The Unfolding Blackout | Book 2 | A Girl Forsaken

by Aborn, A. L.

  Now that we have all been fed and watered, it’s time to get down to business. Part of me wants to start building a long-term shelter right away, but the other part of me is whispering that I need to know more about this area before putting in all the work.

  I decide to compromise. Today will be focused on setting up the tent and making things feel a little more permanent. As soon as I can scout out the area and make sure that this is a safe place to be, then I’ll turn toward building something a little more stable than a canvas tent.

  It feels good to have a plan. My morning is consumed with hooking everything back to the truck and pulling it to the far side of the clearing. I’m not sure if anything will come through the opening, but if it does, I want to be as far from it as possible, with a good view.

  Yesterday, when we had arrived in the clearing, I thought that there were two boulders in the far corner. The big objects slowly become clearer as my menagerie of cart, truck, and animals creeps across the spring grass. One of them is indeed a big rock, but the other turns out to be a pile of rocks. At first, I’m not quite sure what to make of it. Partly obscured in the woods line is something that sort of resembles a basement… a rough square outline that is set a foot or two into the ground. On one end of the square is the pile of rocks, like where a chimney would sit.

  It dawns on me: it’s all that’s left of an old house! Or… cabin or shanty or something.

  Who knows how long this has been here? Long enough for there to be nothing left but an imprint and a pile of rocks. Turning around, I gaze back over the clearing. From where I stand, the opening in the trees leading to the hidden meadow is roughly a quarter of a mile away. A fringe of tree branches hangs down over the old foundation, hiding it from anyone further than a couple hundred feet away. I like this spot.

  The tent is pretty easy to set up in the middle of the old basement. It just seems like the right place to set up. Nostalgia and longing send aches throughout my body as I snap the tent poles together. How many times had Jason and I set a tent up together? How many laughs had been shared?

  Before starting to cry, I swallow my emotions and attempt to focus on making this place a home.

  Chapter Five

  A Look Around

  The rest of the day is spent puttering around. The bedding is placed in the tent and the ring of firestones taken from its place the night before and pressed into a new fire ring. The chicken coop gets backed up to the boulder and the truck parked to one side. I hope that this allows for some sort of protection for the birds from predators. The chickens themselves follow me willingly enough to their new location; a few scatterings of feed have them following me like faithful puppies.

  Beau has spent the majority of the day alternating between nosing around for fresh growth and trying to follow me around. I don’t know what happened to this horse before we found him in that dark, smelly barn, but it hasn’t taken long for him to become attached to me. As he presses his soft nose into my hand, I am once again overcome with gratitude and happiness that he survived those men that burnt down the barn. Feeling brave, I remove his lead rope that I have tied to a tree to keep him close. It makes almost no difference in how he spends his time. If he found his way back to me after being loose for a whole night when the barn burned down, my gut says that he’ll stay close.

  Meekah has taken it upon herself to scout our new camp. So far, she’s chased a handful of squirrels, chipmunks, and birds away. It’s actually really nice, and distracting, to be able to look up at any given time and see my dog lying in the sunshine or running through the trees. She’s so carefree. I wish that I could be more like her. Maybe my new goal should be to live only in the here and now and to forget everything else. Snorting, I laugh at myself. Fat chance of that happening.

  As twilight closes in around us, I stand from tucking in the tarp on the coop behind the last hen. Knuckling my back, the twinkling light of the first stars catch my eye. Marveling, not for the first time, at the difference in how they look with no light pollution from the towns and cities.

  Stretching my arms over my head, I survey the day’s work. All that’s left is to bucket some more water to camp and feed myself and the animals. The tasks go by quickly and before I know it, Beau is tethered to a tree by the tent and Meekah is snuggled on the pillows inside. Sitting in the mouth of our little canvas home, the light and warmth of the fire is comforting on my face. My belly is full of the roasted duck, my animals are cared for, and we have survived another day unscathed.

  My eyes are heavy with fatigue and my muscles are sore from manual labor. It feels good to lie back on the blankets. Nighttime is often the worst time for me; with nothing to distract me, my thoughts often turn to things that leave me full of guilt and dread. But tonight… tonight, I am too tired to do anything but sleep.

  ***

  The singing of birds wakes me when the sun is not yet fully up. The buzzing of a mosquito trapped inside the tent walls with us brings me fully awake. Swatting ineffectually, Meekah and I crawl from the tent into the damp, grey morning.

  Now that the basics of the camp are established, I’ve decided that today should be spent scouting the area. Before anything more permanent goes up, I need to know if this area is safe. After the animals are watered, Meekah and I devour the rest of the duck. With greasy fingers, I shovel the last few bites into my mouth while considering my options. If there’s any need for stealth, it will be hard with Meekah. I could leave her here, in the truck cab, but ultimately decide against it. What if something were to happen to me? I’d be condemning her to slowly starving to death in the vehicle. At least she would have a chance if she’s free.

  What about the birds? I hate to herd them back into the coop so soon, but it doesn’t feel right to leave them out unsupervised either. Any animal could wander in and kill one or all. I can’t afford to lose any of them, so I guess it’s back into the coop.

  With the morning chores done, I pack my backpack with the essentials. Two extra handguns and ammo, an extra knife, the lighter, flint and steel, an extra set of clothes, a couple jars of food, and some handfuls of feed for Beau round out the pack. Hopefully, this is all overkill, but if for some reason I can’t come back, I’ll be prepared.

  Once the fire is out, the birds back in the coop, and everything generally tidied, I lead Beau over to the big boulder. The back side of it has a slope gentle enough to climb, with a flat area about four feet from the ground. With the lead rope tied to both sides of his halter to create makeshift reins, I clamber up the rock, grab hold of his mane, and heave myself onto his bare back. He stands steady beneath me, ready to bear me anywhere. As usual, Meekah is close by, waiting to see what direction we’ll head in.

  Nudging Beau’s flanks with my knees, we head back across the clearing. At the opening between the trees, we turn left, back onto the trail that led us here. The day is overcast and cool; I hope it doesn’t rain. I let Beau pick our pace, a slow plod through the woods.

  As soon as the clearing entrance is left behind, I feel like I am back on the road from Ally’s house to my dad’s. My pulse quickens and my face feels hot. I think I might throw up.

  It’s okay. Just breathe.

  Slow, easy breaths through my nose and out my mouth. Repeat.

  I am suddenly positive that there is someone waiting for me just around the next bend in the path.

  My head feels like it’s swimming; my heart is beating so hard that I swear anyone within a mile radius of me should be able to hear it.

  Beau responds to my sawing on the reins and slows to a stop. Carefully swinging my leg over his back, I slide to the ground. My legs crumple beneath me. My vision is starting to blur.

  In through your nose and out through your mouth.

  Trying to slow my breathing isn’t working. Now it feels like I can’t get enough air.

  Tears slide from the corner of each eye. Lying flat on my back seems to help, rather than being hunched forward.

  Visions of a man trying t
o pull me from my horse explode behind my closed eyes. A man with his hands on Meekah’s throat. Of an empty house. Of a mother and son shot in cold blood. Of dead dogs. Of Brad, lying on the floor, bleeding to death. Of Ally, pulling away in the night.

  Oh, God. What have I done?

  ***

  I don’t know how long I laid on the ground, lost in all the awful things that have happened since the power went out. Since humanity lost its shit.

  It could have been ten minutes or ten hours; either way, it feels like an eternity before Meekah presses her head into the crook between my neck and shoulder. Wrapping both arms around her grounds me, gives me something physical to focus on. Opening my eyes, I find the sky still grey above me. The tops of trees with green buds border all sides of my view of the sky above me.

  Focus.

  I focus on what I can see and feel. The ground is firm beneath me. Meekah’s thick fur is silky between my fingers.

  My heart rate begins to slow, and my tears start to dry up.

  Hugging my puppy tightly once more, I release her and stand. A little wobbly, but I think I’m okay. I’m not panicked, but the feelings of guilt, fear, and terrible sadness are still there. Should I go back to camp? Or keep going?

  Ahead, a break in the clouds lets a ray of sunlight shine through the trees. Taking it as a sign, I decide to carry on. I don’t think riding is a good idea though, it might happen again. Better to walk, at least, for now.

  ***

  Meekah sticks tight to my side once we begin. With her on one side and Beau on the other, I feel slightly more confident, though I suppose that doesn’t really make any sense.

  Walking seems to have done the trick in grounding me; I feel much better. Still, I focus on projects that can be done back at camp instead of the things that bother me. Best to shut those away, for now.

  The afternoon continues to brighten. While the air is still cool, the sun is warm on the top of my head when the trail isn’t swallowed by the shade of the trees. After what I estimate to be an hour, the path makes a sharp right corner before rejoining with the logging road.

  We stumble upon the road so quickly that I don’t even have time to stop and listen for signs of danger. Beau and Meekah seem unalarmed though, so I guess we’re probably still alone. Scanning the area, I realize that it seems vaguely familiar; was this part of the original mountain road that I traveled as a teenager? Turning, I try and get my bearings. The highest point of the mountain is behind me, lending some guidance as to my whereabouts. I think… this area of the road might loop back through the hills and eventually lead to the town center. If that’s true, then that means that the one house I remember being on this road shouldn’t be too far along.

  I decide to go for it. If that house is the closest neighbor to my camp, I should know if anyone lives there. And further, are they a threat? A resource? Better to know now than after all the effort is spent to build something more permanent. Thankful that Meekah is sticking close to me now that we may be in range of other people, we turn right onto the hard-packed earth and head toward the secluded house in the woods.

  ***

  It takes almost forty-five minutes of walking before I spy an old gray mailbox on the side of the dirt road. Stopping immediately, I pull Beau’s head in close to my own. Holding my breath, I await the sounds of human life to send me scurrying back down the road.

  Nothing.

  I wait a little longer.

  Still nothing.

  Meekah sits at my feet, cocking her head sideways at me in curiosity. Slowly, the three of us creep up toward the house along the rutted dirt road. The continued silence encourages me. The trees open on the left side of the road, the lawn sloping down to meet a wide front porch. Curtains are drawn in each window and the absence of a car in the packed dirt driveway gives me hope that no one is home. The hair on Meekah’s back is flat and she has given no sign that she smells anyone else.

  What else can I do?

  I drop Beau’s lead rope in the yellowed, spring grass and just walk straight up to the front door.

  Jiggling the doorknob, I find it locked.

  Circling the house to the back, I try to look in all directions at once. The house is sided with rough-cut wood, giving the impression of an unfinished kind of place. But from the neatness of the grounds, I can tell that someone loved this home. Crushed stone borders the house, ringing the cement foundation, separated only by the even areas of open dirt with green shoots poking through.

  The back of the two-story home shows me a tidy backyard; the owners had taken care of the leaves before the past year’s snowfall. A shed in the back has a roof overhang on one side, sheltering carefully stacked wood. I feel like I am intruding on a happy family’s life, but I guess that’s silly. It seems obvious that no one has been here in quite some time.

  The back door is also locked. A single stone step leads to an old white door with no windows. The only window that I can reach is to the left of the door. The panes are covered in a layer of dust on the inside, but I can’t see clearly into the room beyond. The darkness hides the details. I’m guessing it’s a basement, but I can’t be sure.

  This house intrigues me. There is no evidence of looters or break ins. Not many people would have traveled this road before the power went out, which has left it, luckily for me, untouched. Grabbing a chunk of wood from the shed, a pang of guilt shoots through me before I smash the basement window. Holding my breath for a minute, no sound of alarm echoes from inside the house. Using the wood, I knock the remaining shards of glass from the frame. Looking behind me, I double check that Beau is grazing peacefully in the backyard. Meekah, always my shadow, waits patiently for my next move.

  Throwing one leg over the sill, my knee twinges with pain, reminding me of my recent injury. Adjusting my position, I ease my other leg through the window. Before I can fully stand on the cement floor, Meekah has bounded through the opening, landing gracefully at my feet.

  The cellar smells stale and damp, like every other basement I’ve ever been in. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, the outline of more stacks of wood and a large wood stove are visible. Making my way through the dim light, I stub my toe on some hidden object. Tripping and swearing, I narrowly avoid falling into a stack of plastic storage totes. Finally, the tell-tale shape of the stairs shows itself on the far side of the room.

  The steps creak as I climb, but still, no sounds from above. Opening the door, I see a neat, but rustic, home. Everything is put away in its proper place; knick-knacks carefully placed on beat up, used furniture. The house smells and feels unused. Walking through the rooms, it seems as though the occupants had packed up and left, not fled in fear for their lives. Clothes are missing from the drawers and toothbrushes gone from their holders. I’m picturing a family packing and going to stay with family to ride out the power outage. I guess I’ll never know.

  After wandering through the ghost of a home, I plop down on the couch. Meekah is somewhere, sniffing around. It feels good to sit on cushions. Straightening my legs, I push back into the soft material, relishing the comfort of the couch with my eyes shut. When was the last time I snuggled up on a couch?

  At Marie’s.

  It wasn’t even that long ago.

  Memories of the warmth and camaraderie of the home that I had spent much of my childhood in is quickly overtaken by the memory of watching Marie shoot a woman and her teenage son in cold blood. The shock at seeing the bullets smash into them before even properly questioning them had rocked me to my core.

  Ugh. Don’t think about that right now. Or ever.

  Swallowing, I stand up and look around. The idea of moving into this house is tempting. Perfect shelter and there must be a well nearby that I can access. But… what if they come back? What if someone were to follow the mountain road to get away from town and find the house? What if… I could what if myself to death. I decide to go with my gut instinct. My fear won’t allow me to stay here.

  Time to inventory what I
can use.

  Chapter Six

  Building a Home

  The week after finding the house feels like the busiest one since the power went out.

  I don’t know why I’m surprised, but the house is a veritable goldmine of goods. The previous owners of the house had packed like they were leaving for a vacation, not like they were running for their lives. Under the bathroom sink, I find a couple bars of soap, a bottle of shampoo, and a travel-size tube of toothpaste. I am most excited about the toothpaste; I’ve been brushing with just plain water for weeks.

  In the medicine cabinet is a half-full bottle of ibuprofen, Tylenol and some allergy medication. A couple prescription bottles are on the top shelf: Vicodin and Xanax. There are only a few of each, but I think they could both come in handy.

  The kitchen also yields up supplies. It doesn’t seem like the owner had taken any food with them. There are armloads of canned goods, a few boxes of pasta, a little rice, and a bag of flour and sugar. Not to mention, my favorite find, a canister of instant coffee. Everything is either close to or past its expiration date, but like I give a shit about that.

  I immediately regret opening the refrigerator; the stench wafting through the open door of all the spoiled food is enough to make me bend over and retch. Closing the door only minimizes the smell, I feel like that odor will be stuck in my nostrils for days. I’m not sure what I thought I’d find in there. Old habits die hard, I guess.

  Outside, I find the greatest discovery of all: a portable garage. It’s one of those canvas and metal rounded shelters, like a carport almost. Either end has a canvas door that rolls up and down. My brain is going a mile a minute at the possibilities. If I’m not going to live in the house… what about this?

  After removing all the lawn equipment from inside, I give a yank to one of the metal supports. It barely budges in the dirt. It must weigh at least three hundred pounds. Images of Beau towing the structure back to camp materialize in my mind, but I don’t know how realistic that is.