The Unfolding Blackout | Book 2 | A Girl Forsaken

by Aborn, A. L.

  Sitting here, I feel exposed.

  Could anyone else know where we are? Or what these men went to find? I suppose it could be a possibility, but my gut tells me that I’m safe, for now. I should have, at least, a few hours to get out of here without anyone else arriving. From this group, I guess. The way things have been going, anything is possible.

  Quickly, with a fierce grimace of determination, I rise to my feet and search the bodies. Besides a couple knives and one gun off Al, they don’t have anything else of use.

  Looking up and down the road, no sounds of oncoming vehicles greet me. Rounding the truck, I shut the passenger side door. The view down the incline toward the creek shows me the two lifeless bodies. Should I move them? What if someone else comes across them? I’m so tired. I think I’ll take my chances and leave them there, even though the small voice inside me keeps whispering that I should hide them.

  Climbing into the cab of the truck feels strange. The cracked tan leather of the seats feels familiar, yet foreign. The keys are still in the ignition. Pulling the seat forward to better reach the pedals, the last few months could be a dream; I could be about to drive to work or to Ally’s. It could just be a normal day.

  No, no. Stop. It’s NOT a normal day. It’s past time to get the hell out of here!

  The truck is a full-sized beat-up Ford. It’s boxy and green; only one of a hundred like it in the surrounding towns. As the truck roars to life, I check the gas gauge. The almost half tank is a blessing.

  There’s nowhere for me to turn around. Up ahead, about two hundred yards, the road is wide enough for me to do a three-point turn. The ride back to the house only takes minutes, but it feels like it takes much longer. At any second, I expect another truck to speed up behind me, even though the logical side of me knows that this very truck is one of only two to travel this road in months.

  The house looks weird to me. I’ve already separated myself from it. All the good memories have been obliterated by the events of the last few days. A part of me dreads reentering the home that is no longer my home.

  Taking another moment, a tentative plan comes together. Get in, gather what’s needed, get Meekah and Beau, and get out of dodge.

  ***

  Al and the other guy already did most of the heavy lifting. How nice of them.

  Very little is left of what I had planned to take. Although now that I have a truck, my hoarder tendencies resurface. It reminds me of the day that the power went out and I tried to pack my entire house into the car. Although somewhat diminished, I feel a similar urge. Blankets and pillows, warm clothes and boots, and a few more kitchen utensils make it into the ‘take’ pile.

  In the crawlspace, there are a few large bottles of water and empty five-gallon buckets. The lot of it gets thrown into the truck bed. Finally, I return to the chicken coop. Inside, against the wall that is protected from the birds with wire fencing is the last bag of feed, as well as the seedlings that we had started a few weeks ago. These may turn out to be the greatest salvageable resource.

  Eventually, I take a final look around the inside of the house after everything is packed. Is this it? The last time I will see these rooms?

  Time to just bite the bullet and go.

  Go.

  With one hand on the doorknob, I bid my goodbyes to this house. Closing my eyes and ignoring the stench of death that seems to have permeated every nook and cranny, I envision Ally, Brad, and I around the kitchen table. That is how I always want to see these rooms. Not this empty, bloody shell.

  Closing the doors behind me feels like I’m closing a chapter. And I suppose I am.

  ***

  Once outside, I spy the small trailer that I had originally planned on towing all my goods with. I think it can still come in handy. Luckily, the hitch on the trailer seems to align with the one on the truck. It takes only a few minutes to drag it by hand into the driveway and up to the rear of the truck.

  And, just like that, I’m finished.

  Finished at this house. Finished at the home that housed my two best friends. Finished with the home that had saved me. Nothing left to do now but leave.

  ***

  I find that it is much easier to pull out of the driveway than I had first envisioned. Of course, it may help that I am only going across the street.

  The burnt down farmhouse sends a pang through my chest. Yes, there are horrid memories that live inside that place, but it has become so much more. How much different would my life if we had never found that little black goat nosing around the backyard? If I had never found Beau? Hell, if we never found those whistles?

  I can’t let myself feel the pain of the what ifs. I might be stuck here forever if I do.

  ***

  Snorts and excited barks greet me as I slide the large barn door open. I feel my spirits lift as Beau stretches his nose out toward me and I can just make out Meekah’s face between the slats of her own stall door. They are my reason to keep going, to keep fighting. I have to remember that.

  Meekah gets let out first; she is so excited to see me. Her butt wiggles back and forth and she won’t take anything less than me squatting down to hug her before she’s satisfied. Before releasing Beau, I make my way over to the small office/tack room area. There, I grab some of the books off the shelf. So far, they had been a huge help; they had instructed me on how to properly ferry the horses and had several other homesteading techniques. Who knows, if they end up being useless, I could always burn the pages as a fire-starter.

  Wow. Did I really just consider burning a book?

  I’ve come a long way in the apocalypse.

  Next, I check the barrels that hold the feed for the horses. Well, horse, now. Silently, I send up a prayer for Tanker. I hope that he escaped too, or at the least, had a quick death.

  The barrel only has a few inches of food left in the bottom. I start to look around for a smaller container for the feed, but then realize that a plastic barrel might come in handy. Visions of collecting rainwater, or something similar flash through my mind.

  Back at the truck, Meekah is waiting patiently by the passenger side door. Of course, she wants to go for a ride. I oblige. She hops right in like she’s been riding in that truck her whole life. Well, at least one of us is living in the moment.

  Smiling, I walk to the back of the truck. Then, it hits me: the dogs.

  They are still in the bed of the truck.

  How could I forget them?

  The smile is immediately wiped from my face. What should I do with them?

  My immediate thought is to burn or bury them. But the thought of the physical effort needed for either choice leaves me close to tears. I’m just. So. Tired.

  Besides, who knows what that amount of smoke might draw in?

  Although it hurts my heart to do so, I finally decide that I have to just leave them. There are no extra tarps for me to wrap them in, so they’ll just have to be left in the open. Driving behind the barn feels better than just leaving them in the driveway; the least I can do is put them in the back field.

  The dead weight of the three large dogs is heavier than I expect. It’s so difficult to be gentle with their big, lifeless bodies. I do my best. In the end, they lay side by side on the grass in the sun, tucked behind a stone wall. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes; memories of them as puppies, the crazy antics of three big hounds in a small house, the years of snuggles and love. They deserve more than this.

  Tearing myself away, I silently bid them farewell. I want to imagine them howling and wrestling somewhere, not this terrible, ugly, final image.

  Meekah’s whine from the truck snaps me back to reality.

  Right. We need to get out of here.

  Meekah’s tail wags and her tongue lolls out of her mouth as we make the quick drive back to the barn. Manhandling the barrel of feed into the bed of the pickup takes me a moment. Scanning the barn, the shovel that we used to muck out the stalls gets thrown in for good measure.

  The only thing left t
o grab is Beau. He eagerly slips into his halter and stamps his foot while I clip his lead rope to one of the brass rings. He comes along willingly enough as I lead him to the back of the truck.

  What a sight. A piece of shit pick-up truck with a ramshackle garden trailer behind it. And now I’m going to tie a horse to it. I’m like a traveling circus.

  I decide to attach Beau’s rope to the trailer, instead of beside it to the truck. If the rope comes undone, I don’t think that he’ll go anywhere. At this point, he knows where the food comes from. At least, I hope he does.

  It probably doesn’t matter, but I slide the barn doors shut. It just feels right. I give one last glance to the wires that attach to the wall of solar panels out back, but I have no idea how they work. An amazing resource, but one I’m afraid I’ll have to leave behind.

  The sun is starting to move toward the trees. Packing took longer than I had expected. If I’m going to get somewhere safe by dark, it’s time to go.

  Chapter Three

  A Plan

  The end of the driveway has two choices: right or left.

  To the right is back toward the house, toward town, toward… people.

  To the left, the road winds through the trees before coming to a dead end. From there, the unmaintained portion of the road continues. That way leads only to the woods.

  When I had first realized that I had a running truck, the first thing that came to mind was fleeing this whole area. Running to my dad, or to Jason, or to anywhere but here. But, realistically, where can I go?

  Could I go to Marie and Eugene’s? The thoughts of Brad that I had been anxiously avoiding focusing on flood in… is he alive? Did Ally make it up there okay? If I showed up, could I beg for forgiveness? Hide my betrayal? Live with them like nothing had happened?

  I physically cringe.

  No. I can’t go there. I closed that door. Out of fear or anger, it doesn’t matter anymore.

  Traveling with the cart and Beau behind the truck will be slow going. I’ll be a target for anyone on the roads.

  I feel the woods and mountains calling to me.

  The mystery of the forest, the anonymity of disappearing into nature, away from people, away from danger… I have everything that I need to survive.

  I look at Meekah. That’s it kids, we’re going left.

  ***

  Easing the truck onto the road, I watch Beau in the sideview mirror. He hesitates for a moment, and then plods along behind. Okay, it’s working. This is going to work.

  As we move through the trees, relief starts to ease the tension in my shoulders. I’m going somewhere that no one will be able to find me. Somewhere to wait this whole thing out until the world calms down or goes back to some semblance of normality. I just need to be… away.

  The maintained portion of the road ends in a small turn around. A space between the trees forms the shadowed entrance to the mountain road. Slowing for the bumps, I see Beau move to the side of the road. Seeing him snatch a mouthful of grass, I stop the truck.

  I decide to give him a few minutes. In the meantime, I hit the power button on the old radio. Flipping through the stations, only static comes through the speakers. How wonderful would it have been to hear voices? A message saying that we are all about to be rescued? I crush that thought. The eject button by the cassette player catches my eye; it’s extended, suggesting that there is a tape inside. Pressing it, I am rewarded with the dull gray tape coming out an inch or so. Pulling it out, about three feet of shiny, gray tape in a giant tangle follows. Of course. Because why couldn’t I hear music after so long?

  I’m taking this as a sign; just because I’m alone doesn’t mean this is about to get any easier.

  ***

  Under the trees, it feels like the darkness is literally descending around the truck. I can only push the truck to between five and ten miles an hour; basically idling. This past winter was hard on the road. Some corners show evidence of washouts, but the road is passable, barely.

  I haven’t been down this road for years. In high school, it was fun to steal a couple beers and sit on someone’s tailgate as herds of teenagers looked for a private spot to socialize and experiment. If it’s anything like it used to be, it leads up and over one of the smaller mountains in the area. One house was accessible by this road, but it’s miles away, on the other side of the mountain.

  There should be plenty of places to camp along the road. It travels through the tight woods, around some open areas that overlook rural clearings and streams.

  I can’t wait to be swallowed by the woods. Leaving everything behind and focusing solely on survival sounds like paradise. I have everything that I need. I don’t need anyone else.

  ***

  Through the trees, I can see that it’s getting dark, even beyond the forest. Time to set up camp.

  I estimate that we’ve gone perhaps a mile over the bumpy, rutted road. Ahead, a small clearing to the right becomes visible. A narrow creek flows to the left, high with the last of the melting winter runoff. The final bits of snow clinging to the ground in the shade have finally disappeared, leaving a cool bite to the air. Last year’s leaves and undergrowth lie over the earth like a brown, rumpled blanket.

  Pulling the truck into the clearing takes a bit of maneuvering. Hitting the brakes, I pause. Why does it even matter if I pull over? It’s not like anyone else is going to be driving up here tonight. The road coming up was muddy in places, showing no tracks of anything motorized. Habit, I guess. It’s crazy to me that after all this time, I still can’t wrap my head around what’s happened.

  Opening the cab door, I stop to listen. The only sounds are the tinkling of the stream and the rustle of the leaves. Beau snorts from the end of his line.

  We’re alone.

  ***

  I don’t think that this will be where we make permanent camp. It’s too… open. Yes, there’s trees for cover and water nearby, but right on the side of the road? It just doesn’t feel right. It does feel like an excellent place for our first night of camping though.

  First thing’s first: I let Meekah out of the truck. She runs around, nose to the ground, investigating our campsite. Beau bobs his head on his lead rope as I walk up to him. Nuzzling into my neck with his velvety nose, I stroke the sides of his great, brown head. After a moment, he dips his head to pull at the meager spring growth poking through the leaves. Clicking my tongue, he follows me up to the stream easily enough.

  Meekah is already at the water’s edge, eagerly drinking her fill. Cupping my hands, I let the frigid water pool in them before lowering my mouth to drink. Am I supposed to boil the water first? Is it dirty? It looks clear… I don’t’ know. Maybe from now on, I should boil it.

  Tying Beau to a tree by the water, I walk back to the truck, surveying the land around me. It’s kind of a spongy moss under the trees, where you can see through the dead leaves. Too wet for the tent. The truck cab doesn’t appeal to me. The truck bed it is; no way am I sleeping next to the chickens though. They’re still causing a bit of a ruckus in their crowded crate. I wish that I could let them roam around a bit to forage for some bugs or something, but I’m not sure I could round them all back up in short order. Grabbing a handful of their feed, I toss some into the cage, watching to make sure that they each get some.

  After filling a bucket with a few handfuls of Beau’s precious grain, I turn my mind toward dinner for Meekah and I. There isn’t a lot to choose from for her, so I settle on a can of chicken stew. She laps hers off the ground while I pick at the cold mixture with a spoon. Now that we are away from the ‘safety’ of the homestead, I feel a strange mixture of relief and apprehension.

  What if those guys have yet more friends that will go looking for them? What if they go to the house and find their bodies? I should have buried them… or burned them. No, there was no time for that. What if they are somehow able to follow the tracks down the dirt road? It’s certainly muddy enough in places. What if they ambush me during the night? How will I g
et away? Will I hear them coming?

  I can feel my pulse rising, pounding in my chest.

  I should keep driving. Just keep going into the woods until no one can ever find me.

  Panic is rising up my throat; my jaw is clenched tightly. Wildly, I find myself looking over my shoulder, straining to hear the sounds of people. Where are they? They must be close.

  No longer hungry, I place my barely touched portion of stew down on the tailgate of the truck. Picking up my rifle and making sure that it’s loaded, I swing it up to my shoulder. I’m guessing that they’ll be coming from the direction of the house.

  My breaths are coming fast, almost a pant. How many will there be?

  Maybe I should leave the truck here. I could make better time with just Beau and Meekah.

  The snap of a branch echoes through the forest. It feels like my heart is in my mouth and that I jump a foot off the ground. Turning, I see that it’s just Beau, continuing to graze along the ground near the stream. A breath heaves out of my chest, deflating my anxiety.

  Meekah has finished her dinner and is staring at me intently.

  Staring at me. Not out into the woods, not down the road… at me. If someone were coming, wouldn’t she be able to hear it? Or sense it somehow? She would probably hear them a lot farther away than I would. And if she doesn’t hear anything…

  Crumpling to the ground, I gather her in close to my chest, my rifle on the ground beside us. I feel tears sting my eyes. I have to stop panicking if I’m going to live. That’s already twice in one day… I can’t keep doing this. Somehow… I need to find a way to keep my mind busy or some other way to focus. Maybe by moving further into the woods tomorrow, I’ll feel a little better.

  Right now, it feels like I’m going crazy.

  ***

  With the birds moved, it doesn’t take long to clear a space large enough for the sleeping bag in the bed of the truck. Beau should be fine where he is and as soon as the sleeping bag is down, Meekah is curled up on top. Now that it’s full dark, the temperature has dropped considerably. It would be nice to have a fire, but I don’t want anyone to smell the smoke. With nothing left to do, I snuggle in beside my warm companion. She licks my hand contentedly before laying her head on my shoulder.