Seasons: A Year in the Apocalypse

by E A Lake

  My shoulders crumbled as I digested his words. “How’s that possible?”

  He continued on a different path. “Fifteen percent means three hundred credits. But Hulton decided to round it up to four hundred. Suppose he was just feeling generous”—his eyes narrowed— “or sympathetic.”

  The numbers didn’t register. Of all the scenarios I had considered, 23 pounds and 400 credits never came to mind.

  “We can’t survive on four hundred credits,” I said in a shaky voice. “We’ll never make it through the winter.”

  He rose from the step and let out a loud sigh. “Not my problem. Oh, and by the way, he cleared up your shortfall at the Amish store. So you get the full four hundred, not the two hundred eighty you would have had if he hadn’t been so nice.”

  “Well isn’t that nice of your boss!” I shouted. “That will keep us alive, what, another three weeks, maybe?”

  His anger rose as his face reddened. “He didn’t have to do shit for you. And in case you’ve forgotten, he has offered you a solution to all of this.”

  It was my turn to be red and see red. “He staged this whole thing! This has all the earmarks of Hulton corruption. How do I even know I got a fair deal in the count? He wants Walker so bad he’d do anything to get his way.”

  Walking directly at me, he stopped chest to chest, glaring down at me from above. “You’re pathetic, you know that? Hulton’s got a sterling reputation in this land. He’s aboveboard and clean and fair. And he treats his people decent. Even giving worthless pieces of horse shit more credit than they deserve.”

  I noticed a twitch in his face. “And in case you’re wondering, he hasn’t cut you off for next year,” Mr. Lasky spat. “Though for the life of me, I can’t figure out why not. You’ve proven yourself unworthy. He should just put you out of your misery.”

  Everything he said was true. Hulton had a spotless reputation when it came to honesty. He was generous and kind… at times. Times like this. But that wasn’t enough.

  “How are we supposed to make it through the winter alive?” I asked, struggling to hold my tears inside. “By spring, we’ll either be dead from starvation or frostbite. We don’t have enough of anything to last us long enough.”

  He was still above me though his face lightened slightly. “He won’t let you starve, you know that. But he’s not gonna just give it to you. You’re gonna have to earn it somehow. And you and your skinny friend better start hauling wood every day from that abandoned spot down the road. Otherwise, you will freeze to death.”

  I dared to lay my hands upon his muscular chest, albeit softly and very carefully. “There has to be something you can do for us, Mr. Lasky. You must have some way of helping us out.”

  He took one step back. His face went dark, his eyes on the ground. “I’ll pray for you. But that’s about all I can do.”

  I collapsed to the ground, overcome by tears as he walked away. Everything was worse than I had expected, than I had hoped for. All hope was gone.

  Mounting his horse, he gave me one last look. “Start hauling wood, and see if you can’t figure out how to snare some squirrels and rabbits. And get on it right away.” His stern words offered me little solace.

  I cried for a few moments longer, burying my head in my hands. When I looked up again, he was gone. Everything was gone. We were, as Sunshine so eloquently put it so many times, screwed.

  Sunshine took the news much better and braver than I had. Not a single tear flowed from her eyes.

  “How long will four hundred credits last us, you suppose?” she asked.

  Shrugging first, I did a rough calculation before answering. “Four months if we don’t mind being hungry most of the time.”

  “And we still got access to that wood, right?” She was being much more positive than I.

  “That’s what Mr. Lasky said,” I replied, laying my head on the dining-room table. Maybe if I was fortunate, she’d go grab a knife and put me out of my misery.

  “You know anything about snares?” She continued her line of questioning.

  I shook my head, even on the table as it was. “Nope. That was Brady and Walker.”

  She disappeared behind my line of sight, but I could still hear the hard soles of her worn boots on the floor as her pacing continued.

  “We can do this, Abby,” she said. “I know we can. It’s gonna be tough, but we’ll make do somehow.”

  “You know what I think?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “I think I’m not going to have my son come home for three more years.”

  “That ain’t happening,” she answered sharply. “No way, no how.”

  A snort escaped from my mouth, but I didn’t care any longer. “Why’s that?”

  She came and knelt next to me, rubbing my back. “Because Walker’s coming home, and him and me are going to be together. And we’re going to give you a grandbaby to watch after while we make this place the best farm around. And then in the future, you and me and Walker and maybe even Sasha, we’re all gonna be happy. And we’ll never have to be like this again.”

  Her words were strong, sincere. Her tone told me she believed everything she said.

  And if she believed a word of it, she was a bigger dreamer than I had ever been.

  Winter

  I remember when I was 10 how much I’d loved that particular winter. I always loved winter—the white fresh look of nature, cold temperatures that made my cheeks rosy, and an elongated Christmas break from school. But that one was special… at least, it was supposed to be.

  As they had promised, my parents gave me a kitten for Christmas. I named her Snowflake because she was as white as the landscape outside my bedroom window.

  I loved playing and sleeping with Snowflake. She was the happiest little creature I had ever been with. Plus, she purred when she slept, and I thought it was the sweetest thing I’d ever witnessed.

  However, trouble began within three days. Before New Year’s Eve, I awoke with swollen red itchy eyes and a thick throat. I told Mom it was just a bad cold, coming on faster than usual. But we both knew better.

  Shortly after New Year’s Day, Snowflake and my happiness were gone. I was miserable until my cousin Sally came to stay for the rest of the break.

  She was a year older than me, but never treated me like her junior. We laughed and played, and by the time I went back to school, I had almost forgotten about Snowflake. Though it was hard to tell my friends my tale of woe, it helped with the healing process of losing something you loved.

  It was, of course, a predecessor to the losses and pain I’d have to endure with my father, my mother, my grandmother, and my first husband, Bradley. Each one hurt a little less than the last, but each also stole a small piece of my soul.

  The first few winters were awful after dad died. Mom and I had left Mankato and moved in at my grandma’s house. The wind blew harder, the snow fell deeper, and if we saw zero on the old barn thermometer, we considered it a good day.

  Sometime in the late days of the second winter, I made a grisly discovery while searching for eggs one morning. I strolled into the well-insulated henhouse, humming some old tune, if I recall correctly. Greeting the chickens by name—yes, I had named them all and never mistook one for another—I went about my usual morning chore.

  I was only a few moments into picking eggs when I spotted it… or him, rather. Letting loose a loud shriek, I ran from the building. Dropping the eggs, I scurried for the back door of the house as Grandma came out to see what had me so frightened.

  She and Mother crept into the hen house, each carrying a knife for protection. After a few minutes, they came out, knives no longer in the attack position.

  “He’s dead,” Grandma reported, patting my shoulder as she passed me and continued into the house.

  Mom’s sad eyes found me next. “He either starved or froze to death. Either way, he can’t hurt you, Abby.”

  Later in the day, they dug a shallow hole on the far edge of the property for his body. While the
y dug, maybe 500 yards away, I crept back in for a final peek.

  His hollow eyes stared at the ground, his chapped bony hands resting in his lap. I decided right then and there I’d never be in that position. I’d never allow myself to become a frozen, emaciated body that some stranger would find. I would survive, no matter what.

  The Darkness had taken away most everything we had. But as humans, we could still cling to some sort of hope.

  Couldn’t we?

  Chapter 61

  We hauled wood for the next three weeks. Almost every day, except for the day of rest, Sunshine and I did our best to fill our wagon and drag it back to our place. By the time the weather turned frigid, we had half of the woodshed full. Progress we called it, mostly because it was the only light in our lives.

  Burning only what kept the main room warm, we hung blankets over the opening to the dining room and most of the windows. If the sun came out, and that didn’t happen much in November, we let the light and warmth in. Otherwise, we sealed ourselves off from the rest of the house—and world—because that’s what it was going to take to keep us alive.

  “Any more thoughts on food?” Sunshine asked as we reclined after another day of hauling wood. “Our last visit to the store was a mighty meager one. We sure didn’t get much.”

  I nibbled on a piece of cheese that Mr. Frederickson had brought us. His visits had grown less and less frequent. When he’d lived next door, he stopped by two or three times a week. Now, we were lucky to see him once during that same time span.

  “I’m still mulling over our options,” I replied. That was a lie, and I could see that Sunshine wasn’t buying it.

  “Walker can’t be part of the deal,” she huffed. “We need him as soon as possible. So what else you got?”

  I shot her a thin smile and shook my head. I had nothing. I had less than nothing. Neither of us were adept at setting snares, so most of the small game in our area was safe. We had no way to take a deer or a goose or even something as small as a crow.

  Without a weapon, make that a gun, we were sitting ducks just waiting for the end to come.

  Three options weighed heavily on my mind. The cost of those options froze me with fear. I knew the price, or was nearly certain, but I was afraid to move.

  My first choice was to go to Mr. Lasky and see if I could speak with Mrs. Hulton. Though I realized it was a long shot, if I caught my overseer in just the right mood, it might work.

  I’d played it through in my mind multiple times in the last month, ever since the disappointing harvest results. Sitting with the beautiful, gracious woman, hopefully without her husband nearby, we’d sip coffee or perhaps tea. She’d start directly across the table from me, listening and nodding intently. The deeper I got into my tale, the more I’d witness her true compassion.

  She would cross the void and sit next to me, taking my hands. “How can I help?” she’d ask with a tinge of sadness staining her words.

  Wood and food were what we needed. With enough wood to keep us alive, we wouldn’t freeze to death in the drafty old farmhouse we called home. With the proper amount of food—not too much but more than our pitiful existence currently had to offer—Sunshine and I would see spring and the hope of another year.

  Of course she’d say yes. How could she reply in any other way? What I knew of her, she loved the down-and-out of the region. No one was more down and further out than we were.

  But getting to Rena Hulton was where I found the most trouble. She hardly knew me and I little of her. The gatekeeper was one Jeremy Lasky. In all senses, he held the keys far too tightly for me to pry away.

  If going to Mrs. Hulton didn’t work, and I doubted I’d ever have an audience with her, I’d have to talk with Mr. Hulton. That, in and of itself, was problematic as well.

  I already knew how badly he wanted Walker to be his son. He’d share him with me, or so he claimed. But I didn’t trust him though I had no reason for my feelings.

  The only other solution, as far as dealing with Mr. Hulton, was to extend Walker’s contract in lieu of providing us with what we required to survive the winter. For me, that was a large price. For him, it was simply the stroke of a pen.

  With everything that Rickard Hulton had, making a deal like that meant little—as far as what it cost him. I’m sure he calculated the true cost of Walker’s labor and double that in man-hours. Again, I had nothing to base that on except for Mr. Hulton’s ability to thrive during a time when most barely lived or withered away.

  One year—that’s the time that was set in my mind. One more year without Walker. One more year of visiting him every eight days, talking and touching only through a fence. A fence meant to keep him in… and me out.

  I worried that the cost might be more than that, though. What would I do if it was two instead of one? Quickly, I chased that idea away. There were four of us when we first bartered Walker away. Now there were only two. And we’d take as little as possible so we could keep the cost low.

  All that was left was one simple question: Did I really want to live another year without Walker, or was I better off dead? The worst part was I hadn’t decided my answer. And there was still one more question hanging on my mind.

  Chapter 62

  Ever since he had brought it up, Mr. Hulton’s words were at the forefront of my mind. “The minute you sign the adoption papers, I promise to send ten of my best men and women to find your daughter.” Perhaps they were hollow words, but only to someone else—certainly not to me.

  He was confident he could find her, Sasha. With a general idea of where to start, ten men and women would most likely make quick work of tracking Brady and his whore down. I didn’t care what happened to either of them, not as long as I got Sasha back.

  But that came with a heavy cost. I had to give Walker to Hulton. But what if…

  If Sasha was returned, I’d at least have her. It wouldn’t be the same as having both of them back. However, Walker would be right next door. Once he knew his sister was back, he might be able to influence Hulton into letting him visit from time to time. Perhaps he might even get to spend a few nights with us if his new father agreed.

  But the future was what made that prospect the most interesting. Eventually, Hulton would allow us to move in with my son. If Walker put enough pressure on him, he would cave, eventually. And we’d be a family again… forever.

  Only one thing of that deal left me with a bad taste; forever, my boy—my own flesh and blood—would be known as Luke Hulton. That alone shouldn’t have dissuaded me from running to the Hulton ranch and signing the papers immediately, but it did.

  Decisions were never my strong suit. That one was not one I could make easily.

  The first snow of the year came earlier than most that I had remembered. Though it disappeared with the noon sun, it was a sign of bad things ahead.

  Sunshine and I made another run for wood. The recent temperatures had been chilly, even downright cold some nights. As such, our woodpile took on a meager look again.

  “I’d kill for a slice of GeeMah’s rassberry pie,” she said as we dragged our dilapidated cart back from the south.

  “Raspberry,” I corrected. “You always say that wrong.”

  She stopped, her hands set on her hips, gawking at me. “GeeMah always called it rassberry. Maybe you just got it wrong. You know you’re not a walking, talking dictionary.”

  I didn’t want to fight with her, so I ignored the attitude. “Come on,” I encouraged in a friendly voice. “Let’s get this wood back and put away. The sun won’t be up much longer.”

  Huffing her displeasure first, she pushed on the back again. “You sure been quiet lately. Wanna talk about whatever’s got your brain so muddled?”

  I pulled with all my might and realized the cart was barely moving. If there had been a rise—even the smallest of hills—between the two properties, I wasn’t sure we’d have made it back.

  The diminished amount of food we were ingesting wasn’t enough to keep us
going. Perhaps if we simply lounged around all day, we’d have been all right. But the smallest amount of physical activity caused our muscles to shake, and we became winded easily.

  We were dying on our feet. We needed more food.

  That night, we sat in the living room, too tired to even chat. I thought about starting a new book, but what was the point? Neither of us had the strength to hold it up to read any longer.

  “We need to get to the store tomorrow or the next day,” I said, laying my head in my hands. “We have to restock.”

  I heard Sunshine rustle. “How many credits we got left?”

  My face scrunched tight as I considered the question. “About three hundred, give or take.” I tried to sound positive but failed miserably.

  “How many months left of winter?” she asked. “You know, when the snow’s gone for good.”

  Too many—far too many to stretch 300 credits over. “Five, I suppose. Maybe as little as four or as many as six. We’ve only had the one snow so far. And it hasn’t even been that cold yet.”

  I let my eyes roam the room before they settled on her lifeless face.

  “How many months ’til we die, Abby?” she asked with no emotion. “We can’t hardly make it to the Amish store now, much less in three feet of snow or cold winds that will eat us alive.”

  “We can’t give up,” I whispered. “We can’t.”

  “Two? Three?”

  An uncomfortable silence settled on the room as I thoughtfully considered her question. She was right, of course. We both knew it.

  “We need to be alive in case Sasha comes back,” I countered. “And what about Walker? Don’t you want to be here when his contract’s up, making babies and such?”

  Scratching her head, she looked away. “They ain’t ever coming back,” she muttered. “And we won’t be alive if they do. We need a miracle.”