Page 62 of The Midnight Hour
“That’s all that have wanted to join,” she answers with a little laugh. “We’re open to people joining, though, as long as they pull their weight.” She gives a smiling shrug. “Most people up here have their own outfit. A lot of residents were self-sustaining from before, anyway, and pretty independent about it. They don’t need or want to be part of a community.”
I think of Daniel’s comment, right after the first blasts, about how everyone up here has been waiting for Armageddon, and I smile faintly in acknowledgement.
“Well, it looks incredibly impressive,” I tell Vicky as I take a bite of my eggs. “I can’t remember when I last had eggs.”
“We’re fortunate that we’ve got a few dozen chickens,” Vicky explains. “A few of them are still laying, even though it’s winter.” She goes to refill her coffee before rejoining Mattie and me at the table. “Your daughter said you were at the old 22 Wing base?”
I nod. “Yes, but we…had to leave.”
Vicky gives a little grimace of understanding. “They run a tight ship there, I’ve heard.”
I nod again, not trusting myself to say anything that might be taken the wrong way. The fact that Sam punched one of the leaders of the place might not go over so well here, no matter how friendly they seem. “Tell me about this place,” I say instead. “Where do you get your supplies? I haven’t had real coffee in months.”
“Is instant coffee real?” Vicky returns on a laugh before she explains, “We’re working toward being as self-sufficient as possible. My parents were already building toward being completely self-sufficient before this all happened. The camp has its ownartesian well, and the electricity is run on solar panels. We’ve got to be careful in winter, obviously, with the limited daylight, but so far it’s been okay. My parents grew all their own fruit and vegetables, and we have several greenhouses, so we can produce year-round. Patti and Jay ran a farm nearby and we used their fields last summer for wheat and corn. They also had a couple of pigs and cows we’ve brought over here, and of course there’s always fish in the lake. Plenty of walleye and perch, pike and trout.” She spreads her hands wide. “We’ve managed so far. The instant coffee came from the Costco in Sudbury, though. Right at the beginning, they emptied the warehouse and distributed everything equally to anyone who showed up. We got about one hundred canisters of coffee and oats, and a few other things besides. But it won’t last forever, of course.”
They did the same thing at the Foodland in Corville, I recall, but it all went badly wrong when the military took over and someone started shooting. A man died, and my daughters were terrified.
But it seems, I reflect, that not every part of the world has descended to wanton destruction and self-motivated acts of violence, which is heartening. I look around the room and I feel as if I’ve turned back time.
“It all sounds amazing,” I tell Vicky sincerely. “What did you all do before the bombs?” I glance around the table, still humbled and gratified by how friendly everyone seems. Why am I hesitant to embrace it completely?Them?Have I become that cynical? Of course, I’ve had more than enough reason to, but…this place really does feel different.
“I was a lawyer in Toronto,” Vicky tells me, and for a moment her smiling countenance drops and she turns somber. “I was driving up here when Toronto was hit, a few days after the first attacks. If I hadn’t been…”
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
“Even now, it doesn’t feel entirely real. The whole city…gone.”
“The whole world,” someone else—Patti, I think—puts in quietly.
The others tell me what their lives were like before they came to the camp. Rose and Winn were traveling, picking up jobs on farms or fruit-picking; Patti and Jay ran their farm nearby; Adam, who is Native American, was the doctor on the Nipissing Reserve south of here. His wife died of cancer—she’d been going through chemotherapy when the attacks first started—three months ago. Stewart was the local Anglican minister, of a small, wooden church down the road. He still conducts services.
“And Mattie said there are a few of you?” Vicky resumes once everyone has given me their potted biographies.
“Nine,” I admit, like an apology. “They must all still be asleep.” I think of Daniel, who didn’t even stir when I left. Is he simply exhausted…or is it something more? I could ask Adam to take a look at him, but it feels presumptuous, and in any case, I’m not sure I can handle knowing.
“Well, they’re welcome to breakfast when they wake up,” Vicky says, “and then you guys can decide if you want to stay awhile, or if it’s better to move on.” Her voice is friendly, her face open, but I tense all the same.
It feels like there was a veiled threat to those words, but I think that’s just me overreacting. At least, I hope it is.
Over the next hour, while I chat to the various residents of the community—Sheryl and Don come in and give me an effusive welcome—the rest of our crew trickle in. First Sam and Kyle, looking wary, and then incredulous when they see the spread for breakfast. Ruby brings Phoebe, and Mattie sits with her to help her eat. Nicole and Ben arrive, looking as hostile and suspicious as I’d expect them to—I don’t think Nicole has another setting—but they do seem to soften when they’re welcomed just as I was.
It all feels too good to be true, but maybe…maybe, for once, it isn’t.
After breakfast, Sheryl and Don insist we all have a tour of the place, which I accept with alacrity, because I’m curious to see how they’ve managed it all. They’ve basically done what we tried to do back at the cottage, only bigger and better. It’s both humbling and inspiring.
“Where’s Dad?” Mattie asks in a hiss as we head out of the dining hall. Guiltily, I realize I hadn’t even noticed he hadn’t come in, although, I realize, I think Ihad; I just hadn’t wanted to.
“He’s sleeping,” I tell Mattie. “Driving all that way in the dark was a lot.”
Mattie frowns, looking like she wants to say more but won’t. Or maybe, like me, she doesn’twant to say more. Either way, she drops the subject, and I’m relieved.
We head outside into the cold, clear day, Sheryl and Don leading the way through the camp. There are fifteen cabins, and seven are being used. Sheryl and Don have their own house, a little way down the road. As they walk us through the greenhouses, the vegetable patch, now sprouting a few winter parsnips, the solar panels, the barn…I’m impressed all over again. This place really is run well.
Vicky falls into step beside me as we head toward the lake to see the dock and boats.
“Red Cedar Lake freezes hard, but usually not until early December,” she tells me. ‘I certainly wouldn’t walk on it now.”
I glance out at the lake. The ice is transparently thin in some places, dark water seething below. The heavy frost of this morning has melted under the sun, but everything still glitters.
