CRACKED: An Anthology of Eggsellent Chicken Stories J. Posthumus (ereader that reads to you TXT) 📖

“I think I’d better get a set of batteries for the solar cells. What do you think, Khan? There are plenty of cars out there that still have batteries in them, at least if they’re any good after sitting on the streets for a year. Just think, I could cook at night instead of just when it’s sunny. I might even hook up lights in the bathroom.”

An array of black solar cells perched on one corner of the roof while her vegetable garden occupied the rest, except for a small outdoor kitchen located for easy access to the power.

Khan, her Rhode Island Red rooster, pecked his way between rows of carrots in the garden plot, searching for bugs. He expressed his agreement with her by clucking in her direction.

The earthy smell of the garden always pleased Delores with its rich undertones and promise of another harvest. With the moderate winters of the coast, she grew food nearly year-round.

“If it weren’t for those thugs downtown, I’d go pick up all I need from that old hardware store on Green Street like I used to. Now, I’ll have to get out the tools and pull more wire from the basement. I hate having to climb up that rickety old ladder.”

Khan’s head swiveled for a better view as his two girlfriends appeared at the far end of the garden. They were both Buff Orpingtons. Jabber ran randomly through the garden, leading Wocky on a merry chase as they argued over a mouse Jabber had caught.

“Oh, aren’t you just precious? You’d better eat that quick before Khan takes it from you.” The birds gave Delores a great breakfast each day and kept the pests down in the garden. She’d found them on one of her early trips into the nearby hills. A family had kept them in their back yard, and she’d been lucky to discover them before the abandoned strays starved inside their coop.

Of course, she had to keep wire around some of her tender garden plants to keep the birds from eating them. A batch of recently hatched chicks huddled in the makeshift henhouse. It wouldn’t do at all to eat every egg, then discover later that the birds were done laying. It had been hard enough to round them up and carry them home in the first place.

Delores fetched today’s eggs and brought them to her outdoor kitchen.

She turned on her hotplate and waited for it to warm up, filling the time with conversation. “You remember last year? Things were different. I had that run-down basement apartment. I was arguing with the landlord over rent when the news came on about a new strain of flu spreading real fast-like. A few hours later, the city went dark. Landlord Bob didn’t last much longer, God rest his miserable soul. Turns out it wasn’t the flu, but nobody lasted long enough to name it.” She shook her head at the memories.

The birds always enjoyed her stories, even when she told the same ones every day. She waved a hand over the hotplate and frowned, then prodded it with a bare finger. The coiled element was cold. She wiggled the plug and the wiring, and still got no power. Shrugging, she toddled over to the power inverter that ran her tiny kitchen. The lights on it were dead.

She traced the cabling back to the solar cells, but she found no obvious problems. It was time to break out her tools. She’d collected quite a toolbox, both mechanical and electrical. Each tool had been found as she ran across yet another challenge over the past several months.

Delores rummaged through her box of electrical gadgets and pulled out a voltmeter. With a few deft checks of the panel junction box, she let out a sigh of relief. Output from the solar cells still looked good. She moved along the chain, testing each connection until she reached the inverter. Power went into the box, but nothing came back out.

“I guess they don’t make ‘em like they used to. Of course, they’re all dead now and can’t make anything anymore.” She laughed at her own morbid joke. “I’ll just have a nice garden salad while you three fight over that mouse. What do you say I go out to find a new inverter instead of looking for car batteries tomorrow?” There were enough solar installations around town that it wouldn’t be hard to find a spare, so long as she could match up voltages.

Jabber heeded the advice and gulped down the mouse.

Nights were a lot darker than they had been before, yet the stars seemed to shine brighter than ever as Delores gazed into the sky from her balcony. The view always calmed her. A gentle breeze blew, bringing the tang of the ocean with it. On the edge of the balcony, a tin can jangled. The trip plate attached to the can warned her of company long before any visitor could reach her penthouse. She picked up her twenty-gauge shotgun and made sure it held three shells; one slug followed by two buckshot, her usual load. You never could tell what you might run into.

“You all stay in the henhouse. I’d hate to see anyone take you and run off.” Delores latched the henhouse door, then ambled over to the top of the stairwell to sit in her comfy padded chair, the one with the pretty floral pattern. The chair sat behind the steel armor plating she’d assembled as a barricade across the top of the staircase. It wouldn’t do to stand up every time she had to guard her home from intruders. She waited and listened, ready to shoot if it was those blasted thugs again.

“Hello?” It sounded more like a young girl than a thug. “Is anyone there?” Maybe a teenager.

“Go away.”

“I…I heard you had food up here.”

“Unless you have a power inverter to trade, I’ve got nothing for you. Go back where you came from.”