'New Girl In Town'

The ancient hand bell fastened above the ancient door to the equally ancient 'general store' rang out merrily as Sam Burnham came in. A dark hair young woman followed him inside, her haunted eyes darting about the room like a frightened deer. She was bundled up in Sam's hunting coat and still clutched the small knife he had given her.

All eyes in the store moved from Sam to the dark haired woman, then back to Sam, who, even though hunting season was still officially six months away, had his great-granddaddy's twelve-gage slung over his shoulder.

"Morning Helen. How are you this fine, spring morning?," Sam said to the lone woman behind the counter. He then nodded a greeting to the three older men sitting round an ancient pot-bellied stove. Two were playing checkers, using a wooden barrel as a table. The other was half asleep in a chair. The old stove leaked out smoke, warmth and silent friendship --- just like the men that smiled and nodded wordlessly at Sam.

All of them wanted to ask about the young woman, but none did. After all, a man's business was his own --- especially in these trying times. One of them however, Abner Hays, Sam's best friend and sometimes hunting, fishing and sailing partner, actually mustered up the energy to speak. "Any luck huntin', Sam? Or are you just expecting trouble?"

"A fella would be a fool not to these days, Abe. You boys should really take more care. I could have been some drug crazed degenerate come in here to kill the three of you, then have my way with Helen over there."

The men sitting round the stove grunted various forms of laughter, for between the three of them there were two pistols, a rifle and a shotgun close at hand, along with at least one knife each --- for all knew that only a fool would go unarmed in a Post-Covid world.

Helen --- the middle-aged woman behind the counter --- smiled prettily and casually took her hand away from the sawed off shotgun she kept under the counter.

"Morning Sam. Who's your young friend?" she asked with a lingering and rather suspicious look in Sam's direction.

"This is Fee. That's short for Fiona," Sam said by way of introduction. "She's a bit down on her luck so I'm helping her out some. She needs some new clothes, boots and stuff. Can you see to that for me, Helen."

"I sure can, Sam," Helen said, her voice a little edgy. "But since when did you go into the 'damsels in distress business'? I always figured you for the lone wolf type who minded your own business."

Each of the men in the room interpreted that comment in their own way. Helen was still a good looking woman, and a widow now for nearly three years --- a widow who wasn't shy about showing her interest in the aging but still ruggedly handsome Sam Burnham.

In a 'former life' and waaay 'Before Covid', Sam had been in the Canadian Navy. Though he seldom if ever talked about it, word was that he'd been in the 'special forces' department and done all kinds of dangerous 'Black Ops' work in far off countries nobody wants to visit. Retired now for nearly fifteen years, he had taken over the family boatyard a few miles outside of Mohawk, Ontario. Mohawk was a quiet little town on the Canadian side of the mighty St. Lawrence River, smack dab in the middle of the Thousand Islands.

The US/Canadian border ran right through the center of this northern watery wonderland; a vacation paradise for lovers of rugged landscape; clear, fish filled waters; quiet coves, boating, sailing, history and breathtaking beauty.

Like most places whose main 'industry' was tourism, the worldwide Pandemic had first killed off most the jobs and then most of the people as well! In the last two years, as the plague continued to rage across the globe, the Thousand Island area had become something of a 'survival community', with more and more people from both sides of the US/Canadian border slowly finding their way to 'The Isles'. During the fourth year, as the virus itself slowly seemed to die off, a number of rather 'quirky' little settlements had spring up on the various sized islands.

'N' why the hell not?!' many of the survivors had said. 'Most of the bigger isles have huge, fancy rich men's homes on them! Why, some are almost castles! N' they're easy to defend against those damn roving bands of degenerates from the Big Cities!'

Statements like that were usually followed with something like: 'And we all know that those god-damned savages will steal anything that's not nailed down and eat anything they can get their filthy hands on --- including you and your dog!'

Whether or not the rumours about 'cannibalism in the big cities' were true or not, Sam couldn't say. That the roving bands were dangerous however he knew to be true Three shallow graves out in the woods behind his boatyard proved that--- though he kept such 'details' to himself.

These days, in order to protect themselves against looters and hunger-crazed strangers, most people went around armed. Sam knew for certain that two of the men sitting around the old stove had been forced to defend themselves at one time or another, his friend Abner being one of them. Sam however kept his own tally to himself.

After Helen had fitted Fiona out with new boots, jeans, a flannel shirt and a coat that actually fit, the two women came back and joined the men around the stove --- though Fiona hung back some and stayed close to Sam.

Helen hadn't been able to get much out of her other than that psycho Billy-Ray Gleason and his bunch were involved and that Sam had 'saved her from them'!

It was not lost on either Helen or the four men in the room that Fiona was a fine looking young woman, especially since she was now all cleaned up and in a tight pair jeans. Wary more that frightened, her green eyes continually darted around the room and Helen especially noted that Sam was the only man she would go near.

"What's on tap today, Helen?" Sam asked while the other men openly gaped at Fiona. "I've a bit of a thirst and these three here look like they could use a stiff drink!"

Helen's smile widened. "I've got some made Vodka. I grew the 'tater's myself n' pressed them between my supple, young thighs!"

Grunts and laughter came from the three sages sitting round the stove. Sam joined in and winked at her. "Drinks on the house then, fair lady! And one for yourself!"

Despite Helen's amorous disposition towards the handsome man standing before her, the more 'practical' side of her rose to the front.

"And just what will you be paying with this time, my bearded boy-o? I've more than enough fish in my ice-house; for it's all there lazy slugs here ever have to trade!"

"I've half a fresh killed deer carcass out in my truck and three smoked hams I got out of that feral pig I shot in August. Plus I've got this to swap as well."

Sam opened a canvas bag and placed Snake-Eyes' machine pistol on the counter. The three men in the room crowded round and Sam's friend, Abner Hays commented dryly:"My my, isn't that a nasty little piece of business?!"

"This another one from you daddy's 'gun collection'?" Helen asked pointedly. "Or is it something you picked up when you were in the Navy?"

Sam shrugged, not wanting to give words to a lie.

"It's what one of Billy-Ray's friends tried to kill us with!" Fiona blurted out.

All eyes in the room went to the wild eyed girl, including Sam's --- except for Helen's, which were fixed on the bearded boat-builder.

"You have something you want to add to that, Sam?"Helen asked.

Another shrug from Sam. "Not really."

Helen glared at him, then flounced away, supposedly gone to fetch the home made Vodka. She and Sam went back a long way. They'd know each other since they were children and had even 'gone steady' for a while in High School. Nothing 'too serious' --- at least not on Sam's part. After graduation Helen had gone off to get a history degree at Kingston University and Sam had joined the Canadian Navy where he learned to kill people quickly and silently. They had stayed in contact for awhile, but had eventually drifted apart. All contact stopped when Helen married Fred Simpson, an insurance salesman in Kingston. When Fred had died four years ago from the virus, Helen had come back home to Mohawk and had been hopeful about renewing their old relationship.

Sam however proved to be somewhat hesitant. He'd been a bachelor all his life and now, at fifty-seven, he enjoyed being alone. He spent his days fishing, hunting, sailing and working quietly in his garden and the boatyard. Also he didn't 'love' Helen, at least not in the way she wanted and --- foolish man that he was--- thought it best if they remain just good friends.

All this made the appearance of a beautiful young girl tagging along with Sam rather hard for Helen to deal with on a number of levels. However the men in the store thought they had it all figured out --- and considered Sam to be a 'sly old dog' to have taken up with such a fine looking young woman!

Helen eventually returned with a bottle of her homemade brew and after a few quick rounds, her and Sam got down to the business of working out his bill.

***

He'd brought in guns before to 'swap' --- both times supposedly from his father's 'collection'. In reality they had come from men that Sam had been forced to kill.

Like Billy-Ray and Snake-Eyes, they had all been intent on killing him at the time, but Sam had been ready, better trained and better armed --- not to mention damned lucky!

In the four years that the Pandemic had ruled the world, Helen, as a storekeeper, had come to learn quite a bit about firearms. Since all forms of 'modern money' had vanished along with smart phones, credit cards, electricity and flush toilets, the 'post-pandemic' currency had slipped backwards in time to a barter or 'swapping' system. Coins were still used at the reduction of one penny was now equal to one dollar --- but coins were still few and far between and most people saved those they had and preferred to barter when they could.

The next two things most people wanted after they had the basics of food, water and shelter was a way to protect themselves --- and that meant guns and ammunition. Sadly, without these last two, there was no way to stop others from taking away everything else --- including your life.

Hence Sam's three shallow graves in the woods.

After a few minutes of 'dickering' and a few more 'shots' of Helen's homemade brew, things were settled. Sam's deer carcass, three smoked hams and Snake-Eye's firearm had paid for Sam's short list of supplies and Fiona's new clothes. Helen had joked that she'd also like a day sailing with Sam 'like they used to in the old days' and she was pleasantly surprised when he quickly agreed. Her joy was somewhat dampened however when he suggested that they go right now --- all three of them!

"It's a bright, clear morning with an easy, westerly wind," he said. "Just right for a few hours sail. We'll take The Witch. She's beamy and stable and sails like a dream. Also you ladies can get to know each other a little better!"

Both women eyed the other skeptically. There had not been an instant mutual dislike between them, but neither had there been an instant bonding --- for both knew, though on different levels, that 'something' stood between them --- and that something was Sam.

"So, Helen," the hapless male innocently asked. "Do you want to take your own car or ride back to my place with us?"

If looks could kill, Sam would have been instantly impaled. "That's alright, Sam. I think I better take my own car."

"You sure, Helen? I don't mind driving you back when were finished."

'Oh, Sam, you're such a damned fool!' she thought. Then she looked again at the young, beautiful girl standing beside him. 'Or maybe I'm the fool!' she added bitterly. "Ya know, Sam, maybe I should take a rain check for now. I mean, it's almost noon and I've got customers."

Sam barked out a laugh. "Those three sitting round your stove? They're not customers, their 'freeloaders'!"

"Speak for yourself, Sam," Abner Hays called back good-naturedly. "Besides, I'm Helen's part-time handyman. You three go off sailing and leave the store in my capable hands. Me and the boys here will finish off this bottle then I'll lock up when we leave."

"You really don't mind, Abe?" Helen asked.

"Not at all. You're in here 24/7. It'll do you good to get out on the water. Me and the boys will lock of for ya." Abe leaned forward in his rickety chair and lifted the Vodka bottle. "We've still got the bigger half to finish, so we'll be just fine."

***

'The White Witch' was a wooden, twenty-nine foot, gaff rigged beauty that Sam had been restoring for over the last two years. She swam through the water like a fish and turned like a witch on her broomstick! Sam had only had her out three times since the winter's refit; once as a shakedown cruise and twice hauling supplies to some of the new 'island communities'. Most people had some kind of small boat of their own, but with gasoline becoming more and more expensive as it became harder and harder to find, 'wind power' was once again in fashion and Sam's restored Bristol Cutter had lots of cargo space.

The cutter had been in the shop for years. Sam's father had bought it off the widow of a big-time lawyer in Toronto and he, a friend and eighteen year old Sam had taken the train to Toronto and sailed her back to the 1000 Islands. Sam had spent most of the trip below deck using the hand pump for the cutter leaked like a sieve and the electric pump was broken. Sam joined the army a month later and the cutter had sat up on blocks in the yard till Sam retired from the Canadian Special Forces twenty years later.

He'd worked on it over the years since he was back and had her all fitted out and ready to sell her when the Pandemic stuck four years ago. Ever since then he'd been using here to 'make a living' hauling supplies, crops, even livestock up and down the river and he was never happier than when he was at the tiller in a stiff westerly wind coming in off Lake Ontario.

He could sail 'The Witch' single handed, but it was a lot of work. There were two or three youngsters he could call on when he needed 'deck hands' and Donny MacTavish from the farm just down the road from the boatyard worked with him regularly. Seventeen year old Donny was proud when Sam referred to his as his 'first mate'.

Helen had been out on the Witch a number of times, but she preferred the smaller boats. 'More private than this big old girl,' she had once said to Sam. 'And you've got more time to relax and talk in the catboat or sloop. Besides, I'm kind of jealous of the old girl.'

'Jealous?!' Sam had laughed. 'Of a hundred year old wooden ship?!' Helen and smiled and shrugged, all the while thinking: 'If you'd only handle me so lovingly as you do her.'

Now it seems that Helen had even more competition --- this time in the form of young, gorgeous Fiona Noname!

***