WILLA
Page 4
7
The next morning, I woke at dawn along with a few others who either couldn’t sleep or were naturally early risers. Mom didn’t stir. Quietly grabbing my toiletry bag out from under my makeshift bed, I tiptoed to the cellar bathroom. A line had already formed in front of it, while others had chanced one of the upstairs bathrooms.
Despite the number of people in front of me, I didn’t have to wait long. No one showered or shaved or put on makeup. Those were luxuries we didn’t have time for at the moment. Those in line merely used the restroom and brushed their teeth.
I didn’t have to change clothes either. The night before, I’d put on the lounge pants, t-shirt, and a sports bra that I planned to wear that day. After finishing in the bathroom, I snuck back to my cot, replaced the toiletries bag, and picked up my tennis shoes.
Mom still didn’t move.
In socked feet, I climbed the stairs to the kitchen where my grandma and a few others were busy cooking breakfast.
“You shouldn’t be up here,” Grandma said, but her tone wasn’t chastising.
“I know, but I can’t spend the rest of my life on that cot. Can I help do anything?” I said, taking a seat on a stool to put on my shoes.
“Yeah. We need eggs. Get Kris or Chad to take you to the chickens and gather as many as you can.”
“You mean, you want me to go outside?”
“Yes. No one has seen one of those creatures in a few hours, so you should be fine. We need to eat as much of the perishables as possible while we can. You should be safe if you move quickly,” Grandma said, handing me a basket in which to put the eggs.
“Okay,” I said, taking in a deep breath.
“If you don’t think you can do it...”
“I can. I just have to steady my heart.”
“Oh, and take this,” she handed me a long knife. “Your guards should be able to take down anything that comes at you, but use that if something goes wrong. Aim for the brain.”
I nodded and went to the back door, where Chad was waiting on the steps. Kris was standing in front of the circle of cars. Both looked tired and a bit scared.
“Eggs?” Chad asked.
“Yep.”
“Let’s go.”
Chad followed me to the pen. Kris stayed near the small gap between the cars that we had squeezed through to get to the yard. I focused on where I was going and not on the surrounding farmland. My heart pounded so hard that I felt as if it were going to beat out of my chest.
I quickly gathered a dozen or so eggs while Chad fed the chickens and kept watch.
On our way back, I saw someone—from where we stood. I couldn’t tell who it was—dragging a body toward the cow pasture.
“I didn’t hear a gunshot,” I whispered to Chad as we crossed into the circle of security.
“After how last night’s shot scared people, Dad, Uncle Carson, and a few others decided that we should hold off on shooting them unless we have to. Right now, we’re just getting a trickle. One or two every few hours. If we’re patient enough, they’ll come right to the cars where one of us, using a myriad of weapons, can stab them in the head. It’s quieter, and keeps down the panic.”
“What will you do if they don’t just trickle by?”
“Then we’ll have to use the guns. Hopefully, by then, we’ll have convinced enough people to take up watch, and we can keep a group that size from overrunning us. Those cars aren’t going to help if a horde comes down on us.”
“Is that likely?”
“Anything’s possible. Until I saw my first zombie this morning, I hadn’t believed any of this was real. We hope they stick mainly to the cities. However, if they get hungry enough, and with as many people as we have here, they could come looking for us.”
“They aren’t all we need to worry about,” Kris said, not taking his eyes off the surrounding fields. “People are fleeing the cities by the thousands. Eventually, some of them will find us.”
“So?” I asked.
“We’re near capacity as it is. Our shelves look full. Yet, six months from now, if those creatures are still roaming the Earth, we’ll be hungry. The last thing we need is more mouths to feed,” Kris replied.
He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean I could stomach the thought of turning away a fellow survivor.
I walked back into the house in a somber mood.
“I come bearing eggs. What would you like me to do with them?” I said, holding up my basket for Grandma to see.
“Grab a bowl and start cracking them open,” she said, pointing to a shelf of large mixing bowls.
I did as she ordered.
I was nearly through the batch of eggs when I heard my mother calling my name.
“That woman is going to get us killed,” my grandma muttered to herself.
“Molly, shut your mouth,” Grandma said in a louder voice and turned to the stairs leading to the cellar.
“Where’s my daughter?” Mom all but screamed.
Grandma smacked her hard across the cheek.
Mom froze, looking stunned.
I stood in shock.
Everyone in the kitchen gaped at Grandma.
“The next time you speak above a normal tone, I’m turning you out of the house. There are too many people here for you to be putting their lives in danger. That goes for anyone else,” Grandma said to the rest of us.
“You can’t,” Mom said, rubbing her cheek.
“This is my house. I can do any damned thing I want. Now calm your ass down. We have enough going on without your hysterics.”
“Where’s my daughter?” Mom asked.
“I’m right here,” I said, holding up an egg.
“Get back in the cellar where it’s safe.”
“No,” I said, shocking myself.
“What did you say to me?”
“I said, no. Mom, there are too many people here that we need to feed, clean up after, and keep safe. Everyone has to do their part.”
“You’re a child. You can let the grownups take care of things.”
“I’m sixteen and perfectly capable of cracking eggs.”
I purposely didn’t mention going after the eggs. If everyone else were smart, they wouldn’t either.
“Fine, but whatever you do to help has to happen in the cellar. I don’t want you up here until this is over.”
I opened my mouth to remind her that we were at the beginning of the zombie apocalypse and that the end of the world might never be over. For the time being, though, I complied.
“Willa, if you want to help, start setting up folding tables downstairs for us to put food out on,” Grandma said, stopping me before I got to the stairs.
“Okay,” I said, giving her a big smile.
That first morning, we cooked all of the bacon, sausage, frozen pancakes, frozen waffles, and many other things that Grandma and the rest of us had had in our freezers. What people didn’t eat, we could freeze, or we would have the rest of the week until it was gone.
None of us talked about the possibility of the utilities going out, but we knew they would and sooner rather than later.
Mom and I didn’t talk the rest of that day.
She sat on her cot while I helped with dishes, laundry, cleaning the bathroom, and anything else I could do to keep busy.
Most people thought we were safe because they hadn’t heard any more gunshots. They assumed that meant that no other zombies had reached the farm. I told no one about the field and the few bodies I’d seen laid out in it. If ignorance kept them calm, then so be it.
8.
A week, almost to the day, the power went out completely. We’d been expecting it when it happened. For days, the electricity had been flickering. Mostly, it only stayed out for seconds at a time—a minute at the longest.
Fortunately, when it finally went out, it was in the middle of the night. We woke to uncharged phones, warming food in the fridge, and no hot water.
In the short time that we’d been at my Gran
dma’s house, our group had developed a working routine. We had the odd person who was lazy or didn’t want to pitch in and help. Once they faced the real possibility of being kicked out of the house on charges of endangering the lives of everyone, they quickly got on board. Some complained that others had easier jobs or that people weren’t carrying their weight. Again, the possibility of expulsion successfully shut them up.
For the most part, life in the cellar was calm. The false sense of security, brought on by the lack of gunshots, was both a good and bad thing. Some would wonder on occasion if it was necessary to stay holed up in the house. They wrongly assumed that the zombies hadn’t and probably wouldn’t find us out in the country. Others refused to live as if we’d be here for years, thinking that the outbreak was on the decline and that we’d be free to resume our everyday lives in a matter of weeks.
At those times, my uncles would turn on the radio, allowing them to hear what was happening in the world. I thought we should just tell everyone every time one of the guards killed a zombie so that they would know how often the creatures came through. I didn’t voice my opinion, though. If one of my uncles or Grandma thought it would help, they would’ve done it already.
Because of the false security, after the first day or so, people started to calm down—even Mom on a small level. The daily chores and routines that Grandma and a few others set up and altered as needed also helped ease everyone’s fears.
Waking without electricity disrupted that calm. The atmosphere in the cellar reverted to the way things were those first few days. People cried. People had panic attacks. Some even made a big show of packing their belongings and threatening to leave. I guess they thought that Grandma or someone had cut the power on purpose to scare everyone.
Those that still had phones with a charge were able to pull up news stations that were running on generators to show the rest that, as of that moment, over half the country was without power. Some places had lost it sooner than us, and those that still had it wouldn’t have it for much longer.
Oddly enough, Mom didn’t panic. All she said was, “Mom should’ve put up those solar panels as your father suggested.”
I just stared at her in disbelief. First, because that was the calmest thing she’d said since before the outbreak. Second, because Dad had tried to convince her to let him have our house converted to solar energy, and she’d thought it would look tacky and said no.
“He was right,” was all I said, as I sat on my cot and watched chaos fall across the house.
I made a mental note to ask one of my uncles or Grandma if it would be possible to set up solar panels. A generator was too loud. As it was, the smell of cooking meat drew the attention of the zombies, but we had a deep freezer full of stuff that we needed to cook. Most, luckily enough, we could turn into jerky, which would last a fair bit and didn’t need to stay cold.
Three hours after the electricity went out, and we were confident that it wasn’t going to come back on, Uncle Carson let out a loud whistle to get everyone’s attention.
“Shut up,” his son, Sam, hollered from half-way down the stairs when people continued to talk.
Nearly all of the adults turned to glare at him. Sam just smiled at them and adjusted the shotgun on his shoulder.
“Listen up, people. Life around here is going to get a bit harder now that we don’t have power. We still have a gas stove, but we replaced the gas water heater years ago. When the world calms down a bit, we’ll try to go to the city and get one, but for now, we’ll have to draw water from the well and boil it. That means more of you will have to venture out of the house. Those people will need to learn how to use a gun, spear, sword, and other weapons.
“I realize that many of you think that because you haven’t heard constant gunfire that we haven’t seen many zombies. You are wrong. We kill a dozen or more of those creatures a day. We just do it with quiet weapons because noise seems to get their attention as well as smell.
“Because there will be more people outside, we need ideas on reinforcing the barrier we’ve created around the house. Some of you probably don’t know this, but we’ve created a circle around the house with cars. So far, none of those things have slipped between one, but that’s because they only come through here in twos and threes. If they come in groups more significant than that, we might have a harder time killing them before they figure out a way through the cars.
“Once we have ideas, we’ll need bodies to help us erect whatever it is we put up. I think that’s it. I need all volunteers to come upstairs. If not enough people volunteer, we’ll have to pick people on our own. I don’t want to do that, but I will if I find it necessary. Your safety here—as with anywhere you go—comes with a price. I’m sorry it has to be that way, but it does.”
Without saying another word, he turned and went upstairs. For a solid minute, no one followed him, but then as time passed, people started to go after him. I’d tried to be one of those people, but Mom grabbed my arm and pulled me back to the bed.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked with a snarl in her voice.
“Helping. You heard your brother. He’ll pick people if he doesn’t get enough volunteers.”
“He won’t pick you.”
“You don’t know that. I’m sure I’m pretty high on the list of people he would pick.”
“You’re just a child. He’ll pick adults first.”
“I’m not a child. And no, he won’t go just after adults. He’ll go with anyone who’s shown signs of doing what they have to do to survive. You haven’t, but I have. I’ve willingly gone outside and passed the ring of cars to get eggs and would gladly do so again.”
Someone had eventually let it slip that I’d gone after eggs, and Mom had a come apart. Now, she pretended as if she didn’t know.
“Do you want to die? Is this some sort of suicide thing?” Mom asked me.
“No. I want to help. I’m perfectly capable of learning to defend myself.”
“I won’t allow it. You help all you want as long as you stay in this cellar.”
“Mom, eventually, I’m going to have to go up there. I’m going to have to go outside. It’s better if I know how to shoot and fight before that day comes.”
“Why? Why would you ever have to leave here?”
“Because Grandma’s house may not always be safe,” I said in a whisper. “I know you’ve never watched a zombie movie before, but you have watched natural disaster movies. How often do survivors get to stay in their so-called safe place? Not long. Something always happens. Always. And those things out there, if they are anything like the zombies from fiction, could live hundreds of years. At some point, I will have to face them. I will have to fight one—probably even kill one. Hell, I might have to kill a living person to survive. I should learn as much as I can now so that I’m not trying to figure it out on the fly.”
“You’re wrong,” was all she said and turned from me.
I didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. I rose and went about my morning routine of setting up the tables in preparation for breakfast. All the while, I wondered how I should go about requesting water to brush my teeth, if we were going to have to set up a new bathing routine, and if I could get Grandma or one of my uncles to talk some sense into my mother.
All around me, people huddled together, talking, crying, arguing, and sitting in silence. I wondered just how much longer we would be able to sustain our situation.
9.
Life in the cellar without electricity was hard for the first month or so. I’m not saying it got easy after that, but that we got used to its absence. In a lot of ways, the lack of power kept us safe.
For starters, we had to do most of our cooking outside, which meant that we had more people on watch. Those manning the cook fires had to learn to defend themselves in case one of the creatures crossed our barriers or, at the least, use a spear to stab them in the head if they got near, which quickly became the case with the smell of food.
At first, people argued against cooking outdoors. However, it didn’t take long for our group to realize that without the microwave, air fryer, blender, and other cooking appliances that required power, our meals were smaller and limited to canned rations. That meant that they could see our food supply diminishing at a rapid rate. Oddly enough, it was Mom who brought everyone’s attention to that fact.
“We’ll run out of food if we keep this up,” Mom had bellowed to those of us in the cellar about two weeks after the electricity ceased.
“Mom,” I said, trying to quiet her.
She hadn’t gone into a ranting fit in a while. I’d hoped that she was growing used to our reality. When I’d heard her words, though, I’d feared the worst.
“I’m not joking, people,” Mom said, holding two clipboards up so everyone could see them. “We can’t keep eating our non-perishables in this way. If we do, we’ll be out of food within a few months.”
I looked to Grandma for help in shutting Mom up, but Grandma was watching Mom intently. My grandmother understood better than any of us what Mom was saying.
“So,” someone in the crowd said, rolling their eyes at mom and assuming she was having another one of her freak-outs.
Mom gave the general direction the voice came in a withering stare.
“So, after that, we’ll slowly starve to death if we don’t resort to cannibalism. We have to start rationing what we have. And I mean rationing. People need to split cans of soup between themselves and at least one other person. Four would be better. Cans of vegetables the same. And they have to be the person’s full meal.”
“We’ll starve that way,” another person said, sounding terrified.
“No, we won’t. Most of us are overweight—some more than others. We’ll all lose weight, but we won’t starve,” Mom replied.