by Sean Little
“No,” she said. “It’s not enough. What’s the point of living alone in the world? Humans were meant to be social creatures. We were meant to build and create. We were meant to live, not just exist. You have to find those like me, those who might be without hope, and you have to bring them with you. If you, me, and that asshole lived, there must be others.”
“Needles and haystacks,” I said. “The world is too big, too wide. It would be almost impossible to find people. It would be easier for me to establish a base of operations, to grow food and have a fire for people to see at night. I could leave messages in places, and then hope that people find me. Like you did.”
“Like Adam will,” she said. “When you plant a seed, it has as much a chance as being eaten by a rat as it does growing into a tree. If you seek, you will find, isn’t that what the book says?”
“That’s the same book that talks about building a church on a rock so that it will be a steadfast beacon, too,” I said.
Meri shrugged. She was quiet for a while. Then, she said, “I’m sorry I took your bed. And I’m sorry I’m going to die in your bed.”
“You’re not dying. Not yet. Just get well enough to travel. I made up the big bed in the back of the RV for you. Whenever you feel ready, I will help you out there. I’ll carry you there if I have to, and then we’ll go south. I think I even have a spot for us.”
“Where?”
“I found a town on a map called Madisonville, Louisiana. Doesn’t that sound like a logical destination? We leave Madison, Wisconsin and go to Madisonville, Louisiana. It looks like a nice place. It’s green. It’s on a river. It’s not too far from Lake Pontchartrain. We’ll be able to hunt and fish for food, maybe farm some crops. We can catch some chickens and small game and turn them into renewable sustenance. It should be okay down there. I can’t say I’m looking forward to the humidity, but they say that your blood ‘thins out’ after a few years and you adjust to it.”
“That does sound nice,” Meri said. A wistful smile crossed her lips for a moment, but then was gone. “I will not make it to Madisonville. I can tell.”
“Hush,” I said. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Why is it so important to you that I go south?”
“Because,” I said, “by default, you are one of only two friends I have in the whole world, you and Rowdy.” Hearing his name, the dog raised his head from his bed and gave an obligatory thump of his tail.
“I admire your optimism,” she said. Then she was asleep again. Her eyes closed slowly and her breath shifted to that laborious, heavy breathing of someone deep in slumber. I wondered if she had even known she was awake.
I took a novel from the shelves, the first installment of Sanderson’s Mistborn Trilogy, and sat outside to read. At least, I stared at the first page, but I couldn’t process the words. Ever get like that? Ever read words on a page, but for whatever reason, they simply don’t form sentences? It could be just a series of random, unconnected words when that happens. Fish grapefruit hammered cannibal porcelain uncherished. They just don’t make sense. My mind wasn’t on the book or the words themselves. I was anxious. I was impatient. I wanted to leave Wisconsin, badly. It was like I was on a roller coaster, that one terrible moment before the cars take the initial plunge down the first hill, and the coaster stops for just a second--that second is wonderful and awful all at once, and you just want the cars to go because you’ve already climbed the hill and want to get the terror out of your system. I was standing on a precipice, about to begin a brave new world for myself, and I just wanted it to start.
I read my book for a good hour. Well, “read” is an operative term. I sat with the book in my hands for an hour and never got past the first page. Eventually, I tossed the book into my chair and went over the Greyhawk one last time, checking and double-checking. I went over a mental list of gear and supplies. I made sure I had the siphon pump for gas in the exterior storage. I made up my mind to leave in a day or two at most, whether Meri was ready or not. If she put up a fight, I could give her a sedative and carry her out to the RV; she wasn’t very big. I just had to get going. The rest of my life was waiting and I was eager to begin it. When dusk fell that day in the late evening, I was fully prepared, even at that very second, to head out for new lands.
I walked back into the annex to get some things for dinner. It was later than normal for dinner, but Ramen was fast, cheap, easy, and I had a metric ton of it. I grabbed three packets and the cast iron pot. I called to the dog. “C’mon Rowdy. Let’s go outside.” I took three steps and realized that he wasn’t following me.
I whistled. He didn’t move. Time stopped.
My heart was clenched by cold fingers. My head spun. I set the Ramen and the pot down. “Rowdy?” I called again.
The dog lay still. His eyes were closed. His body was relaxed. He was at peace. He was on his bed near the fireplace. When I stroked his side, he didn’t respond. He felt cold. Instantly, tears sprang into my eyes and a hot sensation flooded my throat and sinuses. I bit back the sobs and it hurt. My dog was dead.
It was almost as if he knew he was going to be a burden on my trip and he decided to spare me that ordeal. He wouldn’t have wanted to go anyhow. I laid down by his side and buried my fingers in the fur of his neck, resting my forehead against his head. “Good dog,” I said. I repeated it softly over and over. And then I cried for an hour, holding him in my arms.
In the twilight, I dug a grave on the south side of the library. I dug it as deep as I could because I didn’t want any strays trying to dig up Rowdy to feed on him. At the bottom of the grave, I placed Rowdy’s bed. I laid a blanket on top of that, and then I put the dog onto the blanket, positioning him on his side, like he used to sleep. I covered him with the blanket and cried some more. I’d never had a pet before Rowdy. At that moment, I didn’t know how I was going to face the future without him. I had tried to steel myself mentally for the trauma of his death, but the reality of it was worse than I ever could have imagined.
That dog kept me from madness. He was there for me for a year. He snored a lot, and farted even more, but he had been my best friend. In a lot of ways, he had been the best friend I’d ever had.
As I shoveled dirt on top of him, tears streaming down my cheeks, I remembered how he would be content to sit at my side while I read, his head on my thigh. I would idly stroke his head and he wouldn’t move for hours. I remembered how I would work my toes under his body while he slept on the bed with me. He would keep my toes warm. He was content to just listen to me read. I remembered the brazen, stupid bravery he showed when he raced out to fight that pack of dogs. That was the beginning of his end. He never really recovered after that.
When the grave was covered, I carried logs from my stockpile to the grave and used them to cover the dirt, a final deterrent for anything that might think about digging him up. I fashioned a tombstone for him from a smooth piece of firewood. I used a knife to carve into the smoothest part of it the words Rowdy: The Best Dog Ever. I dug a small hole at the head of the grave and hammered the log into the ground. It wasn’t the memorial he deserved, but it would have to do.
I sat in the dewy grass at the foot of the grave in the dark and wept some more. Rowdy’s death, as well as visiting my parents’ graves, and Em’s grave, had reopened all those feelings of grief that I had been trying desperately to bury for a year. Now, unchecked by the concern of a caring Labrador, they flowed freely. My tears were rivers; the dam of my heart had broken.
JOURNAL ENTRY SEVENTEEN
-The Inevitable Confrontation-
I don’t know what time it was when I heard the engine of a vehicle creeping into Sun Prairie, but it was late. Or early. One of the two. I was still sitting at Rowdy’s grave. I had been there for hours. The shorts I’d been wearing were soaked with dew. My undies were soaked with dew. I was almost oblivious to the world around me.
Almost.
I heard the engine from a great distance. It was a big en
gine, at least a V8, and it was powering something with large tires that made a hollow echo on the pavement. It was impossible to miss against the relatively silent backdrop of the night sounds, especially since the sound of a vehicle had been so absent from the world, save for when I was driving one. Even Meri had run out of gas outside of town and had to walk the last couple of miles to the library. That was how she’d snuck up on me. This was different. Whatever was coming was large and aggressive. I knew it could only be one person: Adam.
Had this happened twelve hours earlier, I would have been nervous, scared. I’m sure my guts would have twisted into knots, and I would have bordered on pissing myself. I would have wondered if everything Meri had told me was true. Why would she lie about such a thing? I would have wondered if he was going to be crazy and unhinged. I would have wondered if he’d be angry. I would have wondered if I could take him in a fist-fight, if it came down to it. That was hypothetical, though. That was if everything had been normal. That was if my dog hadn’t died. As it was, I felt drained and numb. I was a zombie. I was tired and weak, and barely aware of the world around me.
I was cognizant enough to realize that I wasn’t carrying a weapon. I knew I wanted one, even if he turned out not to be crazy and would respond to reason. I didn’t want to leave Rowdy’s side, but I knew I had to. I dragged myself out of the wet grass and ran to the RV. In a small cubby beneath the table in the center of the vehicle, I had a gun belt with a Browning semi-auto. I double-checked to make sure it was loaded, and I strapped it to my waist. The gun felt strangely heavy. I had thought I was getting used to the weight of weapons, but in that moment, it felt like a chunk of cement.
I ran into the library. Meri was asleep. I gently shook her arm. “I think Adam is here.”
She went from dead-asleep to dead-awake in the span of a heartbeat. “Where? Where is he?”
“I think he’s coming down the road,” I said. “Let’s hide you someplace.” I slipped a hand under her shoulders and tried to ease her to a standing position.
“Where? He will find me,” she said. There was a palpable fear in the air. Her eyes were wide.
“There are offices here that lock from the inside. We can put you in one of those and you can lie on the floor behind a cart of books. Maybe he won’t see you.”
She stood on unsteady legs. I moved to her left side, opposite her wound, and slipped her arm around my neck, bearing the majority of her weight as I tried to carry-walk her to the offices. Her arm felt hot across my skin. She was sweaty and I noticed a faint, unpleasant odor. I hoped it was just some body-funk from not washing recently, but I suspected it was from the wound. I walked her to the librarian’s office. The only window in the room was a small one in the door. I sat her on the floor gingerly. She winced and moaned as I did. I ran back to the bed and got a blanket for her. I covered her and told her that I would lock the door behind me.
“Where is the dog?” she said.
The word dog was another spear in my heart. “Rowdy passed,” I said. “He was old.” I was impressed that I had been able to keep from breaking down again. It would not have looked good to meet Adam with a weepy face full of tears. I locked the door and shut it before she could respond to that new information; she’d apparently slept through the whole process.
I walked outside the library. A large, black SUV was perched on the little hill in front of the library, headlights illuminating the parking lot. I froze like a deer in those headlights. He could definitely see me. There would be no hiding from him. There would be no chance to gain the upper hand in the parlay. I decided to treat the situation like I would any other opportunity to meet someone new, minus the fact that I was strapped with a handgun and I was rather sure Adam was packing weapons, too.
I waved. Like a big, teenaged doofus, I waved. Howdy, Mr. Crazy Gunman, I’m Twist! Please, shoot me!
The engine of the V8 cut off, but the headlights stayed on. I saw movement in the cab of the SUV and the door opened. The dome light came on and I saw Adam in the driver’s seat. He was middle-aged, easily over fifty, and sported a wild shock of salt-and-pepper hair with a crazy, mountain-man beard to match. He wore a black leather vest over a khaki button-down. He stepped out of the cab and shut the door. I could see his silhouette in the darkness. He was broad in the shoulders and cut an imposing figure in the night.
When he spoke, his voice was a bit higher-pitched than I’d thought it would be, but it was scratchy with age. “You the fella that’s been puttin’ the signs in the windows all over the place?”
“I am,” I said. “I’m glad to know someone else made it through the Flu.”
“Flu? That was the Rapture, boy. The Cleansing. The Lord said that the Earth was sick, so he decided to start over.”
“I didn’t read that part in the news,” I said. I gave a joking smile. There was no response from Adam and my blood ran cold. Did he have a gun pointed at me? I couldn’t see him in the shadows. The light from the SUV prevented me from seeing anything of worth.
Adam strode forward and stepped into the cast of the lights. He was a block figure made of shadow. I couldn’t read his expression. I could see he was carrying a weapon on his hip, though. His right hand rested on the butt of what looked like a rather large revolver. I hoped I would never have to find out how large.
He said, “My wife’s car was at the exit of this town. Found one of your signs in it. I came to fetch her back home.”
I decided to play dumb. “I didn’t see anyone,” I said. “I’ve been here for more than a year without seeing anyone.”
“Don’t play dumb,” said Adam. “That ain’t gonna work. Where else would she have gone?”
I shrugged. “I’m sure I don’t know.” I tried to change subjects. “Do you have enough supplies? I have food and water, if you’re hungry or thirsty.”
“I have more than enough supplies at my home,” said Adam. “The Lord provides for me in abundance because I follow His word.”
“Well, that’s fine then,” I said. “Can I do anything else for you?”
“You can bring me my wife,” said Adam. “Don’t lie to me, son. The Lord has painted the truth all over your face. Your attempts to fool me are not going to work. I know that my wife is inside, and I’d like her back now.”
“You’re welcome to look,” I said, “but she’s not in there.”
“She has to be,” Adam said. He walked closer to me. His hand was still on the butt of his gun. “Ain’t nowhere else she would be. I followed the blood trail. This is where she was headed. ‘Sides, I got one of your little notes, too.” He waved one of the handwritten memos I’d left in stores. “Why else would she have headed to this town?”
I dropped the charade. “You must be Adam, then.”
“I am. Named so by the Lord God Himself. The Lord didn’t mention you, though. You must be an abomination, a demon. Perhaps you were sent by God to test me, but then that would make you an angel.”
“I’m just a guy,” I said. “I somehow survived the Flu, just like you. Just like Meri.”
“Eve.”
“She says her name is Meri.”
Adam shifted his stance. “Her name is Eve. God decreed it.”
“Fine. Eve.”
He stared hard at me. “I ain’t leaving without her, you know.”
“She’s a grown woman. She can make up her own mind about where she goes.”
“You aim to take my place, then? Did the Lord God speak to you? Did He come to you as a glowing ball of light and impart to you His masterplan for the future? I don’t think so. You are a test He has given me; that is all.”
“My name is Twist.”
“Twist. Test. It’s all the same to me.”
We stood there at an impasse. He had not stepped away from his truck. His hand was still on his gun. My hand was close enough to my own gun to draw it. I did not fancy myself any sort of gunslinger, though. If it was going to go to guns, my first plan was to dive to right. I had two water barrel
s next to the door. They weren’t great protection, but it was better than sitting in sights of a man who had clearly used a gun far more than I had.
His hand was perfectly still on the butt of that revolver. He was a man with a lot of confidence, far more than I possessed. “I will take her by force, if I must.”
I switched gears and tried simple reason, “Look man, I don’t want to get into a shootout or something like that. We’re explorers on the dawn of a new world. Whatever we do now, that can set the tone for the future. Are we going to revert back to madness and bullets, or can we reason our way out of things like thinking men?”
Adam spat on the ground. “Seems to me that’s up to you. Reasonable would be for you to back the hell away from that door and let me go get my wife.”
“If this was Before, when everyone was still alive, you’d be arrested now and charged with kidnapping, you know.”
“The laws of man have no place in God’s Kingdom,” said Adam. He took another step toward the door. “Where before I was bound to the laws of man, the Lord has freed me from them and given me a veritable Eden to do with as I see fit.”
There was a howl nearby, a feral dog calling out to the moon. Both Adam and I snapped our heads toward the sound. The dogs were near, but I couldn’t see them. Just knowing they were there made me anxious. I could feel prickles of sweat breaking out on my forehead and upper back.
Adam drew his pistol, not at me, but he drew it from the holster and let it dangle at his side. Maybe it was frustration at the situation, or maybe it was nerves that the dogs were so close. I took a step to the right and crouched behind the water barrels. I drew my own pistol.
“Well, now,” said Adam. “This just got a mite interesting. You ever shoot a man, son? You ever pull that trigger on an armed man?”
“I don’t mean to shoot anyone,” I called out. “Just a man defending his home. You can understand that, right?”
“Oh, I understand it,” said Adam. “I understand it fine. Man’s got a right to defend his property. He also got a right to claim what’s his.”
