by Aborn, A. L.
***
Within ten minutes, I’m within sight of my dad’s road. Beau had taken us slightly off course in his mad dash. Tears leak from the corner of each eye, blurring my vision. What I’ve been envisioning as an epic homecoming has quickly become painful. Straining for sounds of anyone following me, I urge Beau on.
A faint tinkling sound catches my attention.
Hoping against hope, I pull Beau to a halt and look behind me.
There. The sound again.
A few seconds later, the shape of Meekah comes into sight. The noise is the tags on her collar. She is walking awkwardly, hitching one of her forelegs up, but moving as fast as she can. “Meekah!” Her ears perk forward and she picks up her pace.
Sliding off Beau, my leg screaming at my hurried dismount, I limp back toward my dog. Reaching her, I half-squat, half-fall, ignoring the pain in my leg. I’m crying harder now, in disbelief. Wagging her tail and licking my face, I quickly run my hands over her body, feeling for injuries. Nothing is bleeding or feels out of place. Examining her front leg carefully, she lets me explore the limb with my fingers. I can’t find anything. I hope it’s just a sprain and nothing is torn. My heart feels like it’s going to explode in my chest.
Now, to get to my dad’s house.
I evaluate my situation. I think I can walk the rest of the way. Quickly, swinging my backpack off and using the rope that secured my sleeping bag, I fasten my backpack on Beau’s back. Grabbing the horse’s reins and scooping up Meekah, I walk as fast as I can to my dad. To my family.
Dad, I’m coming home.
The last leg of my journey is a shaded dirt road. My dad’s house is in a large neighborhood, but his house has close to eight acres, meaning that he has no close neighbors. I can’t even contemplate running into anyone else at this point. I am so desperate to get to my childhood home. Exhausted and aching, carrying a thirty-pound dog and leading a semi-spooked Beau was almost too much for me to handle at once.
Finally, my dad’s driveway comes into view. The old wooden mailbox keeps its silent vigil on the road, beckoning to me. I can see Brandy’s car! The green ford is so familiar, like a piece of my old, normal life. The driveway is in the shape of a horseshoe in front of the glass-fronted house. The garage is shut up tight, probably full of motorcycles in various states of assembly.
Something feels different though.
My dad’s truck is missing from the driveway.
My heart sinks into my stomach.
What does that mean? Where is it? Where are they?
As I draw closer, I can see that some of the glass panes by the front door are missing.
Meekah is straining in my arms, she knows where we are. How many times has she come here to play with my dad’s two dogs?
The truck missing isn’t absolute proof that my parents are gone, but I try to face reality. They wouldn’t have broken their own window. Does that mean that someone else is here? Cautiously, I make my way around Brandy’s car, pulling Beau behind me. Bits of greenery are poking up out of the front flower garden, Beau jerks his head from me to tear at the bits of plants eagerly. I let him for a moment, before urging him to the rear of the house. Better to get out of sight of the road and it will give me a chance to quietly assess the house.
Part of me is still wildly hoping that my dad is about to come tearing out of the house with his dogs, to run to me and scoop me up in one of his crushing bear hugs. But he doesn’t. I quash the hope as best I can and round the corner of the house to reach the walkout basement door. The second story deck shelters the doorway, lending a feeling of safety. As we reach the privacy of the backyard, I lower Meekah to the ground and untie half of Beau’s lead rope from his halter to loop it around one of the deck posts. That should hold him for now.
Meekah sniffs around the door, still holding up her foreleg. I turn the doorknob, finding it locked. Memories of sneaking in through this very door after high school parties flash through my mind. Just like old times, I run the fingers of my right hand behind the outside light, dislodging the key. Quietly, I unlock the door and eased it open a few inches, listening intently before opening it all the way.
Silence greets me.
Meekah pushes by me, limping but tail wagging fiercely as she gets to the stairs. Carefully making her way up, she beats me to the main living floor. The first thing that hits me is the smell. It doesn’t smell like my home. It smells stale and empty, like no one has been here in a long time. It’s cold and dark; the opposite of the times I spent in this house.
“Dad?” I call softly.
Silence.
Meekah investigates the empty dog bowls in the kitchen before moving on to the living room. The weak afternoon light shines through the front windows, gently illuminating the house that is no-longer-my-house. Slumping onto the couch, I start to cry all over again. A deep sob rips through my chest, escaping my lips in a wail. It feels like I am crying for not only today, but everything that has happened in the last months. The crushing disappointment of finding my family gone, the awful fear of losing Meekah, the adrenaline of trying to protect us from those men, not knowing where any of my distant family members are… Basically, the complete loss of my old life. There is no pretending that this isn’t real, that it’s just a survival game that we are all playing until the lights come on.
Sobbing into a throw pillow, I feel a wet nose nudge my hand. I pull Meekah up onto the couch with me and hug her tightly to my chest. It felt like I cried for hours, letting my tears soak into Meekah’s thick fur, before I eventually let the weight of my agony drag me into an exhausted sleep.
***
I don’t know how long I slept, but when I wake up its pitch dark. My eyes feel swollen and puffy. Hungry, cold, stiff, and achy, I pull myself off the couch. Making my way through the darkened house by memory, I hope that Beau is still where I left him. My pack and all my gear is still strapped to his back. Stupid. But I had been so upset when we got here, that I didn’t even think about it. It would serve me right if I lost everything.
Opening the door cautiously, I look out into the night. It is strangely lighter outside; the moon casting enough light for me to make out the silhouette of Beau about one hundred feet from the house. The lead rope knot has come loose, but he hasn’t gone far. Thank God.
I am suddenly ashamed of myself. How could I let this bump in the road distract me so much that I almost lost everything? My transportation, my food… What would I have done? I shudder at the thought.
Beau comes to me easily enough, even giving Meekah a nicker as he catches her scent. Unstrapping my pack, my sleeping bag, and the saddle, I rub Beau down with a shirt wrapped around my hand. A stream runs across the back of the property, allowing me to fill a bucket up with water while Meekah and Beau each take a long drink.
Even though I took a nap, I am still mentally exhausted. There are tasks to be done before I can rest, but I just feel defeated. After Beau and Meekah have enough water, I somehow manage to coax Beau into the basement. He’s nervous following me into the building through the door, but eventually he comes through. The basement isn’t huge, but I can’t run the risk of leaving him outside. What if he were to make noise and draw in strangers? Or animals? This is bear country, after all. What about those men from the school building?
I assume that since they haven’t found me yet, they hadn’t chased directly after me. I hope that they are too busy tending to the wounded man and disposing of Ralph after the confusion of the fight. The whole thing had only lasted minutes, maybe they hadn’t even known something was happening until they heard the gunshot. Still, I decide it’s best if we all stay in the half-finished basement, which is shielded from the main road and any passersby.
From my pack, I pull some of the horse feed out for Beau, which he promptly eats from the bucket I provide. It’s way past his normal dinner time. Meekah and I share the other two hard boiled eggs and the meat that Ally had packed. After everyone is fed and watered, I take my flashlight f
rom my pack to scour my parent’s bedroom for blankets and pillows. There is a daybed in the basement that I plan on spending the night on. I don’t dare fire up the woodstove, on the off chance that someone will see or smell the chimney smoke. Instead, I slip out to the garage and grab the kerosene heater that my dad uses to keep the garage warm while he works on his motorcycles.
Finally, Meekah and I snuggle into the nest of blankets, the kerosene heater beginning to warm the small space. Beau stands on the cement floor, occasionally stamping a foot, but otherwise quiet. Despite my weariness, sleep is a long time coming. I miss my mom, dad and Brandy, my brothers and sister and their families. Being in this house makes the hurt more real than it had seemed at Ally and Brad’s.
I wonder how Jason is. I firmly believe that he is out there somewhere, most likely with his family, caring for them during this crisis. I wonder how different this experience would have been if we had never broken up. He is an excellent hunter, fisherman, and outdoorsman. I think that it would have been a lot easier with him by my side; no hard decisions, just following his lead. I find myself missing his confidence and strong arms around me. I silently send him my well wishes across the unknown distance before finally turning over and giving in to sleep.
Chapter Eleven
Moving On
A noise brings me halfway out of my sleep and into wakefulness. I can feel warm air on my face, it feels comforting. Opening my eyes, I find Beau’s face only inches from my own. It startles me and I let out a surprised “Ah!” before I know it. Meekah raises her head from the blankets in curiosity. Early morning sunlight streams through the small window over the daybed. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I suppose that it is time to get up.
The morning passes by quickly. I tie Beau outside once more to drink and munch at the tendrils of spring greens. It takes only minutes to repack my things after a quick wash with bucketed water in the bathroom. While getting ready for the day, I decide to search through the house one last time. It appears that my Dad and Brandy have been gone for some time. A layer of dust has accumulated on most of the surfaces. I don’t think that they would mind if I look through the cabinets for any food that they may have left behind.
After pawing through the cabinets and pantry, I come up with only a half-full box of boil-in-a-bag rice. The box was crushed on the bottom shelf, probably overlooked as the goods were hastily packed. I hope that it was my parents packing and not whoever had broken the glass by the front door. Turning from the kitchen with my rice in hand, the old toy box in the living room catches my eye. It stands against the same wall that it has for most of my life, but instead of facing out, it has been purposefully turned to face the wall. I once asked my dad why he kept it and he told me that it held all our childhood memories. He just couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it.
It was odd that it would be facing the wrong way. It would be difficult to open and just looked out of place. Striding over, I slid one corner of the heavy, wooden chest a few inches from the wall. The top was hinged wood, which opened easily. There, taped to the inside of the lid, was a note on folded printer paper. The chest must have been turned around to get my attention! My heart skips a beat as I carefully peel the tape away, worried that I will rip the paper. Unfolding the paper, I immediately recognize my father’s handwriting. The note began:
“Sticks,” I can hear my dad’s voice in his written words. My childhood nickname was ‘Sticks’ as he said that I ‘was skinny as a stick.’ Emotion tightens my throat at the words. I start to read again:
“Sticks,
We waited as long as we could for you. I hope that you are somewhere, safe and warm. It is starting to get really bad in town with people looting and roaming around looking for food. We are worried about Brian, Liza, and the babies. We are going to get them and make for camp. If you can, try and get to us. If you ever read this, I’m sorry that we aren’t here. Be safe. We love you.
Love,
Dad and Brandy.”
Oh, Dad. Always worried about us kids. My brother Brian and his family are the next closest sibling geographically from me. They live only an hour north of here. I shouldn’t be surprised that my parents are heading to camp. My dad and Brandy own a small hunting camp in northern New Hampshire. It is extremely rural but plenty of resources. I picture the six of them fitting into the two-bedroom camp and smile. I hope that they made it and that they are okay.
I wish that they had waited for me, but I understand. When I didn’t arrive the day after the power went out, as planned, how long did they wait? How long did it take for good townspeople to turn on one another? I was thankful to have spent all my time at Ally’s secluded house. We hadn’t had to witness any of this firsthand.
My heart feels lighter now, to know where my parents went. Rationing out the last bit of meat from my pack for myself and Meekah, I let myself slump into the couch while munching. I don’t want to look around the room as if for the last time, but it feels like the last time.
No! No time for that!
But I can’t help wondering, is this the last time I will be in my home? Will anything ever go back to the way it was?
***
Before leaving my Dad’s house, I decide that Meekah can’t walk all the way to Ally’s parents. She is still limping a little and needs rest. Rifling through what’s left in my dad’s coat closet, I found a couple of old tote bags. In the garage, a small bungee cord completed my idea. I hoped to use the bungee cord and two totes to create a set of rough saddle bags that could hang over Beau’s back. It seemed like it would work, so I just went for it. Carefully packing my belongings from my pack into the bags, trying to even out the weight as best I could, I throw it over my horse’s back. Using a bit of the rope attaching the sleeping bag, I tie it to the bungee, hoping the whole thing would just stay.
Finally, there is Meekah. I carried her on foot yesterday, so it seems like it shouldn’t be that bad in a backpack. The frame pack is large enough to hold her, hopefully comfortably, allowing her head to stick out of the top. She resists at first, but finally lets me cram her in, trying to position her. I rub her head, crooning into her ears, telling her what a good girl she is. She leans into my loving, relaxing into her cocoon.
Now, the hard part.
Trying to swing the frame pack up onto my back is awkward with her weight, but eventually, I get her settled. My leg screams with the memory of yesterday’s injury. I am so glad I don’t have to walk with this on my back! Limping over to Beau, I give myself a little silent pep-talk of encouragement to get onto my faithful steed.
This sucks.
I typically would put my left foot in the stirrup first, to get up on Beau, but my knee is still aching. It just adds another level of awkward mounting, what with Meekah shifting restlessly on my back and my rifle swung over one shoulder. My right foot in the stirrup, I grabbed ahold of Beau’s mane and pushed as hard as I could with only my right leg. Finally, I’m able to stand in the stirrup before gingerly swinging my injured leg over him. Settling into the curve of his back, I feel kind of ridiculous. Here in the end of times, tote bags tied to a horse and a dog in a backpack. I almost want to laugh at myself.
As we started our journey, trotting back down the road, I quietly pray to whomever is listening, that we won’t meet any people. I nudge Beau into a quicker pace, reaching the end of the road and turning away from the road to the school building. It’s longer, but there is no way that I am going that way. There is a trail about a mile down the road, which will take us close enough to Marie’s house.
Ally’s parents, Marie and Eugene, (but always Mom and Dad, to me) live about six miles from my parents, if you drew a straight line through the woods. My path, however, will take me through zig-zagging trails before passing onto a very rural dirt road. It adds a few miles onto the total trip. They were homesteaders, but not necessarily preppers, before this whole thing happened. They had chickens and rabbits, goats and ducks, along with a herd of dogs and a barn cat. Most of thei
r land had been turned into gardens that went almost all the way to the animal pens and barn. Barrels for rain catching were sporadically placed. A single windmill stood tall on the hill behind the house, generating enough power to run the necessities. A greenhouse was Marie’s pride and joy, along with her kitchen, where she spent much of her time growing and canning their food. Putting away quarts of broth, stew, chili, potatoes, vegetables and more.
It had all seemed like too much work to me, before. Who has time for all of that?
But now… now I am envious. I can’t wait to see them. Going there is a close second to finding my own parents safe and sound. I hope that I find them doing well. Something inside me says that, if anyone can thrive on this new world, it’s them.
The journey is, thankfully, quiet. On edge, every bird call or squirrel in the leaves has me jumping. Beau and Meekah are picking up on my anxiety; the whining in my ears and the nervous horse only add to my uneasiness. What if we meet someone? Like this? I wouldn’t be able to properly defend myself with Meekah on my back. I consider making her walk, but just can’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I hold my rifle with my finger near the trigger, determined to stop anyone before they get near me.
When we reach the end of the trailhead that meets Marie’s road, I’m close to panic. We are a half mile from their driveway, and I feel the sudden need to gallop as fast as we can to whatever safety we can find. I fight the need to constantly look over my shoulder, dreading that I might find someone there. Every horrible circumstance is flashing through my mind. Every hair on my body was standing on end, my heart pounding in my chest.
And that little voice in the back of my mind, fighting for dominance: What will I do if they weren’t there either?
I am so worked up, that at first the sound that I’m hearing doesn’t register.
