by J. N. Morgan
“Did you… bury them 6’ deep?” Brown eyes that had been looking to the ceiling had closed.
“I’m sorry… I was the only one… digging. I only got… about 3’.” Unseen by the closed eyes, the older gentleman closed his as well, face reflecting a pained expression, tanned face turning red once more, fighting back tears at the thought. “They are… side by side… though. Together… and I’m sorry about the… tray… but I felt they should… not be in an… unmarked grave. Most people… the rare ones who get to be… buried… often don’t even get… that much. At most, maybe an… unmarked wooden cross… that would not last long. That outside… is stainless steel… so it’s more of a… permanent marker.”
“… only three feet…” voice was a bit broken, definitely pained as though those three little words hurt him, but he understood that it was more than the vast majority of people got. “Thank you, though. Not everyone would have done that much for them. Not for strangers.”
Richard explained how he had buried people before, but usually it was while pressed for time, wishing to continue traveling quickly, to get back on the road. Sometimes he wouldn’t even fashion a wooden cross. Just get them in the ground and go. If rocks were available, then make it a shallow grave and cover it over with good sized stones to keep scavengers off. Why he was compelled to go farther for them, to go beyond the call of duty as it were, he didn’t know. The sadness of it, seeing Charlie heartbroken at knowing his wife was inside, walking around, but dead, and willing to kill him? Hearing this made the former holy man break into tears, but he made no effort to stop the story.
So a lot of time was spent digging, they were carefully and as gently as possible laid to rest into the grave, he got their Bible and did the best job he could to give them a ‘funeral’. Then he covered the grave over, and it was explained what they were wearing. Plump Denise, perhaps a bit larger than Tiffany, was in her night gown, perhaps having died early in the morning or at night. Charlie was wearing overalls and a red plaid shirt. Hearing this made the fellow give a small laugh between sobs, it must have been an outfit often worn by him. He was told that the Bible he used, their Bible, was on the fridge right now or at least it was last he checked. Almost hastily the shorter fellow got up from the couch to get it, and finding it on the refrigerator he brought it back. It had been printed in the 1950s.
The fellow sat down on the couch but practically just bounced right back up and headed for the stairs, arm covering his eyes and face, holy book in hand. It was incredibly sad to see, reminded Richard of when his grandmother died; he had witnessed one of his uncles burst into tears, covering his face as he headed down a hallway and into a room. The bathroom or bedroom, he couldn’t recall, but seeing the grown man cry, older than Johnathan in fact, it was heart-wrenching. The man went to the guest room, the bed squeaking in complaint as he lay down, and so the injured fellow was left on the floor alone. It was getting a bit cool for his liking, the fire was probably growing faint in the fireplace, but everyone was dealing with things now so it was ignored, and soon sleep took him.
CHAPTER 7
It was almost night when he had awoken, hungry and thirsty. The first thing that came to mind was all that liquor waiting for him, oh how he wished he was in better health… maybe a little wouldn’t hurt? Sounded like famous last words. The ladies were sitting on the couch, Nick’s electric lantern between them on a low setting because it was just a little too dark to read easily. Not much daylight left at all, and so the source of artificial light was set down on the gap of the couch between the two cushions, a book in the hands of each woman. Johnathan was nowhere in sight. His naughty nurse seen the movement of his head, took a brief moment to look around, and got up as she moved towards him.
“Enjoy your nap?” She asked quietly, smiling as he gave a weak grin up to her.
“I was the last man on Earth and all the world’s women suddenly wanted to get pregnant… so yeah… it was a nice nap.”
“I thought I seen some movement under there…” she said playfully, bringing a hand to his chest outside the blanket though obvious was referring to somewhere else on his body. It was much warmer now, they must have stocked the stove up. There were no chainsaws in the basement as he can recall, was there an axe? Oh yeah, there was a hatchet in the storage room upstairs at the end of the hall to the left, but that couldn’t exactly cut down a tree. Not a big one, anyways. Perhaps before leaving he could help get some wood for Johnny over the Winter; he would certainly need it without any electric heat nor any fuel to power a generator, if he even had a generator here. Not much looking around was done in the basement; he had arachnophobia, fear of spiders, so basements were consistently fearful places to be unless they were the super nice and done-up locales. Booze helped to stomp the fear out, though it would still be present.
“Children… behave yourselves now…” came Veronica who’s eyes hadn’t left the book even when Tiffany got up to head over to her man. The tone was condescending, as you could imagine, but it was taken jokingly.
“Yes, mommy…” came the older woman’s reply, faintly whining like a child’s might be, and her right hand bounced with his chest as he laughed lightly at it. Lightly, though earnestly. As requested, she fed him some water as well as gave him some more medication. The hunger could wait; he had to do some more ‘business’, which Nick thankfully left the room to allow the amateur nurse to deal with. Since the Master bedroom was locked and the guest room was still occupied by the man she had threatened with her rifle earlier, she went outside to enjoy the cool air.
No food was eaten while they slept, deciding to ration it and wait until tomorrow to eat, but since he had an appetite the other half of that can of chunky soup was heated up and served to him. The lesbian survivor came back in, still feeling queasy from the things that her friend had to do. Even just helping a man to urinate into a cup was too nasty for her to ever think she could do. Returning to the book, her plump friend continued to care for the man by feeding the food to him.
“I’d like to have a… bit to drink…” he commented as they talked a little after the small meal.
“More water?” She lifted the bottle that sat on the carpet in front of the bookshelf.
“Nah, how about… some liquor?” The water-filled liquor bottle was put down slowly as she gave a side-long look.
“Are you suuuuure?...” it was clear she wasn’t particularly enthralled with the idea, but he gave a nod.
“The one that’s already… opened. I prefer it straight… but perhaps mixed with… water would be better.” His speech was improving, she noted. Less difficult to maintain a steady breath, it would seem. Giving a slow nod, still looking apprehensive about the decision, she got up and went to the kitchen, getting the bottle of vodka out that was 3/4 full. Just one ounce shouldn’t be too bad, she thought… it better not hurt him. It was brought out to him in a small glass, some water poured from the bottle to dilute it, and gently helping him to raise his head, poured the drink into his mouth. It went down pretty smoothly, and he smiled after having consumed it.
“Thank you, baby… mmm, I missed… drinking.” Nicky’s head shook when she heard the comment, but didn’t voice her disapproval. Her rifle was ever present, resting on her left thigh with its butt on the floor. The glass was left on the bottom shelf of the bookshelf while the bottle of vodka was already put back in the cupboard. “First nurse, now… bartender. You’re moving up in… the world.” The humour earned him a smile from her, and the hand she comfortingly put on his chest was met by the left hand, bringing it up on top of hers from where it was previously resting on his stomach.
“As long as it doesn’t make you sick or mess with your meds…”
“I know, I know… thanks again, Tiffany.” Footsteps were heard upstairs in those quiet late-evening hours. Johnathan made his way down the steps.
“What were the sleeping arrangements before I came back?” Quite a no-nonsense fellow, this guy. Nicky didn’t say anything, mer
ely focusing on her book by aid of the lantern. It had gotten even darker since Richard woke up.
“We were in the big bedroom,” the older woman of course meant herself and the may lying on the floor next to her, “and Veronica was in the guest room, but I’ve been staying down here since the accident.” The oldest in the house nodded, pointedly not looking at Nick either after her loss of temper earlier that day. “Alright, I’ll take my parent’s bedroom then… it’s been a long day for me, so I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Good night.” He two on the floor said, he was already heading upstairs. The Master bedroom’s door was heard opening, shutting, and then a small ‘clack’ from the lock being engaged.
It was a hungry morning, Tiff fried up the can of SPAM in the storage room upstairs and also divided a can of beans between the three after heating it in a pot on the stove. That was the last can of beans on the coffee table but there was one still upstairs in the storage room as well as in his backpack where the corn niblets and tuna was as of yet untouched. There was still corn on the cob up in the storage room which the amateur chef was intending on using for whatever their second meal of the day will be. That can of beans she’ll try to save for Richard, but other than the corn there really wasn’t much left to go around save for what’s in his backpack… might be best to ask him to use that can in the pack rather than the one upstairs, which can be divided with the corn on the cob between the three.
Won’t be long before she’s losing weight, she reflected, rather surprised she hasn’t already done so. Johnathan, though with some softness, wasn’t particularly large to begin with. Accepting the notion, the can of beans in the younger man’s backpack that he had carried with him ever since all this began was opened, heated, and half of it fed to him while the three others divvied up a can of SPAM and a can of beans amongst themselves. Nicky was the last one down to come and eat, but as usual, ate the least. She just didn’t seem to have much of an appetite, explains how she stays so incredibly thin. Accepting a morsel of the beans she had left, along with half a slice of SPAM she didn’t want, Tiff thanked her generous friend.
Once the injured one was fed, who asked how the cut on her hand was doing, she assured him it was healing up nicely but still couldn’t use the thumb. It felt very stiff and uncomfortable, to which he nodded, mentioning that even when his own left thumb had received that smaller wound years ago it was a good couple weeks or so before he could use it. After he’d finished his own iron-rich breakfast, she checked his notebook. September 12th, 2017, give or take a week. It had been a week since her injury, and 4 days since his more serious one. Using the pencil from the back pouch of the pack that’s been used to record the date, she put on a little Happy Face with the words next to it ‘Get well Soon! XOXO Tiffany’, he was not told about it as the notebook was closed, returned to the pack, along with the pencil in the back. A nice little surprise for later, she figured.
It had been a pretty uneventful start of the day, more water was boiled for drinking, she told the two newest members of their little ‘group’ that they used to bring water up to the tub for bathing using the huge pot. Neither the young woman or the older man had the strength that the now weak young man on the floor had, nor were they keen on working together with scalding hot water. There was also the issue of firewood, which was getting low, and the ex-priest confirmed that his parents had not cut down their own wood in years if not decades, that people delivered it to their home from Strathcom for a modest price. All that was nearby to use for cutting wood was a hatchet, though in the town there would surely be better tools to use.
With the rarity of gasoline, Richard mentioned now speaking nearly normally, one of those old two-man saws would be fantastic; much better than a wood axe. Nicky’s face reflected a show of ‘Pfuh… typical…’ upon him saying ‘two-man’ rather than ‘two-person’, but bit her tongue and remained silent even though if two people were to use such a device, it would most likely be her and the old man. Johnathan smiled and nodded, remembered seeing one of those at some point in his childhood and maybe even teen years, but even then it was all rusted up and no longer in use.
“Anyone here left-handed?” He asked, looking around. Nobody answered, so he explained why he asked, “With one person chopping left-handed and one person chopping right-handed, I figure a tree could be cut down twice as quickly since the two people can hack at the same side of the tree, one swinging after the other.” It was sound logic, but with nobody being left-handed it was unlikely to happen. Tiffany offered that perhaps each of the two cutters could work on opposite sides of the tree. Neither would be at risk of slipping and hitting the other chopper, and he nodded, though said aloud his wish that he had a chainsaw. There would definitely be a few in town but the problem was fuel. Maybe there were some vehicles left in park, never having been moved, that could be syphoned? It was a long shot as the one on the floor said, because there would undoubtedly have been survivors with that very idea from months back.
Once they found a chainsaw though, there’s a chance it could be already full of gasoline, and just one full chainsaw could get a lot of work done in a short amount of time. “God I love splitting wood…” came the younger man. “Did a fair bit of it around… 2013 or so, and it was a fun pastime… good workout as well. If we have to use axes to cut down… the trees though, then we’ll probably go… for the thinner ones, so they likely won’t… even need to be split into smaller chunks.” Johnny was quite confident that they’ll be able to find a chainsaw with fuel already in it though, so one of them could do some splitting once they get some big trees dragged to the house. Someone could also work at chopping off the branches with the hatchet since using fuel in the chainsaw for that seemed like something of an unnecessary waste. Tiffany, who was definitely the weakest of the bunch, elected herself to take on the duty of branch-cutting. “Atta girl, you’ll be a big help;” She turned to him and smiled, “You handle wood like a champ.” He finished, and she blushed, which brought some laughter from the teller of the joke, but Nicky scowled in disgust and Johnathan frowned in disapproval.
Veronica said that if any of them went into town alone, they likely wouldn’t come back, so volunteered as the guide. Someone had to stay behind to take care of the injured man, and the person to do that was obvious, so naturally it came down to the black woman and the greying whitey. Not the greatest pairing in the world, but it would seem they were putting that episode of the other day behind them. It was nearing noon by then, so not wishing to waste daylight, the two left immediately. Nicky put the plastic bags in a pocket of her coat, the bags she used to bring much of the groceries and liquor in. With the rifle slung over her shoulder, and just in case, the two and a half 10-round clips of 7.62x39 in another pocket, the two left, neither too eager to converse with the other for now.
Sliced flesh, broken bone, a punctured eye, the heap of decaying matter slumped to the pavement as the priest groaned with a hand to his mouth. Dark lips curled in an unseen smirk once again, enjoying both how she was quickly improving with the bayoneted rifle as well as how the old white guy clearly disliked every time she used it. Kneeling down she gave a brief pat to the dead, balding, perhaps 50-odd year old body’s pockets. Felt like a wallet was in one, and keys jingled in the other. Only took a couple seconds but she quickly decided he had nothing worth taking.
Continuing on their way, the duo jogged along a street, lined by houses on either side, most of which had garages. Already a couple had been checked to no avail, and it was decided to continue looking around until they found evidence of a home that had a use for firewood. Not many of the houses even had chimneys, surprisingly enough. The jogging only lasted a few seconds, as usual, before the older fellow became winded. Veronica was practically in the best shape she could be in, but the one who she was stuck doing the ‘run’ with, his best days were clearly far behind him.
“This would go a lot more quickly if you could just keep up.” She jibed, giving a side-long look ba
ck at him, her newly acquired Chinese-made Simonov rifle in hand, finger off the trigger, safety engaged. He gasped and sputtered for breath, just shaking his head at her wordlessly with his mouth gaping. He couldn’t keep up the quick pace she was hoping to maintain. “Fine. A walk then…”
She twitched as glass broke nearby, a sort of off-white or maybe cream-coloured house had the large window of its living room broken, and a figure tumbled down to the ground. Jagged glass sliced open its gut on the way, and so some entrails clung up above which lead down to the bushes behind which the body plummeted. Johnathan crossed himself. Nick gave a twisted face of disgust that was coupled with a slight smirk, faintly amused. The bushes rustled, the rope of intestines on the broken glass stretched taut until it finally sliced, leaving some of it hanging from the glass inside said room, meanwhile out from the bushes came the partially-gutted corpse of a woman.
“Oh lord…” the man gave breathily on shock, staring at the pale figure that approached in merely panties. “S-… Stacy?” Just then she stepped on her own guts, tripped, and fell to the ground. From in the gaping wound of her stomach fell more internal organs upon impact, and he promptly turned and began vomiting up his breakfast. It was the young woman’s turn to groan.
“Augh… fucking seriously?” Spitting out chunky saliva mixed with the vile taste of his stomach’s previous contents, his left hand flung out in her direction, palm facing her, informing her not to start with him right now. Her booted feet carried her over to the woman who was now getting up, appearing to probably be around a similar age as him. Hearing it, his eyes flashed open, quickly turning, and as his head spun about some loose bits of stringy spit and vomit flung away from his mouth. The bayonet descended, he yelled at her to stop at the very last second but it was too late.
