by James Hunt
With the inventory done Mike picked up the lantern with one hand and the basket with the morning’s breakfast in the other, and headed upstairs.
Anne was pulling some of the pots and pans out of the cabinet when Mike set the basket on the counter.
“How’s it looking down there?” Anne asked.
Mike handed her the clipboard. She ran her finger down the list, shaking her head as she flipped through the pages.
“How long do we have?” Anne asked.
“Best case six weeks. Worse case three.”
When Mike reached for the clipboard. His hand shook from another tremor.
“Mike,” Anne said.
She grabbed his hand and rubbed gently.
“They’re fine,” Mike said.
“Take some of the medicine downstairs.”
“No, I don’t want to waste it. They don’t hurt that bad yet.”
Mike focused all of his will to keep his hands steady when Anne reached down to kiss them. He didn’t want to tell her that it took him twenty minutes in the morning, working through the pain, to perform the simple task of curling his fingers into a fist.
“I’ll start getting everyone up. We need to have a house meeting,” Mike said.
Mike’s dad, Ulysses, was already up when he stepped into his room. Nelson, his son Sean, and Freddy were still asleep on the floor.
“I tried giving the boys the bed, but they wouldn’t take it,” Ulysses said, stepping in between the bodies lying on the floor.
“Don’t give them a hard time about it. They just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”
“No, they just want to give it to me because I’m old.”
Mike waited to roll his eyes until Ulysses brushed past him. He watched his son for a moment before he woke him. He always enjoyed watching him sleep. Before the EMP blast, everyday before work, Mike would walk into each of his kids’ rooms and kiss them on the forehead before heading to work. It was his ritual, and it helped make the 5 a.m. wake-up time a little easier.
“Hey, bud. Time to get up,” Mike said.
Freddy groaned and rolled onto his back. His Spiderman shirt was pulled up, exposing his belly. Mike tickled him. Freddy squirmed and giggled.
“Dad! Stop!”
“It’s time for breakfast. Get Sean up, will you?”
Nelson woke up, looking groggy, and reached for his glasses.
“Breakfast in ten, Nelson.”
“Right,” Nelson said, yawning.
Mike headed down the hallway to his daughter’s room. Before he reached the handle the door swung open.
“Hey, Dad,” Kalen said.
“Hey, Kay.”
It threw Mike off, her being awake. It wasn’t like her. On the weekends when they had to be somewhere in the morning, he would have to use a crowbar to pry her out of bed, but then again, things had changed since then.
“Breakfast ready?” Kalen asked.
“Your mom’s getting everything ready. You sleep okay?”
“Yeah, it was fine.”
The bruising around her neck had mostly faded with the exception of a few blotches of faint purple on the sides. When Mike arrived at the cabin yesterday, his wife told him what happened while he was gone. She waited to tell him until last night, and it hadn’t left Mike’s mind since. It festered like a disease. His daughter was almost raped, and he was powerless to do anything about it.
Mike watched Kalen head down to the kitchen. He was worried about her. She seemed too put together for what happened. Something didn’t feel right.
“You’ve got quite a girl, Mike,” Fay said, walking up behind him.
Fay pulled her hair back and flipped it through a band, giving herself a ponytail. Mike’s eye went to the pistol strapped to her hip.
“Did you sleep with that thing?” Mike asked.
Fay laughed.
“Mike, who the hell sleeps anymore?”
She slapped his arm and went to join everyone at breakfast.
“Hi, Mr. Grant,” Mary said.
Mike hadn’t noticed her until she spoke. Behind Mary were her two younger sisters starting to wake, both of them dressed in some of Freddy’s and Kalen’s old clothes that were left at the cabin a few years back.
The three girls had been in the town, Carrollton, a mile west of the cabin with their parents on vacation when the EMP blast crippled the country. Then, a few days ago, a biker gang came through and wiped almost everyone out. Mary’s father was part of the body count. Her mother fared much worse.
Ulysses found them hiding in the tall grass fields on the edge of town. The girls hid there for almost two days without any food or water.
“You girls head for the kitchen. Breakfast will be ready soon,” Mike said.
The last door on the hallway was Freddy’s room. Inside were Jung, his wife Jenna, and their two children, Claire and Jung Jr. Mike brought the To family with him on his way from Pittsburgh to the cabin. He found them in an airport, and when Jung found out about the cabin and where Mike was going, he begged to bring his family along.
Mike knew the dangers of bringing the family with him. He wasn’t sure if they’d even make the journey. On their way here, Jenna was shot in the shoulder. It wasn’t a fatal hit, and Mike was able to get the bullet out. But she lost a lot of blood and without professional medical attention there was always the risk of complications.
Jung hadn’t stopped shaking since his wife was hit. Before Mike knocked on the door he could hear whispering on the other side.
“Jung?” Mike asked.
Mike pushed the door open. Jung was kneeling on the side of the bed, Jenna lying motionless on top of the sheets. His head was bowed, and his hands clutched a string of beads wrapped around his knuckles.
The youngest, Claire, was cuddled up to Jenna on the bed, while Jung Jr. sat in the corner reading an old picture book that belonged to Freddy when he was a kid.
Jenna looked bad. Her face dripped with sweat. Her skin was pale.
“Jung?” Mike repeated.
The whispering stopped. Jung looked back at Mike. His eyes were red and strained from either crying or a sleepless night.
“Whenever you’re done, everyone’s in the kitchen,” Mike said.
Jung inclined his head and went back to his whispers. Mike shut the door gently behind him. He knew what Jung was going through right now. It’s what Mike went through during his four-day journey trying to get back to his own family.
When Mike’s family escaped the neighborhood after everyone turned on him he wasn’t sure if he’d ever see them again. He knew that he’d give everything he had to find them, but in the back of his mind stood the looming presence of reality. It was a reality he faced with every step of the eighty miles he walked to get here.
Ray, Tom, and Clarence were up after all the commotion and traffic from people passing the living room where they slept.
The cabin was loud with chatter about what was for breakfast. Stomachs growled and Anne started handing out a few cans of pears. People passed them around as Tom came in to help Anne fire up the skillet.
Mike waited until after breakfast to speak with everyone. He thought it best to tell people difficult news on a full stomach rather than an empty one.
“Hey, everyone, listen up,” Mike said.
The kitchen and living room fell silent. Every eye in the cabin was staring at him. It was an odd feeling for Mike, the air of authority he now possessed; it was an unspoken agreement from everyone he’d helped stay alive. They wouldn’t be here without him.
“With the amount of people we have here now, the cabin is beyond its intended capacity. I built this place with the idea that there’d only be five occupants. Now, there’s more than triple that. I stashed enough food rations and water to last five people six months. With the rate we’ve been going through food and the number of mouths we now have to feed, our food rations will be gone much sooner.”
“So what’s the call?” Clarence asked.
“The husband of the woman who let us borrow the cart to bring Jenna up here is a hunter. He knows the area well. I’m going back there today to see if we can work out an arrangement. See if there is anything we can trade,” Mike said.
“The family of the boy who shot my wife?” Jung asked.
Mike hadn’t noticed Jung join them. The beads were still wrapped tight around Jung’s hand, swinging back and forth.
“Jung, it was an accident,” Mike said.
“I don’t know, Mike. The family wasn’t exactly thrilled to see us when we went there the first time,” Tom said.
“We’re going to need food. It’s better if we’re able to work something out now before things get too scarce. I don’t know how long we’ll be here, but if we end up staying through the winter, we’re going to need to know the game in the area,” Mike replied.
“Winter?” Fay asked. “You don’t think everything will get figured out by then?”
“We can’t count on the power coming back on. While I hope things will get better, we have to prepare for the worst. We have to think long term,” Mike answered.
“Mike’s right,” Nelson said. “We don’t know what’s going to happen. It’s better to be overprepared than underprepared.”
“I want everybody moving in pairs when you’re outside the cabin. Anne and Ulysses will give everyone a breakdown of chores. Everyone pulls their own weight. No exceptions,” Mike said.
He wasn’t sure how the group was going to handle being here. Seventeen people living under the roof of one four-bedroom cabin for an extended period of time was going to be rough. Throwing in the fact that half of them had only known each other for a few days wasn’t going to help.
Mike pushed it out of his mind. One thing at a time. Right now he just needed to focus on setting up a sustainable food channel.
“Fay, you’re with me,” Mike said.
Anne raised her eyebrow and pulled Mike aside once Fay had turned her back.
“Why don’t you take your dad?” Anne asked.
“I want him here. Ulysses already knows where everything is and you’ll need his help to pick up the slack from Ray and Jenna being down.”
Anne grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him close for a kiss.
“Just make sure blondie doesn’t get any porridge.”
Mike smiled.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Once breakfast was over, Mike and Fay headed out for the Murth’s farm. The trip there would only take a few hours, but Mike packed a day’s worth of rations for him and Fay.
“I’m not to sure of the welcome we’re going to get, so if things go bad don’t hesitate. Either shoot, or run,” Mike said.
“You really think they’re going to just give us food?”
“No, the family didn’t strike me as the type to give handouts, but we might be able to work out a bartering deal. I’m willing to bet I’ve got some things they don’t.”
Mike kept to the east on his way down to the highway. He wanted to avoid getting close to the town. After hearing the stories from Mary and Ulysses about the biker gang, he didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks.
Once they made it to the highway, the farm was only a few miles down the road. Mike could see it in the distance.
The farm was modest, roughly twenty acres or so from what he could tell, although he wasn’t sure how much land the family owned beyond the fences. They could have come through the back way, but Mike didn’t want to risk spooking them. The last time he saw them he did have their son at gunpoint.
“You have your safety off?” Mike asked.
“Always.”
Mike swung the gate open and the two of them headed down the dirt road toward the house, the cart kicking up dust behind them. The house was sixty yards away when Mike heard the click of a hammer behind him.
“Drop it,” Ken said.
Mike kept his hands in the air.
“Easy. We’re not here to cause trouble,” Mike said.
“You always keep your rifles on you when you’re not looking for trouble?” Ken asked.
“Put it down, Fay. It’s all right,” Mike said.
Fay placed her rifle on the ground. Mike could feel the barrel of the pistol pressing hard against the back of his skull.
“You have sixty seconds to explain what you’re doing here and if I don’t like the answer I’ll be staining my driveway red,” Ken said.
“Are you Mr. Murth?” Mike asked.
“Who wants to know?”
“My name is Mike. I came here yesterday with your son. Your wife let me borrow your cart to wheel a woman in our group who was injured up to my cabin.”
Mike felt the pressure of the barrel on his head ease. He turned slowly, keeping his hands in the air.
“You’re the guy who shot at Billy?” Ken asked.
Ken Murth looked as rough as he sounded. White and gray scruff covered his face. What little hair he had was messy and tussled. His lower lip puffed out, concealing the dip in his mouth. His face and hands were dark and worn from working outdoors.
“He opened fire first,” Mike answered.
Ken spit a brown wad onto the ground. The juices from the dip dribbled down his chin.
“I know,” Ken said.
It was a father’s order to his son to protect his family at all costs. There wasn’t any remorse in Ken’s eyes, and with the barrel of the gun still aimed at Mike he wasn’t sure how willing Ken was to broker a mutual agreement.
“I was hoping we could talk,” Mike said.
The brown and yellow of Ken’s teeth flashed in a crooked smile.
“Your boyfriend sure has some balls on him,” Ken said, giving Fay a look up and down. “All right. Let’s talk.”
Beth and Billy were walking from the barn to the house when Mike, Ken, and Fay reached the front porch.
Ken insisted on keeping the rifles if they wanted to chat. Mike complied, hoping the show of good faith would build him some trust.
The inside of the house was simple, clean, and neat. The living room was absent of any television, computer, or any electronic device that he could see. A wooden cross with a figure of Jesus crucified was fixed as the centerpiece above the dining room table.
The back door swing open as Mike and Fay sat on the couch in the living room.
“Ken? Who’s in there with you?” Beth asked.
“They’re from the party that Billy shot at,” Ken answered.
“They bring back our cart?”
Ken sent another wad of brown spit into an empty soup can. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and kept his eyes on Mike.
“Yeah,” Ken said.
Billy froze when he saw Mike, then when his eyes landed on Fay he blushed.
Beth set a basket of eggs on the counter and wiped her hands on the front of her apron as she walked into the living room.
“I’m sure you know what’s happened, or at least have an idea of what’s happened. The whole country’s gone down. There’s no power, no water, no transportation, nothing,” Mike said.
Ken laughed.
“Boy, you just described my childhood. What are you getting at?”
“Your son mentioned to me that you’re a hunter, been doing it a long time. I’m sure you know these woods better than anyone. I was hoping we could set up a trade.”
Ken’s head slowly turned to his son. Billy kept his head down. His fingers fumbled with the front of his shirt nervously.
“What else did you tell him?” Ken asked.
“I didn’t tell him anything else,” Billy said.
“I have medical supplies, clothes, ammunition. I was hoping we could work something out,” Mike said.
“What kind of ammunition?” Ken asked.
“Every kind.”
“I see,” Ken said, rubbing his chin. He walked over to Mike slowly. The wooden floors creaked under his boots.
“We can help you hunt,” Fay added. “It’s been a while, but my dad used t
o take me all the time. Deer, boar, turkeys, I’ve tracked them all.”
Mike tried to hide his surprise at the statement, but he turned his head a little too quickly. She never mentioned anything like that. When he showed Fay how to shoot the rifle at the airport he just thought she was a natural. Now he knew why.
