by S. Ison
It was after Jake’s death that Larry had spotted Charmain’s hidden cabin, thanks to sunlight glinting off a window. The window that led to what was now his bedroom, he’d worked out. It had taken him almost two days to reach the cabin from the time he’d seen it. He’d been fresh out of hope and nearly dead when he arrived. And he’d refused to leave, desperation making him plead with Charmain.
The cabin, in a very remote location, blended into the forest so well one could walk within fifty feet of it and not see it. The fact that it was built around a Pondarosa pine tree reinforced its camouflage. Charmain had also made good use of a large fissure in the hillside the cabin backed onto. Her bedroom, a storage room, and the downstairs bathroom were all slotted into the fissure. The large living room and kitchen, both downstairs, were connected to the bathroom. From the living room, a set of stairs led up to the two-bedroom second story, with a second bathroom. There was also a small utility room with a washing machine upstairs, and the electrical panel with the wiring for the house’s off-grid electrical needs.
It was a miracle that he’d found the place at all. If he’d not seen it, Larry was sure he would have died.
Since he’d arrived at Charmain’s house, she had spent time each day teaching him about the plants and animals that inhabited the wilds around them. He’d learned how to set snares, track deer, and follow game trails. He’d also learned woodcraft and how to survive with what he had on hand. He was profoundly grateful for the precious knowledge.
He sighed heavily, his hand stroking the cat’s head absently. Daydreaming wouldn’t get his coffee. He swung his legs out of bed and headed downstairs to the kitchen.
In the kitchen, the shiplap interior walls were painted a soft white, brightening the space, and cherry cabinets lined the far wall. The large tree trunk that rose through the room was very whimsical, Larry thought. Charmain had installed an off-grid refrigerator, run by her solar trees. It wasn’t huge, but it ran well and gave a sense of normalcy to their existence.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Charmain said brightly and, setting down her pipe, poured him a cup of coffee.
“Morning, Charmain.” He smiled and took the proffered cup, inhaling the aroma. The sharp bite of the resin from the tree mixed pleasantly with the fragrance of the coffee. Charmain smoked an aromatic mix of tobacco in her pipe, and it blended in with the other scents. Larry had come to associate the mixture of aromas with peace and comfort.
“What’s on the agenda today?” he asked, sipping the coffee tentatively. It was hot.
“There’s a storm coming. I got a call on the radio from Hubbard Brown. He said it’s blowing like old Billy-O, and said we would want to get everything battened down.”
Charmain had a shortwave radio and communicated daily with her network of cronies, getting news and weather info. They were all survivalists, spread throughout California, and transmitted up and down the state, passing vital intel to each other. For all their remoteness, they were not isolated by any means. Somehow, this gave Larry a feeling of invisible community; there were others out there, just like Charmain. Just like him, now.
Over the five months since his arrival, he’d recovered his health and weight. And he’d gotten to know his host. Charmain was eccentric and maybe a little crazy, but she was dead on the money when it came to survival, as far as he could tell. She had worked for years in Silicon Valley and made tons of money. Then she’d met a few preppers online and started prepping. She’d been laughed at when she discussed it at work, and so quit her job and went at it in earnest.
She had taken courses on hunting and survival, and had gone so far as to strand herself in the Alaskan wilderness on a trip. She had gotten the scar that ran down her face, from her left temple down to her jawline, on that crucial trip.
He replayed that conversation over in his head as he sipped his coffee.
“I wanted to prove to myself that I could survive anything,” she laughed. “By sheer gut and grit. It damned near killed me.”
“Weren’t you afraid? Jesus, that bear could have killed you and eaten you,” Larry said in awe.
“Hell, yes, I was scared shitless. But I didn’t have a choice. I had to fight or die. I sure as hell didn’t want to die. I’d been stupid, not watching where I was going. I surprised the bear,” Charmain said, her finger rubbing at the scar. “Rubin, my guide, had told me to go carefully and keep my weapon at the ready at all times. I did go carefully, but not carefully enough. Thank God, I had my gun attached to my wrist with a cord. It would’ve been knocked out of my reach otherwise.”
“I can’t even imagine,” Larry said in earnest.
Charmain laughed. “That bastard stank like rotten fish and death. He beat the hell out of me before I got my first shot off. I unloaded that gun into the bear,” she said, shaking her head.
Larry looked over the table at Charmain, calmly sipping her java. Charmain was a little prickly, and bossy as hell, but she was also kind and funny. He admired her. She had wanted to prove to herself she could survive, and she had, even surviving a black bear mauling. From there, she’d spent every dime on this cabin, equipping it with off-grid technology.
She had a gravity-fed cistern from a stream that, though not big, was consistent throughout the seasons, giving her fresh water year long. Pipes that ran along the roofline used heat from the sun to heat the water going through them. She had wind turbines that looked like trees, which she’d imported from France. They were located up the hill, away from the cabin. They’d been painted in camouflage greens, hiding them among the trees, and provided enough power to run the home.
She also had a compost toilet that didn’t smell too horrendous, though she made Larry pee outside in the woods. In the kitchen, she had an old-fashioned wood cooking stove that heated the house in winter. Because of its location in the higher altitudes, they got snow, so the central heating was a must. The air was crisp, and some mornings he woke to snow lacing the windows. He enjoyed looking out the window to see the snow-laden evergreens, small birds hopping along the branches.
They sat companionably, eating sourdough toast with strawberry jam. The coffee was good and, thankfully, she had stored tons of it away. She’d joked that what kind of prepper would she be if she didn’t have coffee?
They would head out into the yard soon to store things away. He didn’t have a coat, so would wear one of hers. She had kindly knitted a hat for him too. He’d had nothing but the clothes on his back when he’d arrived at her home, so now he wore her clothes. Though they were a little short in the ankles, they fitted well enough. He wore old work boots she’d had, which were snug, her feet being a bit smaller than his. She’d said they would go out in the spring and meet up with her friends and do a little trading.
After breakfast, they dressed warmly and went outside. The wind was blowing, but not too badly. It was cold, but Larry could tell that it wasn’t as cold as it had been last week. Spring was around the corner.
“Let’s get some firewood into the house; I don’t want to have to go out to get it in the mess that’s coming our way,” Charmain instructed Larry. Several months before, she and Larry had gone into the surrounding forest, where they’d found several downed trees. They’d spent a week sawing and cutting the trees up into manageable firewood, then brought it back to the cabin in a sturdy garden wagon. She’d had several cords of wood already stacked, but she had confided that one could never have too much firewood on hand.
“Sounds good. If you want to load me up, I can carry it for you.” Holding out his arms, he waited.
After an hour of going back and forth, putting loose items away in the cabin, they felt ready for any kind of storm. They were just putting away the last of the outdoor furniture when they felt the wind pick up. The temperature dropped, and they headed indoors.
CHAPTER TWO
Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina
It was a warm day for February, nearly 68 degrees. Randal had made sure the boy was swaddled well, as
one could still get chilled. Randal stood behind Greg as the waves pushed the small boy into his larger frame. They were standing nearly knee-deep in the Atlantic Ocean, long line out for crabs. The wind gusted, blowing the small boy’s blond hair about. Randal placed a steadying hand on the boy’s slender shoulder, bracing him against another large wave.
He found great joy in Greg, and was trying to teach him everything he had learned in life. Months ago, Greg had found a horned lizard one day. He’d called for Randal to come quick. Randal had gotten on his knees in the sand next to the boy.
“What is it, PawPaw?” Greg had asked in wonder.
“It’s a horny toad, son.” Randal had picked the small horned lizard up and Greg had backed off, a little afraid. “It’s okay, Greg, these are sweet little babies. You lift gently, you don’t want to squish him. Now, use your finger and rub his tummy very gently.”
Greg had stuck out a grubby little finger tentatively, and rubbed the lizard’s scaled stomach.
“Now, watch his eyes. You’re making him sleepy and he likes that,” Randal said softly.
A soft breath escaped Greg, “Ooohhhh… soft.”
“Yes, and now his little eyes are closing. He trusts you.” Randal said, a small smile pulling at his mouth. “Be careful, he’ll make you sleepy.”
Greg looked up and opened his eyes wide and owlish, blinking. “I’m not sleepy, PawPaw.” Then he grinned and yawned.
Greg had started calling Randal PawPaw just after Christmas, and called Pearl MawMaw. It near twisted Randal’s heart. He loved this new son so much, he couldn’t imagine life without the joy Greg had brought to Pearl and himself. He’d found a pair of his son’s old fishing boots in the attic, along with boxes of clothes, shoes, and toys. He’d hauled them down and Pearl had cleaned everything.
Everyone in the group, from May and David to Clive and Reed and Jimmy, helped with hunting for things for the children when they were out scavenging. May and David had hauled out long-forgotten boxes of clothes and toys from their attic. Laura and Roy took the found items, cleaning them, and Laura was a wonder with needle and thread, making new clothes from old.
Greg shrieked with glee and hopped around, bringing Randal back to the present. “I feel somethin’ tuggin’ on it! I think I gotta crab, PawPaw!” Greg yelled to be heard over the surf.
As they drew in their line, Randal unhooked the small net from his belt and waited to scoop up the crabs. On the shore sat a bucket of scrabbling blue-legged crabs, plotting their escape. The child screamed wildly as he saw three crabs beneath the surface of the water, and Randal leaned forward and scooped them into the net before they could escape. Blue crabs were a favorite of Randal’s, and Greg was becoming a great crabber.
The wind pushed the waves against them. The dunes, two hundred feet behind them, were being buffeted by the wind, the sea oats waving wildly back and forth. The beach was theirs, and there were no homes along this stretch. The sandy expanse was long, narrow, and deserted.
“We got ’em, PawPaw, we got ’em!” Greg cried, his small face bright red with excitement.
Randal grinned down at the boy and noted that the child’s lips were starting to get a blue tinge to them. Time to go warm up, he thought. “We sure did, son. Let’s go put these buggers in the pail and go sit in the dunes to warm up, what do ya say?” Randal’s hazel eyes crinkled into triangles of good humor.
“Okay,” Greg said, helping Randal carry the net with their prize to the shore. Dumping the crabs into the pail to join their companions, Randal hooked the net back onto his belt. He picked up the pail and started walking toward the dunes nearest the shore line. As they drew closer, they could hear the swish and rustling of the sea oats waving in the wind. Small militant fiddler crabs, far smaller than their blue-legged cousins, scattered as Randal passed, running sideways and waving their larger claws in defiant retreat.
Climbing up the shifting sand of a dune, Randal and Greg crested it and then descended into a small depression between mounds. Here was a quiet, warm haven, sheltered from the ever-blowing wind. Randal placed the pail down and, removing the net that kept their meal captive, put the stick with line into the bucket of crabs. The creatures scrabbled around, the smell of seawater and antediluvian life drifting up.
“The trick to getting warm is to find a nice sunny place in the dunes, low enough so the wind blows above you. Here, put your hand on the sand,” he instructed Greg.
“Ohhhhhh, that’s warm, PawPaw,” Greg said, a dreamy look coming over his chilled features.
“I like to lie on my stomach and put my cheek and hands into the warm sand. Sometimes I even take a nap out here, but don’t tell MawMaw. She’ll say I’m a lazy bum,” Randal told the boy, winking and making a face as he did so. Greg giggled conspiratorially, his gray eyes alight with mischief, and turned to lie on his stomach.
He closed his eyes and rubbed his soft cheek into the warm grains of sand, his small hands digging into the sun-warmed powder. Soft contented sighs floated up from Greg to join the wind above.
Smiling softly, Randal too lay on his belly. He reached a hand over to ruffle Greg’s soft head, and sighed in pleasure at the warmth of the sand below his cheek and the heat of the sun on his back. He grinned to himself when he heard the child’s soft snores, then joined the boy, closing his own eyes for a nap.
⅏
Randal wasn’t sure what woke him, his eyes opening slowly. Greg was still asleep. In the distance, over the roar of the surf, he heard what he thought was a shout. His heart slammed into his chest. Slowly he inched his way up the dune, feeling the warm sand sift between his fingers. As he edged up, he peered between the thin reeds and leaves of the sea oats. The soft susurrus of the wind held a warning.
There, roughly three hundred feet out, was a long shallow boat, a skiff. The boat held three men. Two were sitting while the third stood, waving and pointing in Randal’s general direction.
They looked rough, from what he could tell, and, from their postures, angry. It sent a skittering of fear snaking through him. This couldn’t be good, his old bones told him.
Randal backed down the dune and went to Greg, gently shaking the boy awake. Sleepy gray eyes looked up, and Randal held a finger to his lips for quiet. His face must have been tense, because he saw fear shoot into the boy’s eyes. It twisted Randal’s heart to see the fear still so close to the surface.
“There’s a boat out there with some men in it,” Randal whispered. “I think we need to go and let everyone know. I don’t think they’re coming here, but I don’t like them.”
Greg nodded, experience showing in his young eyes. Picking up the pail and taking Greg’s hand, Randal crept, bending at the waist, down the paths that led from the beach to the road beyond. It wasn’t a long way, thankfully, but Randal felt his legs shaking with adrenaline. Once on the road, it was only a five-minute walk back to the house. Greg mimicked Randal, his small frame bent too. Neither wanted any part of the strangers.
Bridgman, Michigan
Seven-month-old Zack was scooching around the living room of the neat cottage nestled in the trees that lined the small lake. Alisa watched her son, a soft smile curving her face. Zack was a placid, easy-going child; he seemed to watch his family with genial good humor, his bright blue eyes tracking their movements. She held a bright toy above him and his hands grabbed for it. She held it closer, and he grabbed it, putting it into his mouth immediately. Alisa laughed.
Mike and Stephen had gone out scavenging, and she and Zack were entertaining themselves with wooden blocks Mike had found in the basement. He’d cleaned them off and boiled them. Then he’d carefully dried them in front of the fire. Everything went into Zackary’s mouth, and Mike had been afraid the blocks wouldn’t be clean enough with just washing.
Alisa smile once more at the thought. Mike loved Zack as much as she and Stephen did. He doted on the child, and it was reciprocated. Many times, she’d find Mike asleep with Zack in his arms, asleep as well. He made a wonderf
ul uncle.
Getting up from the floor, Alisa went into the kitchen. She checked the gun at her waist; she’d learned to keep it close. They’d had no more problems in the last seven months, but Alisa knew it was only a matter of time. When the weather got warmer, the animals would come out to play. She dreaded it. For now, movement in the cold was very limited. She didn’t like it when the boys went out scavenging, as they really didn’t need anything. But Stephen had insisted.
“Babe, you know we need to make sure we always have plenty. Especially with Zack now. I don’t want him doing without,” Stephen argued. He was always worried that they’d get low on something.
Normally she went to visit with Janet Ackerman, the woman who’d helped with Zack’s delivery. She would have visited this time, but Janet had been feeling under the weather for the past week and didn’t want to get Zack sick.
Alisa roamed the house, looking out the windows and checking the front door and back door, ensuring the locks hadn’t unlocked themselves. Ever since here near rape, she hated being alone. But there was nothing to do about it this time. She was also feeling some cabin fever, and wished it was warm enough to take Zack outside to play.
She heard Zack laugh, and ran back into the living room. He was lying on his back with a block, feet kicking, and he gurgled with laughter.
“What are you laughing at, little man?” Alisa cooed, walking to her son.
Alisa turned at the sound of the door lock clicking over and drew her gun, pointing it at the door.
She lowered it quickly when she heard Stephen’s laugh. Mike must have said something funny. Putting the gun back into the holster at her waist, she flipped the strap and snapped it securely.
As the two men walked in, she saw their smiles. It looked like they’d had some luck.
“Hey, babe,” Stephen said, coming over and kissing Alisa on the cheek.
“How was it? Did you see anyone? Did you have any trouble?” she asked.
