by Aborn, A. L.
As the days pass, we’ve gravitated toward our own portion of the chores. Brad does wood and plans the garden, Ally does most of the cooking and cleaning, and I take care of the farm. I find that I am most relaxed while I’m in the barn. All the animals have warmed up to me, but the brown horse is especially fond of me. He lets me brush out his black mane and tail patiently and nuzzles my face each morning. I call him Beau. The bigger grey and white horse is really lazy; I call him Tanker. I haven’t given official names to the goats and sheep as I’m still convinced that we’ll have to eat them soon.
I like the smell of the barn. It reminds me of my childhood and when I took horseback riding lessons. When I’m lost in caring for the animals, I could be in a barn anywhere. My mom could be waiting outside. I know she isn’t, but it transports me back to middle school and the comfort I found in the barn during that time. It’s a good feeling.
It has taken me by surprise that I am so comfortable at the farm. After the events that happened there, it was hard at first, but my hesitation has melted away. Once we cleaned it out and the putrid stink faded away, it’s not bad at all. I still don’t like to think about what happened there, but who would? Instead, I try to focus on the resource aspect. It almost feels like my own little space.
***
Now that the weather is getting warmer, I want to try and ride Beau. I think he’ll let me. He takes the halter easy enough and lets me guide him with the lead rope. Tanker on the other hand is big and stubborn; he just stands there letting me pull on him. He goes when he feels like it. As the snow is melting, it’s become much easier to let all the animals out of the barn to clean their stalls. They all mouth eagerly at whatever plants they can find popping through the white crust.
I’ve been taking stock of what is squirreled away in the barn office. At first glance, it looked like there was a lot of tack, but it’s mostly just bits and pieces tangled together. I can’t find a whole bridle and I certainly don’t know how to make one. So, if I do ride Beau, it will have to be with a halter and a rope.
There’s one old saddle but it’s way too big for me. The seat is cracked and doesn’t look comfortable. There’s one problem though: without the stirrups on the saddle, there’s no way I’ll be able to climb up on Beau’s back from the ground. I have some ideas about trying to attach the stirrups to just a girth strap, but I’ll have to ask for Brad’s help, I think.
When the chores are finally done and the three of us sit down to have dinner each night, our conversation is almost solely focused on the coming spring. What will it mean for us? In theory, it should be a time for us to look forward to; a chance to catch up on cutting wood, not worrying about the woodstove constantly, being able to plant and plan for food, letting the animals forage… the list goes on. But instead, we can only speculate that the warm weather will bring strangers. We hopefully joke that our families will arrive in the driveway when all the snow melts, but I’m not optimistic about that. My family doesn’t even know that I am here.
Despite my exhaustion every night, I toss and turn with the stress of the possibilities. I picture groups of people coming to take everything that we have: our food, our animals, anything. And then what will we have? If they leave us alive. Brad seems confident that we can handle whatever comes our way if we are vigilant, but I don’t share his enthusiasm.
How will we defend both the house and the farm? I think we should choose one or the other. The two properties are too large for the three of us to handle alone. Our goods are spread out between both, so if it comes to sacrificing one during a crisis, either will impact us greatly. Brad says that I may be right, but he refuses to make a choice. When questioned, he becomes angry and says that there’s no way that he’s leaving his home. Despite all of the benefits of consolidating into one area, I feel like he just won’t see reason.
Late at night, I am consumed with worry over Brad’s inability to reconcile with this idea. So far, we’ve been lucky; no one really came out on this rural, dead end road before the power went out, and that hasn’t changed much. I pray to God, to anyone who will listen, that this remains the case, but a sense of impending doom sits low in my belly when I’m alone with my thoughts.
***
According to our calendar, it’s April fifteenth. Patches of snow stubbornly hang on in areas of shade, but for the most part, it’s gone. Mud has taken its place. It’s everywhere. This morning is the first morning where it’s hit fifty degrees. Standing outside, I let the warm breeze blow against my skin. I can’t help but smile.
Just yesterday, Brad and I finished my makeshift saddle. It’s a mod-podge of saddle blanket, girth strap, and stirrups. It’s ugly but seems like it will work. I’m going to try it today. Hopefully, Beau lets me ride him without anything bad happening. I force thoughts of being thrown from the saddle out of my mind. He let me put the old saddle on him without issue, but who knows what will happen when I climb on. Nothing, I hope. If we can ride one (or both) of the horses, we gain a mode of transportation. We will take any tool that we can get. But more than that, my desire to ride Beau feels like a bit of my old life returning to me.
The morning chores are done, and Brad is with me at the barn. Just in case Beau throws me, I’d like someone to be with me, though I’m not sure what he will do if there is a serious injury. Handing Brad the lead rope, I put my makeshift saddle on the broad brown back before me. He stands patiently while I fiddle with the strap and buckles. When it’s finally arranged to my liking, I put my left foot in the stirrup, grab a fistful of mane, and hoist myself up. Beau stands strongly beneath me. Swinging my leg over, I settle into the curve of his back. Clearly, someone has ridden him before, and he knew what to expect.
I smile down at Brad as he unhooks the lead rope. We have taken a smaller piece of rope and attached it to either side of the halter with enough of length for a loop that stretches back comfortably to where I sit. Picking it up, I gently squeeze with both legs while clicking my tongue. Almost immediately, he steps forward into a walk. We do a loop around the barn in a walk before I urge him into a trot. After another loop, I guide him farther from the house and press him into a canter. He is responsive to me, even to the halter without a bit in his mouth. I am incredibly lucky that Beau is a good-natured, people pleasing horse; if we only had Tanker, there’s no way that he would respond to the halter this way. I squeeze tightly with my legs and let Beau have his head around the farm and forget about everything else. In that moment, with the wind whipping through my hair and Brad’s shouts of encouragement, I couldn’t be happier.
***
That night, my thighs aching from squeezing Beau and itchy from where my pants chafed me, I can think of nothing else besides riding Beau. Instead of feeling like we are trapped here, I have a sense of freedom that I didn’t wake up with. Thoughts of my dad and Brandy, now perhaps within arm’s reach, swirl softly in the back of my mind, but I push the hope away. For now.
The next day passes like all the others, except I add in a ride on Beau after my chores. Ally says she wants to ride him too, so after lunch, the three of us head over to the farm. We laugh as she bumps along on top of him. It’s a great distraction.
As we are all in good spirits, we decide to fire up the grill and have venison steaks for dinner instead of stew. It’s a nice change, but man, do I miss fresh vegetables. Our stock of canned goods and meat is dwindling. Brad tells us over the steaks that he plans on going hunting in the morning. There’s a river across the street, not too far, that we decide to try to fish for trout. In the middle of dinner, Brad gets up and walks to one of the cabinets and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. We haven’t really had any alcohol since the wine we shared on my first night; I for one, have been too nervous. I think the warm weather and all the possibilities of food are making us drop our guard.
Brad pours each of us a shot. I’ve never been a fan of the taste, but the warmth that quickly spreads down my throat and into my belly is a good feeling.
This. This
feels like old times.
Brad pours us each another and then sits back down at the table. “We’re lucky. Don’t you think?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Look around. Two houses, heat, food, animals, a plan. We are lucky. Imagine how many people died this winter.”
The thought sobers me. It’s easy to only think about me or us. I’ve been obsessed with thinking about my family and what is happening to us. I haven’t really considered what the rest of the town, state, or even country has been doing. He’s right. How many people froze or starved to death this winter? How many others died in violence? How many have turned to lawlessness? Rape? Looting? Murder?
That thought hits too close to home.
I suddenly see our situation out here on this back road in a new light. Instead of feeling bitter about everything that we have lost, I am grateful for everything that we have. But right behind that thought, is the terrible worry for my family and friends. Have they become victims? A nameless statistic in this desolate new world? A body without a grave? I feel my throat tighten in anguish.
“I want to go to my dad’s house.” The words come out of me, almost unexpected.
Ally looks at me, understanding. “I want to go to my parents’ house, too.”
“I wanna go to my parents’ too, but it’s not like we can all just drive over and check on them.” Brad says, almost angrily.
“Think about it,” I say, the plan suddenly seeming so clear to me. “I could take the railroad tracks up to my dad’s house, I wouldn’t have to go on the road much at all. And Ally, your parents don’t live that far from my dad. I could go there, too.”
“I want to go, too!” Ally answers immediately. We smile, getting caught up in the other’s enthusiasm, just like when we were kids, deciding to build a fort or to try to use a rope swing to cross a swamp.
“No.” Brad says. The smile leaves my face. What do you mean, no? “I can’t stop you from going to your dad’s, it might even be a good idea, but Ally, you can’t both go.”
His words shatter my momentary excitement, but I suppose he’s right. I see a sheen of tears in Ally’s eyes. I know how badly she has been missing her parents. Like me, it feels like a cruel joke to have them only ten or twelve miles away and not be able to see them or talk to them. We just want to know if they are okay.
Finally, she nods in agreement.
“I don’t think you should go either. Our place is here.” Brad locks eyes with me across the table.
I feel a myriad of emotions; disgust that he might be right, disappointment, longing for my family, and angry that he would try to forbid me from going.
“But I guess I can’t really tell you that you can’t go.” He pauses, taking another swallow of whiskey. “How are you planning on getting there?”
“Beau.” I don’t expect there to be resistance to this, but it’s not like I can take a car. We siphoned all the gas out of the cars months ago. “I can make it there in a day, easy. Stay for a couple days, then make my way to Ally’s parents. I can stay there for a couple days or less, then back in another day. All in all, I shouldn’t be gone longer than a week.”
Finally, he nods in consent. The whiskey lends a layer of excitement, but the rest of dinner is subdued. Inside, I want to cheer, but on the outside, I am nervous about upsetting the careful balance that the three of us have built. A year ago, I wouldn’t have thought that anything would come between the three of us. What is happening?
Chapter Ten
A Journey
The excitement and fear have combined in a double punch of adrenaline inside me. The prospect of traveling alone, while frightening, is exhilarating. I’m finally going to see my parents! I’m finally going to be able to act on this agonizing idle feeling of not being able to do anything for my loved ones! These thoughts are extra shaming to me, ever since Brad reminded us how truly lucky the three of us have been throughout this ordeal.
Of course, if it were up to me, I would have jammed some supplies into a backpack and left the morning after my revelation to venture out and find our families’ fates. But, as usual, Brad’s words sobered my excitement and became the voice of reason. It took five days to prove to both Brad and to myself that Beau and I were prepared to make the journey. First, we insured that Beau would indeed continue to my heed my directions in a space other than the open field around the farm. Each morning, I directed him in a different direction, testing his responses to my words and touch. I still have no idea what will happen if he spooks, or if anything happens out of the ordinary, but I am confident that I can ride him all the way to my dad’s house.
After dinner, Brad insisted that I go over the local maps with him. Although I knew the way to my family home, he quizzed me endlessly about which tracks, trails, and backroads were connected. Which way would you go if you found the bridge gone out over Route 31? Which way would you turn if you found unfriendly strangers by the lake? What will you do if people follow you? These questions served two purposes: one, to make me envision my path and know the area in case of an emergent situation, and two, to remind me that this is indeed a dangerous situation. How far am I willing to go to see my family? Will I shoot someone in my way? Will I allow myself to be raped or Beau stolen? My food taken? Or worse? In my haste to see my family, I had glossed over the new facts of life in my mind, but Brad wasn’t letting me go into this with any sort of sugar-coated nonsense.
Brad followed through on his word and went hunting the morning after my decision to leave. Much to our surprise, he came home with both a pheasant and a porcupine. Ally and I spent a few hours plucking and butchering the animals before making pheasant stew with the last canned potatoes. The porcupine we grilled. The meat was greasy, but better than nothing.
Ally and I also spent a great deal of time packing for my trip. We had enough food for the three of us on a daily basis, with the duck and chicken eggs coming in every day and Brad’s sporadic hunting successes. Packaging food for my trip was another matter; I felt guilty with the amount of food Ally was pressing on me but accepted it gratefully. In the end, we decided on a handful of boiled eggs, a large jar of homemade chili (the last from her mother), and some of the cooked meat, sealed tightly into Ziploc bags. A small block of ice, similarly, wrapped in Ziploc, went into the bottom of my backpack with the food packed around and snugged in with a towel. I would hopefully be able to share meals with my parents and Ally’s, but that isn’t something that I can depend on. Some of our precious horse feed also went into the bag, but with any luck, I’d find areas where Beau can forage. A flashlight, lighter, two bottles of water, ammunition, and my sleeping bag rounded out my supplies. While I had no plans to spend the nights outside, better safe than sorry I suppose.
One of the biggest questions that we asked each other was what did we hope to gain with this visit? Beyond checking on our family members, what would this outing mean? Would my parents come back with me to live here? Could we somehow combine resources to really be successful in this new world? Ally’s parents have been homesteaders for years; what could we learn from them? The possibilities seemed endless during our discussions of what I might find. No one ever mentioned the elephant in the room; that I might not find them alive or make it back at all.
And last, but not least, Meekah. To me, I had just always assumed that she would come. Brad and Ally seemed surprised by my choice though. My sweet mutt had been glued to my side long before the power went out and it only seems right that she joins me. By now, she had spent almost every day at the barn and had quickly adapted to life with the horses, goats, and sheep. She instinctively kept clear of the horse’s hooves and playfully engaged with the smaller of the goats. Considering going without her was like leaving half of me behind. She had come this far with me, and if it were up to me, she would continue at my side.
Finally, the morning of my departure arrived. As the early morning sun began burning off the spring fog, Ally, Brad, and I stood beside the already packed Beau
. The plans had been thoroughly made and the words already said, but it’s impossible not to repeat them in situations like this. “Be safe. Don’t take any unnecessary risks,” Ally said firmly into my ear as she squeezed me one last time. “Hug my mom and dad. Tell them that I love them. If all is well, tell them I will see them soon. I hope.” She added tearfully.
“I will. I promise.” I reassured her. “If I’m not back in seven days, don’t come looking for me.” Ally stares at me for a moment before finally nodding her acceptance.
Brad didn’t say much but did make a big deal out of rechecking the girth strap on Beau, double-checking that my rifle and handgun were loaded and easily accessible. The rifle had a strap that I wore over my shoulder and the handgun in a holster that we had fashioned out of pieces of old tack and suspenders. It was ugly but worked. The backpack sat snuggly on my back and the sleeping bag attached to our makeshift saddle. And suddenly, there was nothing left to check or words to say. I smiled at them and then turned to Beau, pulling myself up into the saddle. I squeezed my legs, prompting the horse forward and waved a final time. “Meekah!” I called. She appeared out of the barn at a run and quickly fell in at a trot beside us.
***
The old railroad tracks that cross our small New Hampshire towns are no longer actually railroads; the metal had long since been removed. It was now a sheltered path, weedy or sandy in turn, that crossed through town and dense forest alike. Ally and I had spent a great deal of our childhoods wandering the forest and swamps in the area. It feels increasingly strange to me to travel this oh-so-familiar landscape in this not-so-familiar world. I find myself becoming anxious about what I will find around every bend, the excitement of the journey quickly fading into reality. Taking some deep breaths to steady myself, I sit up straight, check my guns again, and focus on what is in front of me.
