The Hidden Survivor (Book 1): The Hidden Survivor

by Mccoy, Connor

  The closest town was out of bounds. He wouldn’t even tell the three it existed. It was too close and it was possible he may need allies one day. The hardware store man might be willing to vouch for him, so he didn’t even mark the town on the map.

  The other two he circled. Then he marked the most direct route to each of them, using the contours on the map to help. He never walked over the top of hills, but skirted around them, unless he especially needed to get his bearings, or if he wanted to see what was going on down below. So, he marked the path in pencil, and then indicated a couple of high lookouts where they could scout the town below.

  He was hoping they would agree to the farthest town. The farther away from his cabin the better. In fact, if Christian had been in better shape, he would’ve suggested a three-day march. But even waiting forty-eight hours, and taking it slowly, the two day march was going to be very hard on the wounded man. Christian needed a full course of antibiotics as soon as possible. If infection set in it could cause other complications and even his life.

  Chapter Six

  Margaret was lying half-naked on a pile of hospital chucks covering a plastic sheet they had placed on the floor of his bedroom. Glen had offered her his bed, but she had refused, saying she didn’t want to be responsible for ruining his mattress. She had refused the blankets and sheets for the same reason.

  The medication he’d given her had worked, and she was expelling the unwanted pregnancy. But it wasn’t easy. She cried with the physical pain, and possibly also the emotional pain of ending the life inside her. She shook first with cold, and then with fever. There was little Glen could do except remove the soiled chucks and give her sips of water.

  He knew it happened that way sometimes, more like inducing labor than a woman’s normal cycle, but he’d never witnessed it. Poor Brian was in the living room listening to his mother’s cries of pain. Glen couldn’t think of anything else to do with him. He didn’t dare let them go out on the deck with the pond beckoning so close. Locking him in the truck would be cruel.

  “I know it sounds bad,” Glen said to the boy, “but your mom will be okay.”

  “What’s happening?” Brian pleaded. “Why is my mom in pain?”

  “I gave her some medicine,” Glen said, “and it’s making her stomach hurt.” That at least was close to the truth. “Like when you have a bad tummy ache.”

  “Why did you give her that medicine?” the boy asked.

  “She asked me to,” Glen said truthfully. “It will make it easier for her to travel. She’s trying to take you someplace safe.”

  “Is there someplace safe?” Brian looked at him with big eyes.

  “I don’t know, but if there is, your mom will find it. I have confidence in her.” Glen wondered if this was true. He hadn’t known Margaret long enough to really know, but it felt true to him. If she could find a safe place for her boy, she would. And she would continue looking.

  An especially loud cry came from the other room and Glen went to check on Margaret.

  “Sorry,” she panted. “This is worse than labor. At least when you’re giving birth you get a baby at the end of it.” She smiled weakly. “I didn’t know it was going to be this difficult.”

  “It isn’t always, from what I understand,” he said. “But medications affect people in different ways sometimes. The upside is I don’t think you’ll bleed for long. You’re expelling everything now.”

  “Glad to know there is an upside,” she said. “Because this is hell.”

  “I know and I’m sorry,” he said. “I can give you some Tylenol, but I doubt it would cut the pain much.”

  “No, I lived through childbirth, I can live through this.” She closed her eyes tight as another contraction racked her body. Then they popped open. “You don’t have a hot water bottle, by any chance? Because that might actually help.”

  This search through the cabinets revealed that no, he did not have a hot water bottle. However, he had taken some towels from the cupboard and heated them on the wood stove, swapping them out as they became cold.

  Margaret said that was helpful, so he continued until the contractions had lessened and she fell asleep. He covered her with a chuck, mostly so she wouldn’t yell at him for ruining his things, and then covered her with his softest blanket.

  “She’s much better now,” Glen told the boy. “Why don’t you get some rest?”

  Brian curled up on the couch and was asleep almost instantly. Glen covered him with a throw blanket he kept near the fire and sank into his armchair, exhausted himself. His head throbbed, and he couldn’t shake the dizziness that had come with the concussion. He sank into sleep gratefully.

  He woke to noises from the kitchen, where Margaret was preparing food.

  “Should you be up?” he asked groggily.

  “More than you should,” she said. “You have a concussion, remember? You’re supposed to take it easy.”

  Glen grunted. “Easier said than done around here,” he said.

  “It’s probably not wise for me to travel while reeking of blood,” she said. “So, if you don’t mind, I’ll stick around here for a day or two and take care of you until I stop bleeding. Sound fair?”

  “More than fair,” he said closing his eyes. “You already fixed my head. I wasn’t asking for more than that.” He felt himself beginning to drift again and didn’t hear what she said in response.

  When he woke again, there was a plate of stew on the table beside him. He poked his finger in, still warm. As he began eating he became aware of the sound of singing from outside on the deck. And then a child’s laughter. He could almost imagine Sarah and Clarence out on the deck playing some childhood game. He pushed the thought away. Would it ever stop hurting to think of them?

  He’d lost his appetite but forced himself to eat the stew. It was good. Margaret had been kind to make it for him, and he needed his strength. When he finished he was surprised to find he felt better, and the singing coming from the deck was pleasant instead of painful.

  That night, they ate together, almost like a family, and Glen found himself enjoying Margaret’s company. He entertained the thought of them staying. He could build a second bedroom for Brian, and if he fell again there’d be someone to come looking for him. To save him. When he realized he had imagined only a bedroom for Brian, he amended his fantasy, embarrassed. The second room could be for Margaret and Brian. He let the fantasy slip away, disconcerted that he’d created a new family for himself so easily just because she was there.

  Add the singing woman and child, stir, and presto, instant family. He did not entertain that thought again.

  But the days passed easily. Brian was fascinated by Glen’s fox and spent hours on the deck, sitting quietly, waiting for her to show up. They ate most meals together, laughing and talking, and Margaret and Glen stayed up late chatting quietly at the kitchen table while Brian slept in Glen’s bed.

  Glen had given up his bed to Brian and Margaret, and was sleeping on the couch. Some part of him wished Brian was on the couch and he was sleeping with Margaret, but he wasn’t ready to go there. He’d only get attached and then she’d leave.

  He woke every morning to Margaret in the kitchen and Brian on the deck and life seemed happier than it had been in a long time. Margaret and Brian stayed longer than they needed, he knew that. And he knew she was staying because he was injured and she wanted to be sure he’d be okay. But the longer she stayed the more reliant on her he became, and the inevitable departure only became more painful.

  One morning, he was sitting on the deck with Margaret while Brian fiddled at the edge of the pond. The boy was talking to himself and singing snatches of songs that he knew, perfectly happy in the sunshine.

  “Will you stay?” Glen asked Margaret.

  “Here with you, you mean?” she asked.

  He nodded, watching her face. She was quiet for a few minutes, thinking it over, it seemed.

  “No,” she said. “If it were just me, then maybe I would
. But I have Brian to think about. He needs a community. A place to belong to when he grows up. A place where people will care for him. If we stayed here, he will grow up alone, and then you and I would die maybe sooner than later. He would be all alone. No community, no companionship. No, I cannot stay. But you could come with us.” She looked at him with her head tilted.

  It was his turn to be quiet and think.

  “No,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I have a home here. I’m afraid if I left and went searching with you, that we wouldn’t find the place you are searching for. What if there are no places with power? No community that would welcome us? We could walk for months or years, never having a place to rest. I would become impossible to live with. You would regret having asked me to come along. It’s wouldn’t be good.”

  He wondered, as he said it, if his words were true. Was it that he was afraid they’d never find civilization, or that they would, and he wouldn’t fit in? Maybe he wasn’t fit for society anymore. Maybe he couldn’t make a home among people. After all, he’d left before the world went dark. What made him think he could fit back in now?

  So, he watched her pack up their belongings without telling her his real fears. He gave them a first aid kit, and some dried fruits and meat. He walked them to the road north and warned them to hide if they heard any noise, people or animals. Then he watched them walk away, and hoped, when they turned to wave goodbye, that they couldn’t see his tears.

  Chapter Seven

  His three ‘guests,’ he liked to think of them in quotes because they hadn’t been invited, all were asleep the next morning when Glen got out of bed. He slipped quietly outside and decided to risk getting into the food cache. They needed something besides rice to eat.

  But the moment he grabbed the line he heard a noise and quickly released it. He turned to see Sally in the doorway, rubbing her eyes.

  “Morning,” she said. “Do you have coffee?”

  “I’ve been out of coffee for a year,” he said. “I’ve got tea. I can offer you a combination of acorn and dandelion root, as a coffee substitute. The tea has caffeine, the other doesn’t.”

  “Ugh, what I wouldn’t give for fresh brewed coffee with real sugar and cream in it,” Sally said. “I need caffeine, so I guess it’s tea.”

  “Coming up,” Glen said, and headed back inside. He turned as he entered the cabin and saw her looking into the pond where he had been standing. He’d have to be more careful, but luckily she’d have to be extremely clever to find the hidden lines to the cache. He had them well camouflaged.

  He made ‘coffee’ and toasted some homemade soda bread while it brewed. Mia was moving and making waking-up noises as he took a tray out to Sally. He’d added some jam and honey to the tray for her bread and coffee, but he didn’t have anything to substitute for cream.

  Probably somebody somewhere nearby was raising dairy cows and bartering for milk, butter and cheese, but he didn’t know who, and even if he did, contact with others was risking too much exposure. Milk products were not a necessity, only a nicety.

  He left the tray and went to make toast for Mia, who had disappeared into the bathroom. He checked on Christian, noticing his color was good and his breathing even. But when he lifted the dressing to check the wound he was concerned. The lower end of the gash was angry red and swollen. Infection was setting in.

  This complicated the situation greatly. He couldn’t leave Christian here, because he’d likely return to find either Christian dead or himself robbed blind. Forcing Christian to travel put him at greater risk, but if he did travel he’d have antibiotics sooner. Glen didn’t know if the penicillin really had expired, of if Christian was resistant to it, but it didn’t matter. Either way, he needed something stronger, and soon.

  He went out onto the deck, meaning to speak to the women, but as he watched them he realized they weren’t women really. They were more than girls, certainly, but still very young. He wondered where their families were, and if they were searching for their children. He thought they might be in their early twenties, an age his own son never would reach. He had such an ache in his heart he thought he might die of it, but instead he would help these children. Maybe he could help them find their families.

  First, he had to keep Christian alive.

  “Mia, Sally,” he called across the deck, “can I talk to you?”

  They turned to him with worried faces, and he moved to join them. “Christian’s wound is infected,” he said. “I’ll give him more antibiotics, but I’m afraid they aren’t working on him. He may be resistant to penicillin. We need to find a town with a pharmacy.”

  “Isn’t there some natural remedy you could try?” Sally asked. “Homeopathic or something like that?”

  “I can make a poultice,” he said. “But those are serious wounds, and the infection could spread. We need to do more than that.”

  “When can we leave?” Mia asked. “Couldn’t I go and bring it back?”

  “That’s not a good idea,” he began and Mia started to cut him off. “No. Listen,” he said firmly. “First, as you have noticed, people aren’t welcoming to strangers. You’d be vulnerable on your own.” He could see she was about to interrupt again and lifted a hand to stop her. “Second, we need to get him medicine as fast as we can, and it still will be faster for us all to travel together, than to go all the way there and back again.”

  “But, I could move very quickly,” Mia said. “I could be really fast.”

  “That’s only if you got there and were able to negotiate for medicine quickly. I’ve got skills that may help us get what we need. We all need to go.” He didn’t add that she just as likely could be held captive or killed when she showed up, but it was true.

  He went back in the house to concoct a combination of ginger, garlic, and honey. Then he spread it on a sterile dressing and laid it over the angry red area on Christian’s stomach. He laid another sterile dressing over that, and administered another syringe of penicillin. He hated to waste it, but it might be helping a little. He sat back and thought about what materials he had at hand for placing a drain. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but it might, so he’d better pack for that eventuality.

  He left Christian and went to pull his pack from his bedroom closet. He had kept it ready, but double-checked for dried meat, bullets and other necessities. He added surgical supplies, but he didn’t have any medical tubing. So, he grabbed a couple of plastic straws and higher-quality water bottles and hoped he wouldn’t need to use them.

  Then he packed two smaller backpacks with food and filled the water bottles he’d stolen the straws from. They still were somewhat usable. He also went out to the truck and pulled a trio of emergency blankets from behind the seat. He didn’t have a fourth, but it wasn’t so cold yet that he’d need to bring a sleeping bag. He’d survive in his jacket. He split the foil blankets between the three packs, zipped them up and placed them by the door. They were ready to leave as soon as Christian was mobile.

  Christian regained consciousness later that afternoon. Sally and Mia were playing cards, a crazy version of war, Glen thought, while he pondered ways of moving Christian. If the man wasn’t ready by the next day, they would have to transport him. Perhaps they could create a litter from the wheel barrow and chance traveling down the road.

  Then Christian raised his head and said, “Why do I smell of garlic? It’s making me hungry,” which Glen took as a good sign.

  The girls dropped the cards and rushed to Christian’s side, making an extraordinary amount of racket.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine,” he said. “Who do you have to, uh, ask to get some food around here?”

  Sally jumped up to dish him up a bowl of rice and Glen joined her.

  “Not too much to begin with,” he said. “We don’t want him vomiting at this stage of his healing. He could split his stitches.”

  Sally dumped half the rice back in the pot, and poured a glass of room temperature water before bringing them both to Christ
ian.

  Christian accepted them with thanks, and Glen cautioned him to go easy.

  So, Christian ate at a moderate speed while Mia spelled out the situation. Having finished, Christian handed the bowl back to Sally. “So, when do we leave?” he asked. “Soon, I hope.” He touched the bandage over his belly. “Wouldn’t want to die of septicemia.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” Glen agreed. “So, we will leave tomorrow. It’s a two-day journey and I doubt we’ll be able to travel very quickly. We will stick together, even though Mia has offered to go ahead, because there is safety in numbers, and also because if you have a relapse, Christian, it will take all three of us to keep you moving. How is your stomach feeling after eating?”

  “I’m not feeling like I’m going to upchuck, if that’s what you mean, but I still smell really sweet garlic.” Christian sniffed loudly. “I think it’s coming from me.”

  “It’s a poultice of garlic honey and ginger,” Glen said. “They have antibiotic properties. But let me take a look at how you are doing.”

  He gently released the outer bandage, which was stained not only with honey, but also, Glen thought, with pus. “Sally,” he said, “can you go into the bathroom and get me some more sterile pads? I’m going to need to change this.”

  Sally looked mulish, “Why don’t you ever ask Mia to fetch sterile pads?” she asked.

  “Because you know where they are so you’re quicker,” he said, barely keeping his patience. “And I ask her to do other things.”

  “I suppose,” she muttered and got up to do as he asked.

  Glen pulled off the poultice and wiped the honey mixture from Christian’s skin with the nearly clean outer bandage. The infection hadn’t abated, but didn’t look as though it had gotten any worse either. Sally returned with the supplies, and Glen put more honey mixture on the sterile gauze and bandaged Christian back up.