by Ison, S. A.
After he was cleaned and his scratches attended to, Pearl dressed him in a flannel shirt, wrapped him in a blanket, and went to the couch to rock him. Laura brought in a bowl of scrambled eggs and gently fed small mouthfuls to the boy. He ate as though in a daze, then fell asleep in Pearl’s arms.
Randal helped his wife put the boy in the spare bedroom, and covered him up. They left the room and went back to the living room. “Where do you think his parents are?” Laura asked.
“Probably dead,” Randal said, shaking his head. “Poor little mite. And it looks like someone tried to kill him.”
“I wonder if it was those two idiots we killed the other day,” Clive said, walking in.
“I shouldn’t wonder. It probably was. The slimy little bastard had a knife on him,” Randal said in disgust.
“Well, least ways, no one has to worry about them now,” Clive said with satisfaction.
“What are we going to do with him?” Pearl asked Randal.
“Keep him, raise him, and love him, I guess,” he said in a matter-a-fact voice with no hesitation. Pearl smiled at him with love in her eyes. Randal smiled back at his wife, his heart skipping a beat. Damn, she could still do it to him.
Later that evening, Pearl held the child on the couch. Everyone had gone home. Randal sat in his chair and the boy watched him warily. Randal understood. Men had hurt him. It had taken a bit of coaxing and patience, but the child was beginning to come around and talk, though the fear was still there.
“What’s your name, sugar?” Pearl asked softly.
“Greg Buzzy,” the child said, his voice high.
“How old are you, honey?” Randal asked softly.
Greg burrowed into Pearl, but held up five fingers.
“Where’s your momma, honey?” Pearl asked.
Randal listened as the boy answered, and felt his body begin to tighten, his fist to clench. The two men had come to Greg’s house. They had hit his mommy, and had dragged her to the bedroom. Greg could hear her screams and tried to get to his mother, his tiny fists banging on the door. One of the men came out, slapped him, and cut his throat with a big knife. That was all he remembered.
Randal could feel the blood pound in his head; his face grew hot with rage as he listened to the child. He felt tears fall, but didn’t wipe them away. He saw that his Pearl was crying too. He wished he had a chance to kill those men all over again.
The boy continued his story. When he woke later, the house was quiet and he found his mother in the bedroom and her throat slit as well. He lay beside her, he didn’t know how long. When dogs came, he had to run away because they were trying to eat him. He didn’t know how long he had walked. He only knew he ate bugs and berries. He kept walking, and when it rained he drank from the puddles on the ground.
Pearl held him close and kissed the top of his head. “Where is your Daddy, honey?” she asked gently.
“My Daddy is at work, but he didn’t come home and he didn’t call. Mommy said he was stuck in Atlanta and maybe he would come home soon. But I waited and he didn’t come yet,” Greg ended, his voice sounding sleepy.
Randal walked with his wife to the spare room, and watched as she laid the sleepy child in the bed. He knew Pearl would lie with the boy all night, so he kissed the top of her head and left the room. He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to erase the images of the horror the child had gone through.
San Gabriel Mountains, California
Larry and Jake stayed in the cave for as long as they could, but they eventually had to leave. While there, they foraged around, looking for edibles to supplement their dwindling meat supply. They had carefully smoked the thin cuts of meat, wrapping them in the plastic from other foods they had eaten. They pored over the survival book, reading about mushrooms and toadstools, ferns and other plants.
Early that morning, Jake had killed a rattlesnake which they had, grateful that neither had been bitten by it. We’re totally out of our element, but we are alive, and that has to count for something, Larry thought.
“I’m thinking we should move farther into the hills tomorrow. Head more nor‘easterly, which puts us away from the city more, I think,” Larry said. He was packing up their meager food supply into the pack. “Let’s get more firewood before it gets too dark to see.”
Jake nodded his agreement. Both looked around the immediate vicinity, picking up large branches and sticks. Putting them in a pile near the small fire, Larry kicked dried leaves away from the fire pit; he didn’t want to start a forest fire.
Once they had a large pile, they settled down for the evening. Larry pulled out his battered survival book skimmed through it.
“I don’t see why we have to leave the cave, bro,” Jake complained, scratching at his arm.
Larry knew Jake was afraid to sleep out in the open. He couldn’t blame him. They’d heard coyotes and large cats during their travels. Being out in the open was a big risk, but there was no help for it.
“Dude, it’s going to get really cold at night in another month or so. We need to find a house before then, something with four walls. We can’t survive out here like that. Besides, one of those mountain lions is going to get one or both of us soon; you heard it the other night.”
Two nights before, both men had been startled awake by the cry of the panther. It had scared them because it had been so close; they’d thought it would get them for sure. They had built up the fire and sat so close to it, Larry had singed his hair.
“I know you’re right, dude. I’m just so damned afraid,” Jake said, anguish heavy in his voice.
“I know bro, I get it. But we don’t have a choice. We need to find a stream tomorrow; our water is getting low again. Thanks to the snake, we didn’t have to use the smoked meat, and with those mushrooms too, we had a really good dinner. We should be strong to walk tomorrow, and cover some good distance.”
“Okay, but let’s take some of the fire with us, okay? Maybe get a pine branch, so we can keep it going. I don’t want to have to try to start the fire again. That is a pain in the balls,” Jake grouched.
Larry laughed, and agreed. It felt good to laugh, and they’d neither one done that in a long time. That night they lay by the fire, a nice big one. Since they couldn’t take the larger pieces of wood with them, they wanted a big going-away fire. In the distance, a little farther away, they heard the cry of the big cat. Both men reached for another branch to put on the fire. They grinned at each other.
“If we find a vacant house, do you think we can stay there awhile?” Jake asked hopefully.
“Sure, if it has some kind of water source. We can hunt and bring back whatever we find. Maybe we’ll find a home that already has food in it, some place no one has found yet,” Larry added dreamily, scratching his stomach. He inhaled deeply, and smelt the wood smoke mixed with Pondarosa pines. He listened to the gentle susurrus of the branches above, and the distant songs of the tree frogs, serenading them.
“Yeah, man, that’d be nice,” Jake agreed.
Larry’s eyes began to droop, the heat of the fire beginning to lull him to sleep, the snap and pop when resin was ignited. It flared and sizzled and hissed, sending sparks into the darkening sky. Larry was so tired. It’d had been a long day, but a good day. They’d collected mushrooms, dandelion leaves, and pine nuts. That was when they’d almost got bitten by the snake. It’d been a good haul, and was filling. It had been a while since he’d felt so sated.
Sometime later, Larry shifted, moving from an uncomfortable position. He moved around a bit, and then got up and went to the edge of their camp to take a piss. He bent to pick up several large branches and laid them over the fire to build it back up. He then lay back down near the fire, and threw another branch on for good measure. That should keep the cats and dogs away. He yawned, cracking his jaw loudly, and rolled over and fell to sleep. It had been a long day.
During the early hours of predawn, Larry woke and added more branches to the fire. Jake lay sprawled out on his back. La
rry snorted and went back to sleep. He knew they would need their rest for the long trek tomorrow.
A fly buzzed around Larry’s open mouth, and he jerked away. It was just after dawn and he could feel a distinct chill in the air. He shivered a little and rubbed his bearded face with both hands. He gritted his teeth; his head and face were oily and dirty. He was pretty sure he stank badly, but could not smell himself. His stomach made growling noises, and he swallowed hard to quiet it down. They would eat before they left this morning, but he always tried to stave off the hunger with will power. Jake always needed a larger portion, and he’d never begrudged his friend the extra food.
He looked over at Jake and froze; his friend was still sprawled on his back, and hadn’t moved from the night before. “Jake?” he called softly, his voice catching in his throat. He cleared it and tried again. “Jake?” he said louder. Nothing.
On all fours, Larry crawled over to his friend, and placed his fingers on the neck. He nearly jerked his hand back; Jake’s skin was cold, and felt almost rubbery. He shook Jake’s shoulder hard, and called his name again. Nothing. Jake was dead. But how? They had been eating every day, and had plenty of water. Why was his friend dead?
He began to pat Jake’s body, and turning him to check him. Maybe he’d got bitten by a spider? Or a rattlesnake? He checked down around his dirty ankles, but there were no puncture marks. He checked Jake’s arms, and lifted the shirt from his jeans to check his belly and back.
A small mushroom fell out from Jake’s pocket. Larry looked blankly at it. It was almost dried out, but had a faint color to it. He picked it up, then grabbed the survival book and flipped through it. He found the section on mushrooms and looked up the identifying marks.
“Shit!” he cried out. “It’s a fucking death cap mushroom!” He read the description again and knew his friend had picked the wrong mushrooms and eaten them last night. Larry dropped the book and began to cry, holding his knees to his chest; he rocked back and forth, grief and rage pouring through him. He should have known, he should have asked. But he hadn’t known that Jake had picked more mushrooms.
After a time, the sobs eased and Larry wiped his face on his sleeve and blew his nose on his shirt tail. “Sorry, buddy. So sorry I have to leave you here.”
Larry got up and went to Jake’s pack and dumped it out. He took anything useful, and found a dirty, wrinkled photo of them. He started crying again, and put the photo in his back pocket. He stuffed the little bit of food there was into his pack and closed it.
Kneeling down, he laid his hand on Jake’s still chest. “I’m sorry I can’t bury you. I don’t have a shovel. I know you were afraid to be alone out here, and I’m really sorry I have to leave you now. I got the picture of us, and I’ll keep it safe.” He wiped the tears away, his hand trembling. “Goodbye, friend. I’ll see you again one of these days.” Leaning down, he kissed Jake’s cold forehead, then got up and walked into the forest.
Bridgman, Michigan
Stephen and Mike had gone out again, looking around the abandoned homes for anything useful. They’d found a shotgun with half a box of shells, and two revolvers with an abundant amount of ammo. They’d also found books. Two books were on survival, one book on cooking outdoors, a book on canning, a book on knitting, and four books on gardening. At first Stephen hadn’t thought the books were of any use, but Mike said it was a treasure trove.
They had also gone to the crash site to scavenge. Most of the bodies were gone, taken by animals; some up inside the plane were still there, and decomposed enough that the smell was pretty bad. They’d worn bandanas across their faces, breathed shallowly, and averted their eyes from anything that looked human. They found part of the cargo hold three blocks from the main crash sight.
Stephen suggested they look through suitcases and boxes. They found personal hygiene items, some food, some medication, and other useful items. They also came across an intact first aid kit and took that as well. Having found all they could carry, they walked the deserted streets back toward home.
“I can feel someone looking at me,” Stephen said, the hair rising on his arm.
“I know man, I can feel it too. Let’s just be casual and keep walking,” Mike said.
It was silent, but for birds calling to one another, and somewhere in the distance a dog barked. There were no sounds of humanity around, no mechanical buzz, or hum. No sounds of engines, nothing. They went from house to house, looking only for the abandoned ones.
“This quiet just freaks me out sometimes, you know what I mean?” Stephen asked Mike, his shoulders hunched forward as though to protect his ears.
“Yeah man, I get that too. It’s like you don’t hear anything, and you wonder if you’re deaf or something,” Mike said.
“Yeah man, that’s it! That’s exactly what it feels like. Like you’re the only human on earth and the whole goddam place is deserted,” Stephen said, his eyes bright with understanding.
“It is deserted, you dumbass,” Mike laughed.
Stephen laughed, and felt better.
Coming to a house, Stephen called out, “Hello in the house. If anyone is here, we will not come in. We mean no harm and are no threat. We will first knock on the door. Please let us know if you are in here, and we will leave you in peace.” They didn’t want anyone mistaking their presence.
Waiting for a few moments, they listened intently. They didn’t hear anything, so approached the door cautiously. Stephen stepped up to the door and knocked, and again yelled their intentions. They listened quietly, their bodies tense and ready for fight or flight.
Hearing nothing, Stephen cautiously opened the door. He pulled his bandana up, and took a sniff. They were terrified of finding virus victims. They didn’t know how long the contagion lasted, but they sure as hell didn’t want to catch it.
“I don’t smell anything, do you?” Stephen asked Mike.
“No, man, I don’t smell anything either.”
They pulled on rubber dishwashing gloves and went into the house. They tried to be careful; again, keeping the virus in mind, they had no idea how it transmitted, and didn’t want to take the virus home.
Stephen pulled at the pillowcase that was hanging from his belt. Going to the bathroom, he looked under the vanity. He found toilet paper and shampoos, soap, razors, and shaving cream. He placed the items into the bag. He moved from room to room, and joined Mike in the kitchen. Pulling open drawers, he found packets of sugar, vegetable seeds, matches, and other bits and pieces.
Going to the back yard, they found a small shed. They found rusted gardening tools, and more packets of unused vegetable seeds, such as tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchini, green pepper, and string beans. Stephen looked on a high shelf and found several rolls of duct tape, electrical wire, some pipes, and other useful items.
“This is a good haul. We’ll need to come back and pick up more before someone else finds this place. If we had a wagon, we could load it up. Maybe we can keep an eye out for one,” Stephen said.
“Good idea. Maybe we can use the wheelbarrow? It’s in the yard, covered with garden hoses,” Mike said, and headed out of the shed.
Stephen followed, and once Mike had upended the wheelbarrow, Stephen dumped his items into the shell.
Never knowing what might face them, each man was armed. They had left Alisa armed as well. They had been stunned and shocked when she had shot the dirty stranger on the deck. Neither men had thought her capable, but she had proved them wrong. They were each evolving into something more than they thought they were. We’ve had no choice, Stephen thought somberly.
Stephen was grateful to have Mike, who was brilliant and saw things just a little differently. He was a valuable asset in the survival game. They would need each other to survive, and they would need to teach themselves how to survive. There was no choice.
27 July
Topsfield, Maine
Kelly sat staring into the fire. It was late, but neither she nor Tim wanted to go to bed. It had been one hel
l of a day. They had hauled the last of Tim’s possessions to the cabin, along with riding gear for Butter. They’d spent the previous week putting up a barn for Butter. On a foray out, they’d found a small barn at a deserted property. It had taken them four days to carefully dismantled the barn, then transport the lumber in the back of Kelly’s truck to her property. Once back, they’d reassembled it. They’d also hammered out the nails and reused them. Tim had a large bucket of nails, but they’d wanted to reuse as much as they could.
Each time they passed the three corpses, Kelly kept her eyes averted and held her breath. She carried a bandana with a small amount of perfume on it. It helped keep the rotting stench from her nostrils, but when they drew up near the bodies, the smell was overwhelming and she had to hold her breath. Tim drove. It was a gruesome reminder of the world they lived in now, but a necessary warning to those who came by with ill intent.
Once they’d completed the barn, they had scavenged more wood from abandoned homes and made another shed. One abandoned home had dead animals all around. They looked in the barn and found more bags of feed for the chickens, and also for Butter. At another house, they found a goat, she was wandering around the property, fat from eating everything in sight. It took some time, but Tim eventually caught the goat, and they’d put her in the barn with Butter. Kelly named her Lonesome, because she’d been alone for a long while.
It had taken a while to put her cabin to rights after the three men had broken things. Thankfully, Schrodinger’s Cat was doing well in her pregnancy.
“When do you think she’ll have the puppies?” Kelly asked Tim, who was staring meditatively into the fire.
Leaning back in his chair, Tim stroked his beard. She watched his long hands. They were strong hands, and capable.
“There is no telling, really, but if I had to guess, perhaps in the next few weeks. We just don’t know when they got together. She looks pretty big right now, but I know nothing about birthing babies.” His voice held a smile in it.
