“Okay. Keep me posted. Send me texts. How’s the charge on your phone?”
“It’s okay. I’m at about sixty percent. I’ve only been using it to check to see if you’ve called. And now.”
“Good. Why don’t we set a time to check in? That way you don’t have to keep your phone on. How about ten a.m. tomorrow? Are you sleeping in the car? Are you wearing a mask all the time?”
“I left the car on the road because I was worried about someone coming along. It just didn’t feel safe.”
Cole didn’t like the sound of that. The car offered the best protection, but then again, if it couldn’t move, whoever was in it was trapped if someone was determined to get in. “Where are you going to sleep then?”
“I grabbed the camping gear you told me to get and found a little stream cutting through a farm, and there are a bunch of trees and stuff along it. I caught a couple of fish and cooked them for dinner.”
There was a note of pride in Hunter’s voice, and Cole smiled. “Good job. Okay, just lay low, and call me in the morning. Love you, son.”
There was a pause. “Yeah. Me too. Bye, Dad.”
Chapter Sixteen
As planned, Cole called Hunter at the designated time, but it rang only twice, then stopped. He didn’t know if there was something wrong with the service or if Hunter’s phone was out of battery. If he’d had turned it off last night, it should still be close to fifty percent. Cole stared at the screen, his mind spinning through scenarios. What if someone found him by the stream? He should have insisted that Hunter send him the coordinates. He had no idea where his son was. What kind of father was he? Why hadn’t he jumped in the car and driven to Colorado to get his son when he’d first heard about the disease? He could have been there and halfway back by now, and he’d know exactly where his son was, not wondering if his only child was dead or alive. What kind of father was he? What had he been thinking? The knot in his gut, present since he’d seen the first news reports, twisted. Hard.
Jenna used tongs to set a strip of bacon on a platter. “What’s wrong?”
“Hunter. He’s not answering.”
“He probably just hasn’t turned the phone on yet. You know how teens are.” Sean turned from mixing the pancake batter. It was the first real meal they were cooking at the cabin. They had several boxes of pancake batter Jenna already had in her pantry, but soon, they’d eat the home-made variety. The bacon would probably be the last they would have in a long time. The mouth-watering aroma inspired warm memories of lazy weekend mornings, camping trips and pancake breakfasts with Hunter’s Boy Scout troop. The memories clashed with the reality of a world descending into chaos.
Cole nodded, his throat too tight to speak. He left the kitchen and wandered into the living room. It was really more of a great room with its high ceiling. The cabin had a fantastic view of the bay, and as he gazed at the sparkle and flash of the sunlight as it danced in the waves, he fought to quell his worry for Hunter.
Joe walked past the window, a toolbox in hand. While he was welcome on the island, they had agreed that he would take the far cabin and stay there in a modified quarantine. Cole had given him a mask and was glad to see he wore it now, even outside. It seemed a waste that Joe had to cook for just himself, but for now, it would have to be that way. Everyone had been exhausted from unloading the truck and their vehicles last night and then carrying them into the cabins. Cole had awakened only an hour ago, but it was so strange to him to realize that he didn’t have any place to be at a certain time, but while they didn’t have a schedule to keep, there was plenty to do on the island.
After breakfast, they were going to discuss what everyone would do.
With the addition of Joe, they had another set of hands to get things done, but Cole worried how they’d survive once their food ran out. They needed a short term plan for the summer. Plant a big garden, fish as much as they could, learn how to preserve the food, and hopefully, in the fall, they could hunt some deer. At least there should be plenty of those around.
As long as the stoves were working, they had an advantage, but once fuel ran out, they would need wood for the stove and fireplace to get through the winter. That was a lot of wood. Joe had already created a nice pile and said there was a chainsaw in one of the sheds, and he’d had a few extra gallons of gas stored in a shed far from the other buildings. Already, Joe had proven to be a valuable asset to their survival and Cole was glad they had invited him to join them on the island.
As Joe passed again, carrying what looked like a small boat engine, Cole became curious. Were there more boats on the premises? A small fishing boat or two would be nice to have. The pontoon, while great for getting supplies to the island, used a lot of gas.
His stomach growled. Food, shelter, water, and cutting wood for the winter. Those were the priorities for the summer. And soon Hunter would be here to help with all of that. He had to believe that.
Even as he convinced himself of Hunter’s survival, he worried that maybe none of them would escape the virus. He’d been watching everyone carefully for any signs of it, and so far, everyone seemed okay. He didn’t know Joe, but the man was quiet and from what Cole knew that was the complete opposite from the symptoms. When some time had passed, and they were reasonably certain none of them were infected, they could lift the quarantine and Joe could join them at meals. It didn’t make sense for them to waste any food or fuel by cooking separate meals.
As much as Cole hated to do it when Hunter arrived, they’d have to quarantine him. He decided that when Joe was cleared, he could move to the cabin beside the main house. If Hunter arrived in the next few days, he’d have to take the middle cabin. It was set back a little from the rest. Of course, they would provide food for him, they’d just have to leave it on the picnic table beside his cabin. It wasn’t an ideal set-up, but Cole hoped it would be adequate.
Then another problem occurred to him. How would they even know when Hunter had reached the dock? If his phone worked, they’d be okay, but if his phone wasn’t working, he’d have no way to contact them.
They would have to make some runs back to the mainland every day to see if he’d made it. He wished he could just leave a note, but that would alert anyone who happened upon it, that people were on the island. He had a feeling things were going to get a lot worse before they got better, and the fewer people who knew anyone was living here, the better.
Cole wished he knew the incubation period of the virus. It seemed as though it wasn’t prolonged, the way it was spreading, but what if most of the people succumbing to the disease now were actually infected days or weeks ago? For all he knew, they were all incubating it, but it was too late to do anything about it now. If one of them got sick, likely they all would. His only comfort was that victims didn’t seem to suffer. Death came suddenly and after a period of euphoria. It was creepy to see, but he supposed the victims didn’t realize they were even sick. He’d seen victims of Ebola and death for them had been slow and torturous.
The electricity was on—for now—but it flickered at times, and Sean wasn’t sure if it was a problem with the island’s feed or if there was an interruption in the power supply from the mainland. There hadn’t been any storms to explain a power outage, but his fear was at some point, if the mortality rate continued unabated, there wouldn’t be enough people left alive to run the power plant. The whole supply chain was in jeopardy. Despite the heavy automation, people were still required to get the coal from the ground, onto the trains, and to the power plants. The same with all the fossil fuels. He remembered his idea for a windmill to power the well. That would be first on the list if the power went out—but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Cole couldn’t wipe out the images of all the car accidents they had passed yesterday. The kids had told him every detail as if forgetting that he had passed the same scenes, but he let them talk and tried to allay their fears by reminding them they hadn’t had any close contact with anyone now for at least three days. To
them, that sounded like a long time, but he knew it wasn’t nearly long enough. He wouldn’t breathe a sigh of relief until they had reached three weeks on the island with no signs of illness. The danger time might be less, and it might be more, but he couldn’t be sure—not without thorough research and access to patient records.
“Breakfast is ready, Cole.” Jenna had approached without him being aware. She reached out and rubbed her hand across his shoulder. “He’ll be okay. Hunter’s smart. He’ll get here as soon as he can.” She headed back to the kitchen.
He felt both a rush of parental pride that she had said Hunter was smart but also a measure of guilt that he’d had doubts. Sure, Hunter had always seemed intelligent to him, but after years of watching his son struggle through school, as a father, he’d wondered if his bias had blinded him to his son’s faults. It was hard to be both mother and father, and the death of Brenda had hit Hunter just as he’d started first grade. No wonder he never liked the beginning of a new school year.
What if Hunter didn’t make it? Cole drew in a deep breath. His son was out there— alone—probably scared—and he had to find gasoline, water and probably food too, and yet avoid contact with anyone.
He tried to take comfort in Jenna’s words. She was right. Hunter was a smart kid. This wasn’t school. Some things he learned quickly and easily and the more Cole thought about those skills Hunter had picked up with ease, the better he felt. He recalled their hunting and fishing trips and how his son had learned to clean his kill and fillet fish. He wasn’t the least bit squeamish either. They had joked about how apt his name was.
Feeling a little better, Cole joined his brother’s family and ate breakfast.
* * *
Hunter awoke to the sound of birds chirping and somewhere not far away, cows mooing like they were going insane. He’d never heard anything like it. Scrambling from his sleeping bag, he peered outside. The trees shaded his campsite, but he guessed it was later than he’d thought. He’d spent the night tossing and turning, every sound, fear that someone had found him. At some point, he’d heard snuffling outside of his tent and had lain, eyes wide, until whatever it was left. He knew enough about camping to keep food out of reach of animals. Four years of Boy Scouts had taught him that, but he didn’t have much food to begin with. There was just the jerky and the apple.
“Shit!” Whatever it was he’d heard had found his pack and shredded the jerky package. Bits and pieces lay scattered on the ground. The apple had one bite but several claw marks and he kicked it against a tree. “Thanks a lot. At least you could have eaten it all, instead of just ruining it for me!” He whisper-yelled into the trees, knowing a raccoon or opossum, one of which was the likely culprit, would never feel guilty, but it made him feel better to vent his anger.
Then he looked at his pack and groaned. He’d changed into sweatpants for the night instead of jeans because the jeans had picked up a fishy smell. Maybe the critter had smelled the fish on the denim, but for whatever reason, it had dragged them across the campsite, abandoning them half in the stream. Only one pant leg draped over a root from a nearby tree kept the jeans from being swept away— all the pockets were submerged.
“Shit! My phone!” Hunter dashed to the stream, praying for a miracle as he pulled the sodden jeans out of the water. His phone was there, but it was soaked.
Hunter sank to his knees.
* * *
Cole shoved his phone in his pocket and swore. His instinct was to set out in search of Hunter, but he had no idea where he even was the last time they had spoken. Why hadn’t he asked for at least the name of the road where Hunter’s car had run out of gas? He grabbed the shovel standing upright in the ground and slammed his foot against the top edge of the blade, slicing the weeds and grass. Dirt fell to the ground as he gave the shovel a shake, trying to get most of the weeds separated from the dirt. When most had fallen off, he grabbed the tuft of weeds and tossed it into the growing pile.
He surveyed the large area they had already dug up and wondered if it would be big enough. There was still a bit of clearing left, but not a whole lot. He’d leave the decision to Jenna. She was the expert here. He was just the hired help. She’d had to go to a location a hundred yards away from the cabins to find a clearing because all of the land around the cabins was heavily shaded. A small creek trickled through the east side of the clearing and Cole was glad to have a water source so close. Maybe they could divert a few channels towards the garden if they needed to.
His arms ached, and he felt a twinge of guilt that he was glad that Trent was on garden duty tomorrow. Cole was pretty sure his arms were going to hurt like hell when he woke up in the morning. He never knew digging in the dirt was such hard work.
Sean and Trent were spending the day inspecting the cabins and repairing anything that needed fixing. After that, Sean was going to see about creating some kind of windmill to run the water pump if the power went out. Water was a priority. Sure, they had a lake all around them, but Cole worried about contamination in the coming months if sewage plants stopped running. A lot of untreated waste could make its way into the lake. The water might be okay out in the middle of Lake Michigan, but where they were, it could be unsafe to drink.
“I hope the deer and rabbits don’t get to it all.” Jenna raked the clumps that Cole turned over. Piper did the same, picking out as many weeds as possible.
He paused, swiping his arm across his forehead. Even with the gloves on, blisters dotted his palms. He’d thought the last few years of regular physical work that he’d put into remodeling houses before he re-sold them would have conditioned him to this kind of physical labor. He’d thought wrong. “We have some tin foil. Isn’t that supposed to help scare them away?” It wasn’t the reason he’d bought a giant roll of aluminum foil, but when he’d seen the industrial sized roll, he knew it would come in handy at some point.
“Yeah, we can try it.” Jenna leaned on her rake, dragging her arm across her brow. “I’m wiped. This is, by far, the biggest garden I’ve ever worked on.”
Cole dug one more shovelful of earth and flipped it over, jabbing the tip of the shovel in to break up a big ball of dirt. “Yeah, Brenda used to like to garden, but I haven’t worked in one since she died.”
“I remember. She was a great gardener. She taught me a lot. I remember Hunter and Piper racing around the yard while we worked, digging for worms and once, Hunter got Piper to kiss one.”
Cole smiled. That sounded like something Hunter would do. His smile faded as the worry pushed the amusement aside. He’d already lost Brenda—he thought that was going to destroy him, but he had to keep it together for Hunter’s sake. If something happened to Hunter, he didn’t think he’d even try to keep it together. Not now.
* * *
Okay, so he had no phone. It wasn’t as if his dad could do anything for him anyway and he knew where he had to go. Hunter tucked the phone in his pack. Maybe it would dry out and work later. He wrung as much water out of his jeans as he could and hung them to dry on a branch.
He packed up his tent and stashed it under a bush then brushed his feet across the ground trying to erase any sign that he’d been there. He wasn’t sure why he should hide it, but it seemed like a good idea. They did it in movies all the time. With his pack on his back, he decided to follow the stream until it reached the farm yard to keep out of sight for as long as possible.
It wasn’t a long hike, but he followed the creek as it curved around to the front of the farm so it took a few minutes to get close to the buildings. He stopped to search for signs of life every few yards. He heard plenty of farm animals with the cows still making a lot of noise, he thought he heard a horse somewhere.
A dog barked too, but there wasn’t one in sight. Was it locked in the house? The fact that it was still here meant the dog’s owner was probably here too. Unless they had run out intending to come back. He hadn’t heard any car doors or engines this morning, and there was no reason to believe the people would have tried
to be quiet. He watched the windows, looking for movement, but didn’t see anything. A beat-up car was parked in the yard. Did it have gas in it? Then he noted the flat front tire.
Hunter tried to memorize the layout of the yard. The house was closest to him now with the barn on the other side of the yard, slightly behind the house. A couple of smaller buildings were next to the barn and behind the house. The smallest building looked like a chicken coop, and he saw movement within it, but it was just flapping of wings, not a person. The next building had wide double doors, and he decided they would be wide enough to fit a tractor. A fenced pasture came off the barn and circled around behind it. It was empty right now, but the cows were in there. Their lowing continued sporadically.
He waited for what he guessed was about thirty minutes, and nothing changed. The dog still barked occasionally, and the cows lowed. A couple of times, he heard the chickens squawk. While he had been on a few farms over the years, a friend at school had one, he was no expert on what constituted a normal farm day, but on a beautiful late spring day like this, he thought the cows should have been let out to the pasture. The cows on his friend’s farm were always out when he went to their house.
Hunter took one last look around and decided he’d have to go closer. He couldn’t stay in the woods all day. He decided that making his presence known was probably the safest course of action. If they were okay, they might help him, or at least let him take a few eggs or something. If they weren’t, then, he supposed he could take what he wanted. His worry was that they were sick. If they were, he wasn’t sure he’d recognize it. Just before he stepped from his cover, he remembered his mask and dug it from his pack, along with a pair of gloves. He’d felt stupid buying them, as though he was pretending to be a doctor or something, but now he was glad he had them.
Sympatico Syndrome (Book 1): Infection (A Pandemic Survival Novel) Page 12
