by Roberts, EM
“Guess what’s for dinner?” she asked, lowering the jumbo sized can of green beans and cradling it in her arms.
“Sounds good to me. Where’s some bacon to go with that? He asked and then realized she might think he was making fun of her for her shirt. Opening his mouth, he started to apologize.
“What about bacon bits?” she grimaced as she held up a large container of the imitation kind, indicating he was correct in his assessment that she didn’t eat meat. However, she didn’t admonish him for his choice.
“What’s the expiration date? I wouldn’t want to survive this damn apocalypse only to be poisoned by my love for all things bacon related.”
“They expire next month. I don’t think it matters because they’re probably made of plastic or something similar anyway,” she quipped, shaking the bottle like a maraca.
Their search yielded a couple of cans of tuna, some soup, and an opened box of macaroni. The two were ecstatic. Food was becoming harder and harder to come by these days. Next, they hit the convenient store where they discovered the mother lode. Forget the tuna and macaroni, they found beef jerky, peanuts, and potato chips in a box hidden behind the counter. The potato chips were a month out of date, but Parker was sure they would be fine. Izzy was excited over the peanuts and potato chips, but let Parker know there was no way she would eat the jerky because she thought it was just gross.
“Listen, you eat it. That’s fine. I won’t preach to you about the poor animals and all of that. I respect your decisions, and I hope you respect mine. I know a lot of people make fun of us who don’t eat meat. I’ve always just ignored it,” she stated as she saw him eyeing the jerky longingly.
He really was glad she wasn’t going to give him a lecture about eating meat. That was one of the things he loved most. There was nothing better than sitting down to a juicy, steak dinner. Well, he’d have to settle for dried beef, which, he guessed was better than nothing.
The two carried their loot to one of the cleaner empty houses down the street. Once again Parker and Izzy worked together to make sure the house was clear. Parker couldn’t help but wonder where the residents had gotten off to. The house seemed clean, and there looked to be no signs of decay or infection. It almost seemed like the residents of the house had just stepped outside and disappeared. Maybe, they had.
Parker surveyed the interior of the small brick ranch house. The living room was decorated in a primitive early Americana style. A micro-suede tan couch containing various red and blue decorative pillows sat caddy corner to a well-worn chocolate brown leather recliner. A throw, depicting the American flag, was placed on the back of the chair. The wall in front of the recliner was taken up by an enormous oak entertainment center which held a 32 inch television and various other pieces of electronic equipment. No big screen television for these people. Everything in the room indicated moderate living. These were probably just simple people living a simple life.
On one wall hung two deer mounts, the poor creatures frozen in an everlasting pose. Both were impressive sized animals. Parker hadn’t been a big fan of hunting probably because he’d never really had the opportunity. He supposed he needed to start thinking about taking it up. Wildlife still seemed abundant enough. It was probably because they were fast enough to escape the infected. Parker was actually glad to see the mounts because they indicated someone who’d once lived here had been a hunter. He doubted he would find any ammunition for his assault rifle, but he might find some other weapon that could be useful. He’d look later. Right now, his growling stomach needed to be fed. He hadn’t eaten since early this morning.
“Hey, guess what? There’s a gas stove in the kitchen. I wonder if it works?” Izzy asked, excited at the prospect of a hot meal not cooked over an open fire. Parker joined her in the kitchen and did a quick inspection of the stove. The burners were all in the off position. That was good. He just didn’t want Izzy to get her hopes up in case the outside propane tank was empty.
“Do you know how it works? If it’s gas, we don’t have to have electricity, right?” Izzy asked, opening one of cabinets on the right side of the stove in her quest for kitchen utensils.
“No, but we’ll have to light it manually and hope there’s still some gas in that tank outside,” he said reaching into his pocket for a lighter.
Parker held the flame down to the burner and slowly turned the knob. Whoosh! The flame lit and stayed. He smiled. This was one of the better days he’d experienced in the last six months. Anymore, the little things were really the big things. It felt good not to have to worry about making a fire or eating his food cold.
Izzy placed a saucepan on the stove and dumped part of the green beans into it. She added some pepper and a little olive oil which she’d found in the kitchen’s pantry. That should give the beans some taste.
“No bacon bits?” Parker asked in mock disappointment.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll heat up some for me, and then I’ll add the bacon bits to yours, but don’t expect a gourmet meal like your mom used to make,” she said compromising.
Parker silently watched her as she pulled plates from the cabinets and found silverware. The sun was starting to set and the room was shadowed in the waning light. She set the table-- lighting some candles she’d found in a junk drawer. He felt lazy not helping her, but every time he asked, she always told him she was fine. He wondered if she felt she owed him something for coming to her rescue earlier.
He walked back into the living room. He needed to secure the house for the night. Although the town seemed empty, who knew when an infected would show up or even a survivor bent on creating trouble? Thankfully, the former inhabitants of the house had boarded up all the windows already. Parker just needed to make sure the front door was secure. He locked the deadbolt and the security chain. He also pushed the recliner in front of door. He would sleep in it just to keep an ear and an eye out. He walked back into the kitchen planning to do the same for that entrance.
He found Izzy with a hammer, nails, and a slab of wood. Methodically, she hammered one end of the wood onto the door and the other into the frame.
“There,” she dusted her hands, “Hopefully, that and the locks will keep any intruders out. I took one of the shelves out of the pantry, and I found the hammer and nails under the sink. Ready for dinner?”
“Yes, my lady. What’s on the menu?” he asked holding a chair for her, amazed that in addition to preparing the food, she’d thought of security.
“Well, for you. Green beans with those plastic bacon thingies you like so much, a side order of Teriyaki beef jerky, and another side order of stale corn chips. And to drink? Some warm beer I found hiding behind a bag of moldy potatoes in the pantry. Looks like our boy may have been a secret drinker,” she said pulling two Bud Lights from behind her back.
“Or his wife, you never know,” he laughed. The sound of warm beer and stale chips would have been horrendous six months ago when he was eating filet mignon and halibut on a regular basis. Tonight, it sounded like heaven. His stomach rumbled again, making Izzy laugh.
“For me,” Izzy went on, “A gourmet meal of green beans topped with crushed chips and peanuts. Yum, yum, and Mr. President? Don’t give me any lip about the beer. I’ve had stronger alcohol before, plus I’ll be twenty-one in a couple of months.”
“Nope. Go for it,” he said. Drinking one beer was the least of Izzy and his worries.
Izzy took a big gulp and grimaced at its flavor. Parker wanted to laugh. She took another sip and let out an enormous burp. She ducked her head, embarrassed.
“Excuse, me! Well, that was different. I don’t love it, but I don’t hate it. I think I like vodka better,” she said, placing the beer back on the table and scooping up a forkful of her dinner. She smiled with the first bite and sighed after swallowing.
“That good, huh?” Parker asked, taking a bite of his beans. He chewed and also had to admit that this was way better than the breakfast he’d consumed earlier.
The two finished their dinner in companionable silence. Izzy slowly finished her beer. She didn’t seem to enjoy it. He, however, had enjoyed it--a lot. He hadn’t really been a drinker much in his life. He’d drunk wine sometimes with dinner and the occasional beer at a sporting event or party, but he didn’t drink on a regular basis. Tonight, though, it tasted pretty damned good.
After clearing away the dishes and indicating she would try to wash them in the morning, Izzy walked down the hallway and entered the first bedroom. Parker heard the snick of the lock turning on the door. Good girl, he thought. She didn’t trust him, and that was good. Of course, he wouldn’t hurt her, but she should never trust anybody. That was one of the first rules in this new world--don’t trust anybody.
He grabbed a colorful hand-stitched blanket from the second bedroom and made his way back to the recliner in front of the door. He sat down and leaned back, his knife on one leg and the assault rifle in his lap. He always kept his weapons close to him while he slept. It paid to be careful and watchful. He listened intently as he lay there. Nothing. Shortly thereafter, he drifted off to sleep under the watchful eye of the two deer mounts.
Chapter 5:
The Girl Who Became Someone Else
Six months earlier
Elizabeth James thought she might vomit from the sheer stupidity of her classmates. Some of them were just walking, talking idiots who spouted nonsense. Take the person speaking for example.
“Well, I think being poor is a choice. People just don’t want to work, and they get these jobs at, like, fast food restaurants and gas stations knowing these won’t pay their bills. They expect the government to just pay for everything else: their houses, insurance, and food. Poor people just want a handout,” a pretty blonde girl in the front row contributed to the day’s lecture and discussion on poverty.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes not because she didn’t think the argument was completely invalid, but because she was pretty sure that money had never been a concern for a person like the girl who’d just made the comment. Her purse alone would pay someone’s mortgage for a month, maybe two. People like that didn’t know poor. Elizabeth and family weren’t poor, but she’d seen and worked with many people who lived paycheck to paycheck and never had enough money for the necessities in life.
“And Miss James, you look like you want to say something about Miss Miller’s response?” Dr. Zanowitz, asked, her bright blue eyes sparkling in anticipation. There was nothing Dr. Z liked better than a lively discussion. In fact, she liked it so much, she’d made it a part of her grading system.
“Well, I would agree with Miss Miller that some people do take advantage of the system, but there are other people who are poor due to the economic region in which they live. In order to cut down on poverty, jobs need to be created and people need to be encouraged to learn a skill. I also just wanted to mention there is no shame in people working at those places when that is their only alternative. As long as there are no jobs or incentive to get out of the system, people will continue to abuse it.” Elizabeth said through gritted teeth.
It was one of those controversial topics. She partially agreed with her nemesis. There were people who abused the system and relied on the government when they were perfectly cable of working. This didn’t just happen in poor areas; it was happening all over the country. But, there were also people who were working at low paying jobs who could just not make ends meet. Those were the people Elizabeth felt sorry for.
“How would you know, Elizabeth? Your mother is the CEO of a major company and your father is a Federal Judge. I doubt that qualifies you an expert on the topic,” Miss Miller retorted, shooting daggers at Elizabeth for even daring to disagree with her analysis.
“You’re right, of course. I am lucky to have grown up in a home where I didn’t have to worry about money, but I have also volunteered in areas where children are starving, so I do know a little bit about poor people,” Elizabeth said, as she placed books in her messenger bag.
She was glad class was almost over. She didn’t want to get into a shouting match about something that was dear to her heart. She was in a bad mood today and felt like punching something. Plus, what most of the students didn’t know was that every summer, Elizabeth traveled to Southeastern Kentucky and Tennessee to help work on people’s houses and to distribute clothing and food to those in need. She’d volunteered for the last five years, and it was the most refreshing and gratifying thing she’d ever done.
After class, she hopped on her bike and traveled the short distance from Georgetown University to the Progressive Women’s Clinic. As she pedaled, she observed the hustle and bustle around her. People milled about talking on their cell phones, texting, and listening to music. No one paid any attention to the lonely girl on the bike. Why should they? She arrived slightly breathless at her destination. If anyone saw her here, she supposed she could say she was distributing pro-life literature to the poor girls entering the center. She felt like such a hypocrite for just thinking of that as an excuse. Why couldn’t she just admit the truth? The truth was--she was here to end an unwanted pregnancy.
As she approached the center, she noticed the usual pro-life protestors milling about. Pulling her hat down over her forehead, she adjusted the black framed glasses she’d worn. Hopefully, the hat and glasses would provide a disguise for anyone she may run into. She certainly didn’t need her visit here getting back to her parents or any of their friends. She could only imagine her parent’s response. Careless, ignorant, and selfish would be just a few of the words they would use.
“Do you know that you’re taking an innocent life today?” an older, gray haired man shouted to Elizabeth as she rode by.
“Murderer! Thou shalt not kill,” a woman wearing a polyester green pant suit yelled as she waved a sign that proclaimed God is Pro-Life!
Elizabeth slowed down and glanced back. How sanctimonious and righteous these people were. She was all for people standing up for their beliefs, but she didn’t think they should be able to harass people who were probably already traumatized by the decision they’d made to come to the clinic. She was a firm believer in free speech. She’d even attended a protest now and then, but it wasn’t to harass people who were already in an emotional state. Why couldn’t they protest somewhere else?
“How about loaning me $50,000 to take care of my baby? You’re going to babysit while I go to school? ” She yelled back. “What’s that? Ah, I didn’t think so.” She dismounted and made her way into the building, showing her identification to the security guard who was stationed at the door.
After checking in, she waited for her name to be called. Skimming through the latest fashion magazine, she longingly looked at the skinny jeans many of the models were wearing. She would never be able to wear them. Her mother would have a fit. Clothes like that were for lower-class, flashy people, her mother often said. She glanced down at her outfight. She was wearing a tailored, blue button-up blouse with black slacks and black loafers. Bor-ing.
She felt stupid for the simple fact she was even here. How could someone who was supposed to be so intelligent fall prey to an unplanned pregnancy? She didn’t even know the name of the baby’s father. Vodka and a frat party had caused her condition. Both of which had been a series of firsts for her. The party had been her way of rebelling against the strict expectations placed on her by her parents who were always too busy to remember she existed. How many people lost their virginity, got wasted for the first time, and became pregnant all in one night? She was the lucky winner.
The young man she’d had sex with had promised to use a condom. She didn’t know if it’d broken, or if he’d simply pretended to put it on. She wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference she’d been so wasted. All she remembered was the act had hurt, and she wondered what all the fuss of losing one’s virginity was about. It certainly hadn’t been anything exciting.
“Miss James? Please follow me.” The nurse waited expectantly by a door leading to what Elizabeth k
new from her previous visit was the examining and surgery rooms. Elizabeth stood and obediently followed the nurse. The woman hadn’t smiled or even made an attempt to be friendly. She wondered if the woman liked her job. What kind of satisfaction could be had helping women end their pregnancies, she wondered? Maybe, it paid well.
She followed the nurse into one of the rooms marked surgery. The nurse placed the clipboard on a desk and indicated Elizabeth should sit in the adjoining chair. After taking her vitals and asking pertinent and impertinent health questions, the nurse gave Elizabeth a gown, requesting she shed her clothes and get comfortable on the examining table. Comfortable? Not likely.
She wondered if she were supposed shed her socks? What a mundane thing to worry about. To wear or not to wear socks? That is the question, she thought. She guessed all clothes meant socks, so she took those off as well, wiggling her toes in the process. Naked, except for the hospital gown, she lay back on the examining table, the protective paper crinkling beneath her. Her heart was beating rapidly, not because she was having second thoughts, but because she was worried about the pain. Would this procedure be painful? Would it be like having a baby? From all she’d read, she’d learned there was only a slight amount of pain and the procedure was really short.
A soft tap came at the door.
“Come in,” she said, raising herself up on one elbow and looking at the newcomer.
“Hello, my name is Dr. Bishara,” the man stated in a slightly middle-eastern accent as he made his way over to the table and shook her hand.
Another tap at the door brought the entrance of the same nurse who’d escorted her to the room.
“Okay, so it looks like you have chosen the local anesthetic instead of the general? Is that correct?” the doctor asked, moving as the nurse gathered various instruments and placed equipment in strategic areas.
“Yes, will it hurt?” she asked anxiously and then felt stupid because it seemed like such a childish thing to ask. Maybe she should have chosen to be put to sleep during the procedure. It cost an extra $400, and she hadn’t wanted to explain the missing money to her mother and father. It was going to be hard enough to explain the missing $800 she was paying for the surgery.
