“Don’t be stupid.” she said. “You can stay, just don’t think…”
“Hey, it’s ok, your couch looks great.” He looked over at the dilapidated figure sitting in the living room. It looked like she had picked it up from the curb before The Day.
Betty brought him a blanket and told him goodnight.
Upstairs she had trouble sleeping. Having company in the house and sleeping separate felt odd. She really liked him. He seemed thoughtful and caring. He helped when asked and didn’t pout about doing work. She felt like putting him on the couch was not rewarding him for all that he did.
She went downstairs.
“Are you still up?” she whispered.
“I am now, something wrong?” he asked.
“Come upstairs.” she said.
He didn’t know what to make of it but followed as any man would have. Upstairs she put the candle on the dresser.
“You can sleep here tonight.” she said.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Just, hold me.” she said.
“Ok,” he said getting under the sheets.
She blew out the candle, slipped under the covers, and moved over next to him. She put her head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her. He smelled her hair and stared at the pitch black space of the room until she fell asleep. It would be a long night for him.
The next morning Betty woke up, the instant sense of déjà vu shot through her mind as she looked at the empty bed. She was instantly flustered. If she slept with the man he left, if she didn’t he left. What was wrong with her? Why did this keep happening? She got out of bed and stomped around upstairs gathering clothes and getting dressed to start breakfast.
When she came down the stairs she was startled to see Paul at the back grill cooking and heating up coffee in an old kettle pot.
“Morning beautiful,” he said. “I thought I’d make breakfast.”
“You’re still here.” she said.
“Was I supposed to leave?” he asked puzzled.
“No, no, I’m happy to see you.” she said.
“Me too.” he said getting back to the food.
Breakfast was a mix of greens with boiled and mashed root veggies. The coffee was strained and they sat in the morning sun enjoying the food they had, and the company.
“Betty,” Paul said.
“Yes.”
“Why hasn’t some guy snatched you up?” he asked.
“That could be a long story.” she said.
“Do we have anything more than time?”
“Maybe I was waiting for the right guy.” she said.
“I haven’t met a girl that was ever waiting for the right guy. They always wanted the bad guy.”
“Well, I guess you know why nobody snatched me up.” she said
“Well, I guess I’m screwed since I’m not the bad guy.” he said.
“Maybe I learned my lesson?”
“Have you?”
“I’d like to think so.”
Paul looked at her, in the eyes.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked
“You already have.” she said thinking about his question.
“It doesn’t count if it’s stolen. I want a kiss that, you know, is going to happen.”
“Shut up,” she said pulling him close. Their lips locked. It was a gentle kiss. One that reminded her of her first kiss when she was thirteen. Innocent, sweet and memorable. His heart raced and she left his lips with a smile.
Weeks went by. Paul never left the house. They worked well together. He helped when asked and provided when he could. Their nights became active and Betty felt secure for the first time.
Jane stopped by almost every day. She was happy to see Betty with someone. It was an old idea, being dependent on a man but these were old times. Older times than Jane ever saw, older than anyone alive could remember. America had entered a new dark age and there were few new age ideas that would survive.
Betty and Paul took turns going to the greenhouse, for security at the house and to get news about the outside world from the people trading.
One day the greenhouse wasn’t open, Paul looked in through the closed doors and the plants inside looked dead. There were holes torn in the plastic and some of the plants were dumped out onto the floor. He didn’t know what happened. He tried to put things together and took a mental picture to describe things to Betty. He thought the greenhouse had been robbed or the plants had died and the whole thing fell apart. Either way, there wasn’t a greenhouse to go to anymore. Their center for trade had disappeared. Paul walked back home and thought of a way to break the news to Betty.
When he came home she was in the backyard and was surprised to see him.
“Was it not open today?” she asked.
“I have a feeling it won’t be open anymore.” He went on describing what he saw and how things looked. She was upset and was disappointed in how things had fallen apart after all the work that had gone into it. She started concentrating more on the garden in the yard and tried to forget about the failed experiment of the greenhouse.
Fall was coming and the garden was reaching its end. Betty planned to keep things going through the winter with hoops and cold frames. She collected some old windows from the abandoned houses in the neighborhood. She was amazed at how much she was able to get done between the two of them. At one point Jane brought up the idea of using her yard for more space and Betty took her up on it. They built cold frames and planted rows with hoops. It was a simple system using scrap PVC pipe and trash bags cut the long way. In a week, Jane’s yard was transformed from grass to edible space.
Things were looking up. They still saw people from time to time and Betty often wondered why things had become so quiet around the house. The neighborhood was silent a majority of the time and the shooting had stopped. Betty thought either people had left or they ran out of bullets, both ideas were a plus in her book.
The first frost came and Betty was quick at work making sure everything was sealed and the plants would be kept warm. The hearty greens and root vegetables would be fine but she was still trying to get some of the warmer weather plants to keep going as long as she could.
The day after the frost Betty heard people outside.
Paul ran into the bedroom.
“There are people in the garden.” he said grabbing his rifle and checking the chamber.
“What?” she said instantly getting out of bed. She ran to the back window and watched a group of people pulling the hoops up and flipping the windows open to the cold frames.
“What are you doing?” she yelled down at them.
A man threw a rock up at her hitting the window and sending glass into the room at her. She covered her face and screamed. It was a scream of shock and anger.
“What was that?” Paul ran into the room and saw her still covering herself and was surrounded in broken glass.
“Sons of bitches,” he said stepping through the glass to the window. He raised his rifle and aimed at the biggest person he could find. “Out of the yard now!” he yelled aiming the rifle.
“You don’t have anything in that gun.” a voice hollered back as the people continued looting the yard.
Paul fired. It wasn’t a death shot. He got the man in the shoulder. The people scattered for places to hide. The man yelled, falling back on the ground.
“What hit me?” he yelled. He looked at the blood on his hand and put it back on the shoulder. “He shot me, it ain’t that serious. Why would you shoot me?” the man yelled at the window.
Paul worked the bolt of the rifle and the spent shell flew out. The man crawled back and hid behind the shed.
“Out of the yard NOW!” Paul yelled again.
“We gonna get you!” a voice yelled.
Paul turned back to Betty. She was trying to brush small pieces of broken glass out of her hair.
“Are you cut?” he asked.
“I think I’m fine, just pissed.” she said shaking her hair.
�
�You want the gun?” he asked.
She thought for a minute and her memory of Frank came to mind. She grabbed the gun.
“Do you know how to use it?” Paul asked.
“I’ve watched you.” she said raising the rifle and looking around the yard.
“Come out come out where ever you are!” she hollered.
“Shut up bitch.” a voice said, female from the sound.
She aimed at the voice hiding behind the tool shed. She didn’t want to put a hole through it but it was better than losing everything. She aimed for the middle of the wall and pulled the trigger. The kick of the Remington hit her shoulder, having not held the rifle correctly.
“Ow!” she said looking back through the scope.
A voice screamed, a man. She couldn’t tell if it belonged to the person she hit or someone else. Had she hit someone? The large man that Paul had shot stepped out from the side of the shed.
“You kill us over this shit? Are you serious? Are you serious?” he yelled, arms out making himself a target.
Betty didn’t think for long. She worked the bolt of the rifle and the spent shell flew out like the one Paul had shot.
“Are you serious?” the man said again.
A voice beside the shed was talking to the man. “She dead man, she dead.”
“Out of the yard now!” Betty hollered.
“That bitch crazy, let’s go.” the other voice said.
“This ain’t done.” the man said.
Betty kept the rifle up and pointed as the people filed out of the broken part of the fence she just noticed. More work to do. Two men carried a body. It was a woman, possibly young, small, a petite frame.
That was when it hit her. What she had done. She turned and handed the rifle to Paul who stood there watching her. He grabbed it and she ran to the bathroom. She gripped the toilet and threw up. Her body shook and she vomited again. She cried, she laughed, she cried again. Paul had heard about this, the different stages of grief after a shooting. Everyone experienced it differently. He put the rifle aside and held her in his hands. She was in shock and he went to the bedroom bringing back a blanket.
“Jane and Frank, check on them.” Betty said.
Paul went to the front of the house and saw their yard was torn up also.
“It looks like they ruined everything.” Paul said.
Betty continued to cry. It was the worst day of her life.
That evening Paul put together two backpacks. One was his hiking pack that he had since he met Betty. The other was Betty’s old bag from college that she still owned. He packed food and other items in case they had to leave the house in a hurry. He put all of his extra ammo in the pack. He had a bad feeling.
Betty tried to fix what she could but most of the materials were a lost cause. The plastic torn, plants ripped from their roots, and windows broken from the cold frames. They would have no food over the winter now.
“They destroyed everything, they didn’t even grab anything they only wrecked it. Why would they destroy everything?” she said looking at the yard.
“They are angry at the world and don’t want anybody else to make it if they won’t.” Paul said.
“So they grip onto the lifeboat trying to take everyone with them.” she said. “I’m going inside.”
Paul followed her in. They ate dinner and started to go upstairs. Betty thought she heard something outside.
“Sure it wasn’t the plastic in the wind?” Paul said.
“I’m sure.” she said.
Paul grabbed his rifle but before he could go back downstairs the front window smashed and the downstairs lit up. It was bright and hot. Smoke racing up the stairway.
“Betty! Up here!” Paul hollered and she ran up the stairs.
Paul was at the closet and pulled out two bags.
“The house?” she yelled.
Paul gripped her arms and looked into her eyes.
“It’s gone. It’s gone.” he said.
He handed her the bag and put his own on. They went to the back window and Paul helped her out. He hung over the side so she didn’t have as far to drop and let her go. He dropped the rifle to her next in case they were waiting for her. She caught it and immediately looked around.
Betty heard shots from the opposite side of the house. Paul was hanging out of the window now and looked down at her. He pushed off and let go. He landed on his feet and rolled. He got up, grabbed the rifle from Betty and they ran to the front of the house.
“I need to find Jane and Frank.” Betty said.
They saw the house across the street and it was in flames.
“Why? Why them? Why?” Betty yelled.
“We need to go.” Paul said.
“Wait.” Betty yelled.
She ran back to the house and kicked the side door in. Paul ran after her.
“What are you doing? You can’t go in there.”
Betty ran into the smoke, down the stairs, and looked for the box that she needed, her purpose in life. She found it on the cool floor of the basement and ran back up the stairs. Her eyes burned and she coughed hard, her lungs working the smoke out. She fought to get air and when she could finally breathe her ribs and chest hurt from the violent coughing.
“What was so important that you would run back in there?” Paul asked. He was upset with her.
She opened a shoe box, inside hundreds of packets of seeds.
“Our future.” she said. “Mankind’s future.”
Paul kissed her forehead and helped her up.
“They might come back to make sure they got the job done.” Paul said.
They ran as fast as they could, the pace more like a fast strut. The houses burned behind them. They stopped at the lake, the spot their first date was. Paul filled bottles with water and put them in their bags.
“We have to keep moving.” Paul said.
“I can’t believe this is happening.” Betty said.
“I know, I know, things will be ok. We have each other. I’ll take care of you.” he said.
Betty thought about Jane and Frank. Had they known this would happen?
They hit the road and walked.
Their life turned from one of settlement and farming to hunter gatherer. They traveled and followed a routine. They stayed away from people when they could.
“Where should we go?” Paul asked one day. He had the feeling they were traveling in circles with no destination in mind.
“The path for the man with a heart for adventure is always west.” Betty said.
“Did you read that somewhere?” Paul said.
“It sounded good, I don’t know maybe.” she said.
And so they went west.
Two Years Later
Paul estimated they were by the Great Lakes. The maples and swamps told him they were at least close. They were never more than a few miles from a body of water. It was prime land for his hunting.
When they had the chance, Paul would down a deer and they would spend a day processing it into jerky for traveling. They would have a big meal, eating as much as possible and drying the rest through smoking. Paul had become pretty good at it. They tried not to waste as much as possible but he always felt that he didn’t do enough.
One evening after Paul had snared a few small game, they sat around the fire eating. They were quiet. Trying to enjoy the little protein they were able to get. A man with a camouflage hat walked out of the bushes.
“Hi.” he said looking at them. Paul thought about grabbing the rifle. Then a hand pulled his forehead back and he felt something on his neck. It felt like a paper cut, the warm liquid that filled his shirt told him the unforgiving truth. He was already a dead man. He fell back and gripped his throat. He looked up and saw a woman standing over him. She was dirty, unkempt, and was watching him die. She was enjoying watching him die. He wanted the rifle. He wanted to save Betty from these psychos. He didn’t want the world to go dark. He was too tired. It was time to sleep.
Betty wa
s in shock from watching Paul die. The woman who cut his throat seemed to be arguing with the man wearing the camouflage hat. Betty didn’t hear the words as she stared at Paul’s body. His eyes were lifeless. Her companion was gone. Her protector and mate. She was hoping to get pregnant but it never happened.
“You’re a pig.” the woman told the man with the camouflage hat.
The man grabbed Betty by the wrist and tied them together with nylon zip ties. She didn’t struggle. She stared straight ahead and didn’t speak. Their bags were brought with them and Paul’s body was carried out like a fresh catch of game.
“We are going to have some fun.” the man said as they walked. “You and me, I can tell.” He slapped and gripped her ass as she walked ahead of him. Tears ran down her face. This could not be how it ends.
The man shoved her in a tent and closed the door behind him.
“You saw what happened to your friend. Unless you want that to happen to you, you’d better do what I say. There are plenty of people here that would love to sink their teeth in you. Some say women taste better. I don’t know about that, but I will say when I saw you I knew that would be a waste.” He held her face in his hand looking at her, her jaw in his fingers.
“You will do just fine.” he said stepping out of the tent.
“Dinner time!” a voice yelled. A cloud of smoke traveled in the tent, the smell of flesh cooking. Betty tried to ignore that it was Paul.
Days went by. The man tried to feed Betty but she refused everything, even the items that looked like plants.
“Look, if you’re going to starve yourself, I might as well hand you over to the others. They will be pissed if I let you starve to death and there is nothing left to eat.”
She never talked. She screamed the times he forced himself on her. She hated it. She did everything to try and stop him. One night she even kicked him in the face, splitting his lip and breaking a tooth. He replied by hitting her so hard she was unconscious while he finished and she woke up with a black eye.
He didn’t touch her much after that. She felt like she was more of a pet afterwards. She was to stay in the tent and nobody else was allowed to see her.
Then came the day the shooting started. Time didn’t exist anymore. Every day was the same. The man had been in the tent, talking to her. He had been eating horribly smelly hunks of meat. He tried to feed her and she still refused. He smacked her.
After the Day- Red Tide Page 7
