home on my last trip. The time I took the pain pills in the hotel, I slept soundly but not peacefully. Being at home sleeping next to Tsu kept the nightmares away. There weren't exactly good dreams; it was more like a pleasant white fog of feelings of peace.
At some point, the pleasant white fog started turning muddy, and shadows of the memories started peaking through. But before the nightmare crushed my heart again, I felt a hand on my cheek. Opening my eyes, I saw Tsu's smile looking down at me.
"Good morning," she said. "Food is ready. Our guests came over and helped, so you got a bit less sleep. But it's time to get up."
"Damn guests, robbin' me of precious sleep," I grumbled, rubbing my face with the back of my hand. Tsu laughed softly and patted my hair.
"Come on, sleepyhead. Get up and face the day," she encouraged. I sighed heavily and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Cold floorboards greeted my feet, sending a shiver up my spine. I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the remnants of that murky dream world I'd been in.
"Alright, alright," I muttered, standing up. My bones creaked and groaned as if they, too, were protesting the early start. Tsu's warm laughter rang out in the room as I stumbled on my feet, reaching out for her.
"Please, just one kiss," I pleaded half-jokingly, but Tsu had already evaded my reach with the grace of a dancer.
"I'll go get Teruo for breakfast," she said, pausing for a second, throwing me a loving look.
"Aw, come on!" I whined, reaching out futilely. But she only blew me a teasing kiss and winked before nimbly disappearing from the room. I groaned. My body felt like it was made of lead, but at least my mind was clear after that peaceful night.
Stumbling to the bathroom, I splashed my face with water from the lake Tsu left for me, the cold shock making me shiver. After getting dressed, I headed toward the outdoor kitchen, still feeling groggy.
As I approached the back porch, Gattor's grating voice reached my ears. I gritted my teeth, already annoyed. I tolerated him, but he rubbed me the wrong way like sandpaper on raw skin. His conspiracy theories were exhausting, and his racist nonsense infuriated me.
"Thank you, Ma'am. I really appreciate you feeding me," Gattor said, his voice dripping with forced respect. Tsu made it very clear how she expected to be spoken to before, along with the consequences of crossing her.
"Of course, Gattor," Tsu replied sweetly. "Teruo, these are some new residents."
Rounding the corner, I found everyone gathered around the outdoor table. Their faces were familiar from last night, but I noticed the absence of the red-head and blond bimbo, which brought a slight tinge of relief.
I sighed internally. I needed to keep my cool, especially in front of the newcomers. As I sat, I could feel Tsu's hand on my arm, her warmth grounding me.
"Hey Gattor. Need something?" I asked, my eyes fixed on the man who always seemed to know how to push my buttons.
"Ah, came with agreed upon payment," Gattor grinned, his teeth a smoker yellow. "Part of it, at least."
Tsu placed a plate full of steaming food in front of me, my stomach rumbling with hunger. "That makes more sense," I said, ignoring the gnawing irritation that Gattor's presence brought. "Now we need to figure out what to do with the meat. Freezers are fully defrosted."
"Already on it," Gattor spoke up, his voice grating on my nerves like sandpaper against skin. "I'm shoving it in the smoker as quickly as I can. Too bad my dehydrator only works off electricity, and my generator won't run properly."
"Is it as ancient as your truck, Trash Panda?" Derrick smirked, taking a bite of eggs.
Gator snorted, "No, Beignet, it's a nice couple of units. But whatever fried the stuff was powerful enough to go through the simple Faraday cage I had around it."
Eating the amazing food, I wondered how the Black Derrick was friends with the Racist Red-necked Gattor.
Derrick looked around thoughtfully, then spoke. "Why not make a tent smoker dehydrator? Sir, do you have canvas or tarps or something like that?"
It took me a second to realize he was addressing me, causing me to inhale sharply and choke on a piece of bacon. I coughed, trying to catch my breath.
"Y-yeah," I wheezed, thumping my chest. "We should have some canvas or tarps in Uncle Boris' garage or the hardware store. We can look after breakfast." The cough came back as the bacon tickled my throat again.
"Sounds like a plan," Derrick agreed, his eyes twinkling.
"Good idea, Beignet," Gattor chimed in mockingly, but I could see the gears turning in his head.
"Alright," I said, wiping at my mouth and pushing the last cough away. "Do you know how to make what you described?."
Derrick blinked, looking at me. "I mean, I have never made one, but my uncle makes one every year to smoke gator and catfish."
I nodded. This might work pretty good, actually. "That will be a good idea to try to salvage all the formally frozen meat from the freezers and walkin."
Gattor raised a hand. "How big are you going to make this thing? Think you can help process my meat?"
I raised an eyebrow. "I mean, I don't see why not, but why would it be a good idea for me to waste my or our effort for your benefit?"
Derrick raised an eyebrow and looked between me and Gattor.
Gattor shrugged his annoying shrug. "Fair. How about you take a percentage of the processing fee?"
My irritation died down a bit. "That would be reasonable. What were you thinking?"
Gattor seemed interested, too. He leaned back in his chair, tipping it precariously. My irritation rose at him, damaging my chair.
"25% sound fair to you?" he asked me, eyes narrowed. I met his gaze, unflinching, and nodded.
"Sure, but we might need to eyeball it though. Not sure how to weigh the stuff. How much do you have anyways?"
"Maybe 2000 lb or so." The room went silent, everyone's attention suddenly on Gattor. That was a lot of meat, even by our community's standards.
Teruo broke the silence, setting down his fork. "I would help you, but I have a few rounds to make today. Tsu, I'm thinking of office hours in a few days. Would you be able to help out as well?"
"Of course," she replied, her voice soft and warm. Rosalina raised a hand, speaking up with surprising confidence. "I'm a nurse. When I'm not helping here, I'm willing to help out."
"Sure," Teruo smiled. "Extra hands are almost always welcome." I glanced at Tsu; her expression had changed, a chill settling into her eyes. I reached out and touched her knee, trying to offer reassurance without words. She looked at me, and the ice in her eyes softened slightly.
As we finished our meal, Teruo pushed back his chair and announced, "I need to get going. Got a few rounds to make early today."
Tsu nodded, her eyes still a bit frosty. "We'll go check the freezers," she said. I turned to Derrick. "You should come with me. Let's see what we can do about that dehydrator and smoker idea of yours."
"Sure thing," Derrick replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and getting up.
As we headed for the door, the red-head shuffled towards the house. He looked puffy like he'd been crying or hadn't slept well. I pointed toward the kitchen. "Grab some food and meet us at the warehouse."
"Alright," he mumbled, rubbing his swollen eyes.
Derrick and I made our way to the garage. The garage door creaked in protest as we tried to lift it. The motor was dead. Derrick grunted, his face turning red from the effort. I ask, "What's wrong? You seem... off."
"Caught a bat to the ribs and arm last night...or two nights ago already, I guess," he muttered. I raised an eyebrow, unsure if this was some kind of joke or if he was being serious.
The door didn't work. So I led Derick through the side door and helped him unhook the chain. With one hand, he took the heavy garage door's handle and rolled it open. I whistled, impressed at his strength.
With the door finally open, we stepped into the musty darkness of the garage. Dust particles danced in the shafts of light filtering through the windows. The air inside the garage was heavy with dust and memories, and I found myself transported back to the countless hours spent helping my Uncle with his various projects. Tools and materials lay haphazardly strewn about and on racks and shelves, each one carrying its own story of labor and love. The place felt like a mausoleum of my Uncle's last years of life, left untouched since Uncle Boris's passing.
"Damn, you're a packrat with everything in here," Derrick remarked as he wandered further into the cluttered space, his gaze darting around in search of useful items for our task at hand.
I smiled at his comment, feeling a pang of nostalgia for my late Uncle. "This is my Uncle's place. He had a habit from the Soviet Union of having a bit of everything 'just in case.'"
Derrick smirked, understanding in his eyes. "My Uncle is the same way. But he learned it from poverty."
"Honestly, it's the Communism and poverty are the same thing..." My voice trailed off, lost in thoughts of times gone by.
"Ah ha! This is what we need. Damn, you got plastic too!" Derrick's exclamation snapped me back to the present.
By the time the red-headed newcomer joined us, Derrick and I had hashed out a simple plan for the smoker and dehydrator. We'd managed to scrounge up a bunch of 2x4s, screens, chicken wire fencing, canvas, and plastic sheeting. Among the clutter, we also found a few old fans, a stationary bike, and several timing belts in a box of my Uncle's collection of odds and ends for that ever-looming rainy day.
"Alright, let's get started," I announced, trying to channel some of my Uncle's resourcefulness and determination. As we began to work, I was impressed with how quickly the puffy-eyed red-head grasped the concept of our makeshift contraptions. He may not have been the handiest of men, but he clearly had a sharp mind and an eagerness to work.
"Careful with that," I warned him as he fumbled with one of the screens. "We don't want it to crease."
"Sorry," he mumbled, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
"Alright," I said, wiping the sweat from my brow as we stood back to admire our handiwork, "that should do it." Two simple boxes rose before us, each 8 feet by 8 feet by 24 feet, their frames built from nailed-together 2x4s and chicken wire shelves. The smoker was going to get covered in canvas material on the outside, with old paint cans repurposed to hold coal and smaller metal pots for the smoking pellets. The dehydrator, on the other hand, was going to be encased in plastic on all its long sides while screens covered the narrow ends.
"Nice work, everyone," Derrick said, his voice cheerful counter to the fatigue that clung to me like a second skin.
I looked dumbfounded at Derrick, his skin barely sweating and his hands still steady like they were when we started. What was he made of?
Derick glanced at the redhead with a wide bright smile. He was nursing a few splinters he'd acquired during the construction process. "You're getting better at this, Mr. Allen. Just need a little more practice. Way better than our first project."
"Thanks," the red-head mumbled, his eyes flicking over to me as if seeking approval. It struck me then just how much my opinion of these newcomers had changed over the course of our work. Sure, the red-head wasn't particularly handy, but he understood instructions instantly and proved to be an entertaining conversationalist during breaks.
"Hey, Ivan," he said, catching me off-guard. "What do you think?"
I hesitated, not sure how to respond or what he was even asking about, but I decided to be honest. "You two did good," I admitted. "Better than I expected."
"Really?" He looked genuinely pleased.
"Yeah," I said, trying to sound reassuring. "If the others that came with you are half as good, we might just have a shot at getting through this."
Helping the kids was great, but I think this group was going to be a profitable addition to me and mine.