of the storage tanks and making two trips would be wasteful. Once they had a way of getting the gasoline out, then they could drive to the station. One step at a time, she reminded herself. One step at a time. That way, maybe she wouldn’t fall on her face.
Chapter Twelve
Ben got up at first light, took the dog out, then back in where he made his coffee and fed both of them, human and dog. The morning sky was cloudless, and the air was chillier than it had been for the past few days. Frost glistened on the ground, on the bushes, and on the fallen leaves.
He had a specific mission for the day.
Yesterday afternoon he’d examined his woodpile and decided that, while he almost assuredly had enough wood to last him through the winter, having some surplus would be a good idea and cutting the wood now would give it a chance to dry out in case winter hung on longer than usual. Almost wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t assuming the power would come on within the next few months, or even in the next year. It would come on when it came on, and until that moment he’d keep preparing as if it never would. Cutting firewood was going to be a constant.
He put some of his supply of gasoline into his chain saw, and kitted up with a jacket, gloves, safety glasses, chaps, and boots. He never took chances while cutting wood, but shit happened even to careful people. Living alone meant he had to be extra alert and careful, because if he slipped up and got hurt, getting medical help was a roll of the dice—and that was before the grid went down. Now there was no medical help to get.
In particular, he wanted a hickory tree for his additional firewood, for the density and extended burn; the density was why hickories were more difficult to cut and split. Maple and oak were his go-to varieties, with hickory added in for when he wanted to grill or smoke some meat. Nothing beat slow-smoldering hickory chips for adding flavor to meat.
Finding a hickory wasn’t hard; finding a hickory that was the right size and was in a good location to cut took some walking. He didn’t want the felled tree getting hung up in another tree when it went down, because that was an accident waiting to happen. After almost half a mile he found what he was looking for, a good-sized tree that wasn’t too big for his chain saw, and with a clear fall line with the correct cuts.
Before he started cutting he took off the jacket and tossed it aside, because loose clothing and chain saws didn’t play well together. He made his guiding cut, then the notch, then moved around to the other side to make the felling cut.
He was almost ready to stop cutting when the universal law of “shit happens” kicked in.
For whatever reason, the tree began toppling before he was ready for it to, twisting as it went down, and the broken base of the trunk kicked out toward him. His reflexes saved him. He threw the chain saw in one direction and he went in the other, twisting so the tree caught him a glancing blow on the back of his shoulder instead of hitting the center of his chest and perhaps crushing his sternum. The chain saw brakes engaged as soon as he released it, of course, but he still didn’t want to fall on the jagged teeth. Instead he crashed on the forest floor and rolled a few yards downslope, until he fetched up against a good-sized rock.
“Son of a fucking bitch!” he ground out as he climbed to his feet, shaking off the leaves and sticks and dirt that had stuck to his clothes and skin. He moved and rotated, checking that all his parts were in working order. They were, though the back of his shoulder felt as if he’d been kicked by a mule. That still wasn’t as bad as taking a round to the chest while wearing ballistic plates, but bad enough. He went over to the chain saw and picked it up, checked it. It had landed half-propped against a bush; he didn’t have to clean dirt out of the chain. When he pulled the starter cord, it roared to life.
He turned it off, and assessed the situation. The tree might have kicked the shit out of him, but at least