Free After the End: Survival by Dave Stebbins

the roof was intense and moving back down the ladder provided instant relief. Once on the ground Pete grabbed an old coffee pot and filled it with water from one of the rain barrels. He went in the back door and walked up the stairs to a bathroom. In the bathtub were six car batteries, connected in parallel. A wire ran from the wind generator to the batteries. A much thicker cable ran through the floor to the clinic area below, providing lights, communications, and the ability to power several appliances. Pete had the convenience of charging his home batteries with this system, exchanging a couple of batteries every few days.
    He carefully topped off the water level in each cell, cleaned and tightened all the connections. Still early afternoon.
    Laundry time.
    He walked across the street to his back yard. A piece of corrugated tin roofing in a bucket of soapy water was all he needed. White stuff got washed first, then shirts. His four pairs of jeans were the last to get the washboard treatment. A quick rinse in clean water and then everything was draped over a clothesline. Someday, he would remember to get clothespins. He'd always think about it on windy days when most of everything he hung would end up on the ground.
    "Pete Wilson, S.O." Pete could hear his radio crackle. He pulled the unit off his belt to answer.
    "S.O. this is Pete."
    "Hold for the sheriff, please."
    About twenty seconds passed.
    "Hey Pete, we've gotten a few possibilities on that girl’s ID. Wonder if you could help run down a couple of them."
    "Sure."
    "We got calls from two ministers. Harold Dingman and Leonard Goss. You know them?"
    "I know who they are."
    "Harold said he'd be at his church. Leonard'll said he'd be working around his house all day and you can visit with him there. Let me know what you find out."
    The sheriff gave Pete directions to both places.
    "OK. I'm clear."
    Harold Dingman's church was on Western and 44th, just south of the Albertson's food market and a block from the Southwest branch of the Amarillo public library. The church was pleasantly cool, the concrete floor and heavy brick walls moderating the summer heat. Pete commented on it when he shook hands with the minister.
    "It does feel good, doesn't it? I think that's half the reason attendance is usually up in the summertime." His hands were smooth and a little damp. Harold Dingman was a big man with a once muscular body that had gone soft. His clean shaven cheeks flushed as though from exertion.
    "I've always believed if you can provide a nice atmosphere for folks, it will pave the way to prayer and therefore to righteousness. Have you found a church home, Pete?"
    No, but I've just checked another one off my list.
    "Nossir, can't say that I have."
    "Pete, I'm sorry to hear that." Looking earnestly into Pete's eyes. "You know, when I played defensive guard for Wayland Baptist University, we used to pray before every game and at half time. And I can truly say there were times I know God heard our prayers. We could feel it. The power of prayer defies human comprehension!"
    And I always thought He was an Aggies fan.
    "Sounds like it’s working for you." Pete nodding thoughtfully a couple of times, reaching into a manila envelope to retrieve a copy of the girl's portrait before the good reverend could get his second wind. He wasn't quick enough.
    "Pete, it works for everyone! Even when the Lord doesn't grant you what you prayed for, He gives you what you need, what is truly best for you. The Change was only a test, a supreme test for all of us! The world had been on a downward spiral for years. Those of us who believed, who knew the Lord, we understood it was just a matter of time before the judgment would be handed down. Look at us. Wretches that we are, we have been given an opportunity, a chance to recreate our world in His eyes! The glory of God is everywhere. Can you feel it Pete? Can you feel it!" The man was on his feet, arms extended straight out from his sides. His