by Ison, S. A.
Kelly snorted, and took another sip of her coffee. She was going to be awake all night if she didn’t stop drinking it.
“What are we going to do tomorrow?” Kelly pulled her head from side to side, trying to work the stiffness out. One of Tim’s strong hands clasped the back of her neck and gently squeezed, massaging. Delicious goosebumps run up her arms. His hand was warm, and it felt wonderful.
“Tomorrow, I want to start digging a weapons cache; I need to store my guns and ammo in a safe location. I was thinking to do one close by the house, so we can access it quickly in an emergency. For the bulk, however, I want it a good distance from the house.” Tim’s hand still worked the muscles in the back of her neck.
“I also think we should dig a secret root cellar as well, deep, well below the frost-line. And maybe line it with gravel if we can find some. Build shelves and keep things up off the ground. I think a lot of the dry goods can be kept in there if we ensure it has good drainage. Oh, you better stop rubbing my neck or I’m going to end up falling into the fire.” She laughed, her body now relaxed.
Tim laughed and patted her back, then picked his coffee back up and took a sip.
“That’s a really good idea. If someone ever tries to steal from this place, they won’t get much. We’ve got that heavy plastic we brought from my place we could use. Then we only keep a few months’ worth of food in the cabin. And if anyone comes while we aren’t here, we won’t be left with nothing. Very smart.”
Kelly shivered, remembering the three men again, and the damage and wanton destruction they’d inflicted to her cabin.
As though reading her mind, Tim continued, “I also think it prudent that I set up traps, snares, and an early warning system. We need warning, and also a defensive and offensive stand. I think we have a little breathing room, since we won’t be leaving here until mid-October to go trade.”
She was grateful for Tim’s calming presence, and strong back. There was a lot Kelly could do, but now that they were essentially alone and on their own, she was glad he was here. If either got hurt, the one would take care of the other.
That set her to thinking. Tim had been lived in the tent, but soon the temperature would drop. And really, this was his home now, too. It was only fair to have him live in the house.
The thing was, she only had one bed. The craft room was filled with all her crafts. Tim could sleep on the couch, but was that fair? Before she could change her mind, she blurted, “Tim, I want you to live in the house with me. I only have one bed, but you are welcome to share it with me.”
Though it was dark, and only the light of the fire illuminated them, Kelly could feel her face burn with embarrassment. Her heart pounded as if to escape its confines. Tim looked at her a long time, saying nothing. Kelly squirmed in her skin, and thought she would die of mortification if he didn’t say something. She took a drink of coffee, her mouth suddenly going dry.
Tim had been sipping his coffee, and set the cup aside. He slowly wiped his mouth, and stared at the woman next to him. Kelly watched as several emotions flashed through his eyes, and she was grateful when she caught emerging humor. She let out a breath.
“I’d been thinking along the same lines as you have, but not,” he paused significantly, “to that extent.” He cleared his throat. “I think you’re right about moving indoors. I’d planned to live out in the barn. So I appreciate your offer. And I thank you for letting me sleep in your bed.” His mouth twitched, and Kelly thought she saw a smile trying to break through.
“However, that being said, you are my friend and now pretty much my only friend. And I wouldn’t be a friend if I took advantage of this situation. I like you, and I’m attracted to you. But I won’t fool myself into assuming it is reciprocated. Nor would I want any woman to feel obligated sexually to me. I’m desperate, but I’m not that desperate.” He smiled crookedly, and she returned his smile, the tension going out of her body.
“I will sleep in your bed, only because that is the only one you have, and I’m sure that during the winter, it will be the warmest place in the house. But I will not ask of you what you cannot give, nor do I want you to live in fear that I will make a move on you. And if at some point you find you can’t keep your hands off this hot body," he grinned widely, and waggled his pale eyebrows suggestively, “well, then we will see what develops.”
Kelly laughed out loud, her eyes crinkling in real humor. She felt the tension and stress slide from her shoulders. They heard a thumping and looked over to Schrodinger’s Cat, whose tail was wagging and thumping off the hard ground. Kelly grinned at her beloved dog.
Raising her coffee cup, she leaned over to Tim. “To friendship and survival.” Tim leaned over and tapped her cup, then both drank their coffee, sat back in companionable silence, and watched the flames eat the wood.
Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina
Greg was very weak, and it took several days of hourly feeding to get him strong enough to emerge from his hunger-induced stupor. The group was sitting on the screened-in porch at Randal’s house. It was raining out, and everyone had brought a lawn chair to sit on while they chatted. Greg was in Pearl’s lap, sound asleep. She was rocking him slowly as everyone talked and laughed.
They’d told everyone Greg’s story, and it had touched them all. Clive and Jimmy had echoed Randal’s thought about wanting to kill the men again. May and Laura had cried, and the men had been tight-lipped, their bodies taut with helpless rage.
“How’s he doing, Pearl?” Randal asked when he saw his wife place her hand on the child’s forehead.
“He’s fine. I thought he might be running a temperature, but I think it is because he is sleeping so hard,” she said, smiling at him.
“Well. Our group has grown. We’ll just make sure that young feller is well-loved.” May said, her voice roughened with tears. David placed an arm around her shoulders and hugged her close. “We sure will, Maybell, we sure will.”
“I think we’ll ensure this young man grows up with more love than you can shake a stick at,” Randal said, looking around at his friends.
“You’d better leave the fishing lessons to me, Randy. You teach him and he’ll never catch a thing,” Clive joked, drawing laughter from around the group.
The scent of the ocean was heavy in the air, the humidity high. A stiff breeze was moving the air around, and it blew some of the rain onto the porch. The house would be stifling, and so no one suggested they go in.
“This rain is really doing the garden good,” Laura said, please at her contribution to the group.
“Yeah, I’ve seen your beans. They’re looking good,” Reed said, smiling.
“I think we should have a nice cook-out at the end of summer, after all the canning and food prepping is done. I think it would be nice to have a celebration and enjoy,” Randal said.
The voices around him became animated, and he smiled as he looked around their little group.
San Gabriel Mountains, California
Larry walked for hours, sweat pouring down his face as he climbed steadily uphill. The undergrowth was dense, and the forest was quiet. The smell of pungent earth swirled around his nostrils, leaving him light-headed. He heard the distant knocking of a woodpecker, the echo of it bouncing mutely around the forest. An answering call reverberated from the upper canopy above him, and he felt it through his bones. The silence around him was unnerving. He felt as though he were the only human left alive. His heart squeezed once more at Jake’s loss.
Stopping when he found a small stream, he knelt in the soft wet bank and drank his fill. Then he filled his plastic bottles with the life-giving water. Sitting among the bracken and dead leaves, he felt a sense of peace and sorrow. He didn’t want to think of Jake, but his mind kept creeping back to his friend. He found it hard not to cry, and didn’t bother to stop himself. He felt so overwhelmingly lonely.
The uncertainty of it all kept Larry in a constant state of fear. He was living in a catch 22: he couldn’t live near hu
manity because of the pestilence and violence, and he couldn’t live out in the open with no knowledge on how to survive. At times he wanted to give up, lie down, and die. It would be all over then; the fear, the gut-wrenching hunger, the incredible loneliness.
He could only push on or die, and he didn’t want to die. His mind and his body wouldn’t let him; at least, for now. He shifted and leaned against a Douglas fir, its solid bark a comfort, an anchor in this world. Letting himself relax, he listened to jays that were calling stridently in the depth of the forest. That’s good, he thought. They’re acting normal. He pulled his tattered and battered survival book, and looked again for edible plants he might find.
He had a small amount of food, but he wanted to spare that in favor of finding something. It would only last so long, and he didn’t know where or when he would find a place to live. He could only hope it would be soon. He looked, and found a familiar name, asparagus. It grew wild, and the book showed a picture. He looked around him, expecting to see it, and was slightly disappointed when he did not. But at least he knew what to look for, and that was helpful.
He found clover and cat tail listed in the book, so decided to keep them in mind when he came to an open field or an area that had plenty of water. If he could find several sources of greens, he knew he wouldn’t starve. He knew also he needed meat; bugs and frogs and anything else he could catch would also be on his menu. Starvation turns a finicky eater into an ambivalent grazer.
Leaning forward, he dug his hand into the shallow streambed. He could feel the small pebbles bite into his dirty hands. Lifting his hand, he searched the pebbles and found a small worm. Before he could think on it too much, he swallowed the worm. Gritting his teeth, he could feel his stomach heave. He sipped water, and that settled it. Digging his hand once more into the sandy bank and pebbled stream, he found more worms. Between the worms and gulps of water, he eventually felt sated.
There were plenty of dandelions, and so he munched on the bitter leaves. He didn’t like the taste, but it was food, and a salad always went well with worms. Getting up, he tucked the book back into his backpack. He started his climb once again; he felt better and more energized. With food in his stomach and more edible plants identified, for the first time he felt he just might have a chance.
It was late afternoon when Larry stood on a precipice overlooking a small valley. Below him were miles of trees, thick and green. He had never known that Los Angeles was surrounded by so much forest; he had thought it would only take a day or two to find a house. It hadn’t and the climb had nearly killed him. He placed his dirty hand over his eyes and scanned the vista. He listened, and heard only the wind and the birds and the susurrus of the trees around him. It was as though he were the only human on earth. It was an eerie feeling, to both wish to never see anyone and yet crave the companionship.
He was about to turn when the clouds shifted and a shaft of sunlight glinted off what looked to be glass. He froze and tried to focus more clearly, rubbing his eyes. He looked hard, and then he saw it. A log cabin nestled in the trees, barely visible. Had the sunlight not reflected off the window, he would never have seen it. His heart began to pound in his chest, and it hurt. He clutched his chest and felt his ribs, rigid and pronounced. He’d never been heavy nor had fat, but he’d always had some meat on him. Now he was so thin he could almost see his heart beating beneath his ribs. He had been out in the woods a long time.
Looking around, he got his bearings, and also checked the position of the sun in relation to the cabin below. He wasn’t sure how long it would take him to find it, but he had no choice: it was a chance. It was well hidden, and he was afraid that once he left the cliff side, he would never find it in the trees. Indecision rocked him, and finally he took the first step and the next until he was traveling downhill and toward what he hopped was a new home.
He kept looking up through the dense canopy, trying to keep the sun’s position fixed. He knew that as time ticked on, he would have to adjust his path to the movement of the sun. He hoped desperately that he would find the cabin. For hours he walked, stopping every now and then to listen to the forest around him.
When it started getting dark, he stopped. He wanted to find shelter and build up a fire. There was a good chance there were mountain lions in the area. It was a wild place, so he needed a good fire. Looking around, he found a downed tree, its trunk broken and rotting. Near the base of the tree, there was soft ground, and he dug into the rotted roots, making a shallow bed that used the trunk as a shelter. It smelt of earth, rotted wood, and damp green plants.
Finding twigs, moss, and dried leaves, he assembled a fire close to where he would sleep. Once it had started, he fed it with bigger sticks and branches. Thank God I kept the lighter, he thought. Once he had a good fire going, he hunted for larger logs and limbs to keep the fire fed all night. He stacked the branches and logs on either side, so he would be closed in. He felt sure a big cat wouldn’t want to come too near the fire for something as scrawny as himself.
When darkness enclosed the forest, Larry rolled out the ragged, dirty blankets. One he used as a pillow, the other he covered himself with. He lay looking into the fire, hypnotized by the dancing flames. He chewed slowly on the jerky. He’d found a couple dried up blackberries earlier, and sucked on them, reveling in their tarty sweetness. He’d found clover earlier in the day and had eaten his fill, but it didn’t last. The worms had helped.
With a full stomach, he slipped into a stupor, only to be brought to sometime later by a panther’s cry. It was a fair distance away, but Larry placed more branches on the fire. Laying his head back down, he fell into a dreamless slumber.
Larry came awake slowly, the air cold around him and his body still warm from sleep. It was a most pleasant feeling, and he was loath to get up and face reality. The fire had burned down, but was still warm and casting off heat. He lay for a while longer, thinking about the cabin that was somewhere nearby. Or at least, he hoped it was near. He hoped it was empty, and he hoped it had food. He hoped he could stay there and live, unhampered and safe. His eyes grew heavy and he fell back to sleep.
Bridgman, Michigan
It was midafternoon and Alisa stood knee deep in the water of the lake. It was cold, and she wondered idly if it ever really warmed up. Stephen and Mike had gone scrounging; she wanted more baby things, so they’d said they would give it another try. The warm air blew her baby-fine hair, the strands caught up in a haphazard bun at the top of her head. She wore Mike’s stretchy shorts and one of Stephen’s wife-beater t-shirts, the washed-out gray color soft against her pale skin.
She had been craving fried fish of late and today was no exception. The boys had found jars of food in the basement, and they’d seemed to suffer no ill effects from eating the peaches. But for now, she had a taste for fish. Alisa had been feeling contractions over the last few days. She knew the time was getting close. They’d met one of their neighbors the week before: a woman, Janet Ackerman, in her early sixties. She had told Alisa to send Stephen for her when her time came. Alisa was grateful she wouldn’t be alone. She had a few more weeks, she thought, but the time was getting close.
She felt the movement and tug at the end of the line. It traveled up her arm, and a thrill shot into her heart. She’d caught a fish! She jerked the rod and began to reel in the fish. As she did so, she walked backward toward the shore. She started laughing and shouting as she saw the ten-inch fish fly up from the water, trying to get off the hook. Her hair was blowing wildly in her eyes, and she laughed again as she reeled the fish closer.
Feeling the sand and gravel beneath her feet, she knew she had reached shore. She didn’t dare take her eyes from the fish. She backed a few feet more and pulled the wriggling fish onto the shore. Hopping around, her large tummy bouncing alarmingly, she held the fish aloft and looked at the wet sleek body.
She had the small handgun strung around her neck on a braided strap. She kept the gun with her at all times, but it had become too uncomfor
table to tuck into shorts or pants. And it kept falling out. So she had fashioned a necklace to hold the gun around her neck. It bounced and hit her breastbone. She laughed again at the fish hanging five inches from her face. A brilliant smile spread across her soft features. She’d done it all by herself. And now she could fry it up and eat it.
Turning, she froze to the spot. A tall man was standing watching her from not ten feet away. He had a smile on his face, but it wasn’t a nice smile. It sent a frisson of fear through her. She dropped the fish, screamed, and turned to run. The man, who was well over six feet and outweighed her by nearly a hundred pounds, was fast and grabbed at her arm, yanking her around.
She screamed in his face, and her hands fought to get the gun to shoot him. He smacked her hard across the face, and pain exploded along her cheek and jaw. She felt the braided cord being pulled over her head roughly, felt the bite of the cord raking across her soft neck. She felt the warm wetness of blood trickling down her nose and onto her lip; the taste of hot metallic copper filled her mouth, which was swelling.
The man tossed the gun off to one side, then ripped the over-large t-shirt from Alisa. She felt her body jerk as the material pulled away from her. She felt like a ragdoll being yanked around helplessly. She tried once more to jerk free, and the man slapped her again viciously. Her head was buzzing. Sounds started to pulse, and shadows crept around her eyes. The man threw her to the ground, and the sand and pebbles bit into her back.
She felt him yanking the loose shorts from her hips until she lay exposed. He dropped down to his knees, and the look in his eyes made Alisa snap back into the present. There was something evil behind the dark eyes. He smelled feral, and her nostrils flared in revolt. She felt him wrench her thighs apart, and she cried out again, trying desperately to close them. She felt his thumbs dig painfully into the soft flesh just above the knees.
