by AJ Powers
But the biggest contributor to the morale boost had come after Aaran heard the quiet hum while they were settling in upstairs. At first, Aaran had darted over to the window, peeled back the corner of the garbage bag, and looked outside. He’d braced himself for an angry convoy of Sentinels barreling down the gravel road, their sights set on the only house in the area. Straining his eyes to see through the darkness, Aaran failed to detect any movement outside. Then, he’d heard Hadas from the other side of the room.
“Uhm, Aaran?” she said, bewilderment in her voice. He slowly moved away from the window and looked over his shoulder. She was kneeling on the floor, her hand hovering a few inches over the metal air vent. “This thing is pushing out air, and it almost feels warm…”
Replacing the tape on the corner of the bag, Aaran excitedly rushed over and confirmed for himself. It was almost warm. “I bet the furnace runs off the propane,” he said, still in disbelief.
Finding a house disconnected from the Nebula that still had limited running power was not unheard of. Finding one with heat though, was a different story. Short of having every inch of the roof covered, the old solar panels were not able to handle the power demands of an electric furnace. And in Aaran’s experience, every pilot light on natural gas furnaces had been snuffed out within the first month of the takeover.
Though the air flowing out of the vent wasn’t cold, it wasn’t hot either. “I’ll be right back,” he said as he got up and headed to the stairs.
Using a penlight to illuminate his way, Aaran descended the stairs. He quickly located the thermostat on a wall next to the kitchen. The heat was set to fifty-eight. Aaran wasn’t sure how much propane was left in the tank, but he decided to splurge for the night and rapidly pressed the up arrow on the keypad until it reached seventy. He felt that he and Hadas were entitled to at least one toasty night of sleep after everything they’d been through.
Before heading back upstairs, Aaran walked into the kitchen and dared a quick look inside the fridge. To his surprise, the gag-worthy smells that normally came with bulging milk cartons, rotten meat, and liquefied vegetables did not attack him. The fridge was quite bare, only holding some condiments, water, soda, and beer—all things that wouldn’t spoil terribly fast.
Aaran stuck the light in his mouth and reached for a few bottles of water and then, grabbed a couple of beers. He had no intention of getting blitzed like last night—a last night that felt like a lifetime ago—but thought maybe a beer would take the edge off from the horrid day. He looked forward to the relaxing effect of the alcohol, for both his muscles and his mind. After the thrashing the day had given them, they would need as much help unwinding as they could get.
With his collection of drinks in hand, Aaran returned to Hadas. As he passed the register on the floor, he knelt down to feel the air coming through.
Heat!
“Hope you like it hot!” he said with a big smile on his face.
Hadas was on the king-sized bed with a book in her hand. She had kicked off her boots and was propped up by several pillows, as if she was just relaxing after a long day at the office. However, Aaran’s comment, especially while holding alcohol in his hand, forced an eyebrow upward. “Uhm, come again?”
“I set the thermostat to seventy. Should be nice and warm tonight.”
Hadas closed her eyes and grinned at Aaran’s words before glancing back at the book in her hand.
“What are you reading?”
“I dunno. I guess it’s the diary of the chick who lived here or something,” she said with a shrug.
“Anything interesting?”
“Not particularly. Looks like her husband was a writer or something. According to her last entry, he had just finished working a lot of hours on a manuscript, and they decided to go spend the rest of the year in Florida with her parents.”
“When was it dated?”
“November eleventh.”
Aaran checked the date on his wristwatch. The post was one-day shy of a year ago. The diary explained why the fridge was empty and the thermostat set so low. Nobody wants to come back from a long vacation to spoiled food and frozen water pipes. Keeping the thermostat in the upper fifties kept the pipes from bursting while minimizing fuel consumption. The precautionary effort meant that there was at least some propane left from the previous winter, which would work out nicely for Aaran and Hadas over the next few days.
Aaran twisted off the cap of a beer and held it out to Hadas. She glanced over at it, briefly contemplating the decision before taking it from him. “Thanks.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Aaran unlaced his boots before climbing in. Once he’d leaned up against the headboard, he twisted the cap off his own beer and took a swig. He made a bitter face before taking another long drink.
They sat in silence while Hadas thumbed through the diary in search of anything interesting. Aaran took the moment of silence to decompress from the near-fatal day. He had experienced his fair share of close calls over the last year, but ever since that fateful kill-or-be-killed moment back in Loveland, he seemed incapable of going five feet without finding trouble. Or maybe it was trouble finding him? Either way, he was ready for trouble to piss off. Sitting in a warm house with a cold beer in one hand, a TV remote in the other, and a beautiful girl next to him, he realized that his luck seemed to be turning.
When his mind was no longer able to focus on the events of the day, Aaran turned his attention to the TV. He waited for the media box to index the huge catalog of shows and movies. One by one, a list formed alphabetically, showing everything from sitcoms to action flicks. There were even a few memorable football games thrown in for good measure. Aaran assumed he could die of old age before getting through everything stored on the device. Though, old age was not something Aaran expected to ever experience.
While Aaran scanned through the endless choices on the screen, Hadas broke the silence. “Thanks for saving me back there. Again.”
The muscles in Aaran’s shoulders tensed as he recalled the moments in the truck before the impact. His actions had all been reflexive—he hadn’t given them any conscious thought. He hadn’t deliberately yanked on Hadas’s arm when the truck started to tip over, and yet, that’s exactly what he’d done. Everything had happened so quickly that there had been no time for him to consider his actions. He shuddered as he reflected on what could have happened had he not acted instinctually. Aaran flashed a smile mixed with solemnity and relief. “Don’t mention it, Hadas. You’d do the same for me.”
Expecting a sarcastic retort, Hadas surprised him when she said, “Of course I would,” with a sweet smile. She reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. The unexpected moment transported Aaran from the terrors of their reality to a tranquil place where the Nebula didn’t exist. Reality snatched his peace when Hadas’s hand deftly moved to the remote. “Yoink!” she said as she commandeered the remote with a cunning smile on her face.
“So, that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” Aaran replied.
“Yup,” she said as she cozied up next to him, resting her head on his shoulder and surfed through the library of shows. “You don’t mind, right?” she said in a tone that was more of a statement than a question.
Aaran’s eyes were heavy, so he didn’t care what was on. He just wanted to fall asleep to the soothing sounds of laugh tracks and iconic intro music for the first time in nearly a year. “I don’t mind at all.”
He was asleep before the credits finished rolling.
Chapter 25
A week had passed since Aaran and Hadas had limped their way up the driveway to the house. The occasional truck could still be heard echoing off the hills or the sporadic helicopter flying nearby—sometimes a little too close for comfort. Overall though, things had quieted down. Had their accommodations been more like the church, they would have long since decided it was time to leave. But their new house was a far cry from the cold, damp basement of the church, and neither of them were motivated to leave.<
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With the temperatures dipping below freezing at night, it would have been insane to leave a house with a functioning source of heat. If they kept the thermostat set low enough, Aaran estimated that they could stretch the remaining propane supply through a good deal of the winter, possibly even the whole season. They couldn’t keep the balmy seventy degrees they’d basked in on the first night, but it would keep the bitter fangs of winter at bay.
If the heat hadn’t been enough to convince them, the solar panels on the roof provided extra incentive to remain where they were. The sun-powered electricity had been able to handle all their needs thus far: lights, the fridge, a small desk fan, an infinite charge for Hadas’s Webber detector and of course, the TV.
And then, there was the 1969 Mustang collecting dust in the garage. Even with the uniform coat of rust smothering the body, she was nothing short of stunning. It was clear that the classic muscle car had been a project for the hobbyist who used to call this place home. And judging by the shoddy work, the man had been in over his head. Overall, the engine was in decent shape, and most of the parts that were missing had a new-in-the-box replacement sitting on the nearby workbench. But there were a couple critical components that Aaran would still need to find: spark plugs, an air filter, and an alternator, but those would be easy enough to score at the auto parts place in town.
The house’s location was also ideal. It was well outside city limits, rural by most standards. But it was close enough to town that supply runs—such as collecting the last remaining components needed for a working car—could easily be achieved in a single day of travel. Though Aaran wasn’t keen on the idea of going down the steep hill into Hamilton very often, it was nice to know that it wouldn’t be a terribly long hike, should the need arise.
Aside from having a warm bed inside a small house that was tucked away from the main roads, perhaps the strongest argument to stay was the simplest: Aaran and Hadas had nowhere else to go. They could try to find Aaran’s friends—the whole reason they’d come up to Hamilton in the first place—but Aaran wasn’t going to kid himself; they were probably dead or chipped.
Aaran had been nomadic since leaving his home and it had taken a toll on him, physically as much as psychologically. There had been times that it had been too much. He needed a break, and he was excited at the prospect of having a place to hang his hat for a while. To no longer be a sojourner wandering aimlessly around Southwestern Ohio.
Having come to the decision the previous day, Aaran and Hadas had executed a painstaking search of the house to take stock of the food and supplies on hand. Unfortunately, they weren’t much better off on food than when they’d first stepped inside. Since the former occupants had decided to migrate south for the winter, they hadn’t bothered to stock the pantry before leaving. With what remaining food they had in their packs and what they’d found in the kitchen, they wouldn’t make it into December. A supply run would be in order soon.
While searching, Aaran was overjoyed to uncover five boxes of rifle cartridges, but was disappointed when he discovered it was .30-30 Winchester, which was no use to either of them. He’d also found some ten-millimeter hollow points—again, useless with their current inventory of firearms. He’d set the ammo aside and continued searching.
A pack of barbecue lighters and an unopened bottle of lighter fluid was a big find. He already had two cigarette lighters in his pack, but both were barely able to sputter out a spark. Aaran put one of the lighters inside a zippered pocket on his pack and stuffed the bottle of lighter fluid into the main compartment. Though he hoped he would never have to use them, getting a hot fire going in the cold, wet snow was not quite as easy as the TV survivalists made it look. The flammable liquid would expedite the potentially life-saving process.
Hadas’s search hadn’t fared much better. After cataloging the food and water in the kitchen, she was only able to scrounge up a few AAA batteries, a couple packs of hand warmers, and some chem lights. She’d also found an emergency roadside kit in the utility room, which had a couple of road flares inside. Aaran traded one of his lighters for one of the flares, giving them both multiple ways to get a fire going in a pinch.
After lunch, Aaran turned his attention to securing the house. His first task was to cover up all the windows on the ground floor the same way he had upstairs so they could utilize the first floor in the evenings. Then, using the tools in the garage and some repurposed lumber from the now-deconstructed workbench, Aaran built a set of drop bar locks to go behind each of the house’s two entrances. The design was more than a thousand years old, but its age didn’t make it any less effective. If anyone wanted inside, they would be met by a pair of two-by-fours resting on securely-mounted brackets. Aaran toenailed at least a dozen screws into each of the brackets, alternating the angle of each screw for maximum effect. The medieval lock wouldn’t stop a motivated Sentinel for very long, but the racket of breaking down the door, along with the additional time it would afford them, would be more than enough for them to escape. Which led him to his next task: an escape route from the second floor.
The device consisted of three heavy-duty eyehooks and some braided paracord. Aaran strategically anchored the eyehooks into ceiling studs and purposefully wove the paracord through the hooks with a length remaining that he and Hadas could scale should they need to escape. Images in his mind of him and Hadas falling to the ground when the device failed motivated him to reinforce the contraption, distributing the weight applied to each anchor, allowing them to have a safe—and hopefully—silent departure out the back before anyone could get through the front door. It was far from an ideal exit strategy, but it was better than nothing.
Aaran grabbed onto the paracord and gave it a couple of tugs. It was secure, but was it secure enough? Not wanting to chance it, Aaran grabbed the paracord rope with both hands and jumped into the air. He lifted his feet and grunted as he struggled to support the weight of his body with his arms. After a year of nearly non-stop walking, Aaran felt like he could carry a baby grand on his back, but he’d never realized just how much he had neglected his upper body. He made a mental note to work on that over the winter. It wasn’t as if he had a busy schedule ahead of him.
Planting his feet back onto the carpeted floor beneath him, Aaran neatly coiled up the slack and hung it on a nail he had tapped into the wall for just that purpose. The setup wasn’t pretty, and he suspected it would be murder on their hands to climb down, but injured hands were better than jumping out the window, and certainly better than facing the men busting down the door.
While he was admiring his work, Aaran was distracted by an aroma drifting out from the kitchen. As he went downstairs, the smell became more potent—more succulent. He reached the bottom of the stairs and saw Hadas walking to the dinner table, her hands cradling a serving bowl, a trail of steam drifting into the air. She set the bowl down between bowls of corn and black beans. Flour tortillas they had found in the pantry sat nearby on a plate. In the center of the table, a large, decorative candle sat with all three wicks burning.
“Oh, that smells soooooooo good,” he said with an almost primitive growl in his voice. However, the excitement buzzing through Aaran’s body over his first hot meal in months was somewhat spoiled with worry. “Did you use the oven to heat this up? Because that thing is connected to the propane tank as well, and I don’t know if it’s a good idea to sacrifice a warm house for warm food.”
Hadas shook her head. “Didn’t you see the grill on the back porch?”
“Yeah.”
“I used the burner on that.”
“It’s not a charcoal grill?” Aaran asked. He had jumped to that conclusion once he’d found the lighter fluid.
“It has both. I gave the propane valve a twist, and it fired right up.”
Warm house. Warm food. Beautiful girl. Television…It was more than Aaran could have wished for in the apocalypse. The tension in Aaran’s body melted away when he looked at the prepared meal in front of him. “Wel
l, what are we having?” he asked, gesturing to the table.
“Sloppy tac-joes,” Hadas said with a goofy grin on her face. “Sorry, I couldn’t find any cheese that didn’t have blue, fuzzy crap growing on it.”
“It’s perfect,” Aaran said. “Well, let’s dig in.”
He wasn’t even aware that he was doing it, but Hadas thanked him when he pulled her chair out for her. She met his chivalrous act with a coy smile, inspiring him to continue such behaviors. He much preferred bringing a smile to her face rather than the usual scornful remarks.
Hadas peeled one of the heated tortillas from the top of the stack and put it on to Aaran’s plate before serving herself. Aaran scooped up a hefty portion of the Sloppy Joe and dumped it on to Hadas’s tortilla before digging up some more for himself. After adding the corn and beans, Aaran folded the tortilla and took a bite.
It was by no means Mexican food, but it was, by far, the best taco he’d ever had. And the noises he made as he scarfed it down paid tribute to Hadas’s effort in preparing the meal. He looked around the table, then back up at Hadas. “I gotta be honest, I didn’t have you pegged as a romantic, candlelit dinner type of girl,” he said as he reached for another tortilla.
Hadas laughed before cracking the lid off a bottle of water. “I guess I’m full of surprises,” she said, taking a sip from the bottle.
Aaran took the cap off his water and raised it in the air. “Here’s to a warm winter with a new friend.”
Hadas smiled, removed her cap again, and raised her drink. Through a timid smile, she echoed, “To new friends.”
Chapter 26
“You ready?”
Aaran visualized his movements one last time before looking over at Hadas. He nodded, then raised his USP with both hands, aiming it at a largemouth hanging on the wall.
