by S. Ison
Tim enjoyed the mornings. They were peaceful, and let him think clearly. The chickadees, nuthatches, and dark eyed juncos chittered in the forest. Kelly would put out sunflower seeds later for them. She had a fifty-pound bag she’d bought before the world went to hell.
She metered the seeds out for the birds during winter. In spring, they planned to grow as many as sunflowers as they could, to keep plenty of seeds on hand. They both enjoyed watching the birds fuss on the feeder in front of the living room window.
Kelly had dropped a bomb on him last night. Pregnant! He was going to be a father. He shook his head. She was forty-two and he fifty-five. He was both thrilled and terrified at once. He’d never expected to be in a relationship this late in his life, let alone become a father. He’d given up on that dream years ago. After all, who would or could love an assassin?
He felt an almost overwhelming fear curl through him. He loved Kelly, had loved her long before the virus struck. He’d never managed to keep away from her, and so had made excuses to visit her. Thankfully she hadn’t minded. Now they lived together, and he feared what the future would bring. Especially with a baby coming. He knew they were without any professional help, and women had died in childbirth even when there were hospitals. Once more, fear curled around his gut, causing the breath to rush out of him. He didn’t know what he would do if he lost her, now that he had her.
He clamped down on the fear. It was all out of his hands. He could only love her and the baby, and hope for the best. The world had gone to hell, and he’d found love and acceptance. Life sure was funny. He’d seen the uncertainty and fear in Kelly’s green eyes, and he’d felt it too. There were no doctors, there was no medicine. They were truly on their own.
Schrodinger’s Cat and Chance came running past him, nearly knocking him over. Hope was near the house somewhere, sniffing around; she liked to hunt voles and mice. He was close to the barn now, the path almost finished. The snow was up to his waist here, very high and white. Butter was nickering softly, and he knew she could hear him nearing the barn.
Smiling to himself, he shoveled around the door and threw the snow off to one side, clearing the entrance. At long last, he opened the door and stepped into the warmth of the barn.
It smelled of warm hay, warm horse and musty goat, and goat shit and horse dung. Lonesome gave a joyous bleat and bounced from underneath Butter’s belly. He leaned over and rubbed her head. He pulled out a wrinkled apple and gave it to her. Butter’s large liquid brown eyes picked up the movement, and she brought her large head around for her share.
Tim laughed and held out another apple. Her soft velvet lips teased it gently from his hand, rolling it back to her large molars. He heard the juicy crunch of the apple. He ran his hand down her warm neck, and straightened the blanket on her back. Kelly had knitted Lonesome a vest, but Lonesome had eaten it. They’d hoped she would stay warm enough housed with Butter, and so she had.
Tim moved around in the small barn, shifting hay around and putting some grain in Butter’s feed trough. He straightened when he heard a soft mew. Looking around, he followed the sound. He shoved and moved bales of hay around, and found a cat, obviously dead, with three dead kittens, newborn. Beside them was one kitten, alive. Barely.
He took the frail, tiny body into his large warm hand and held it up for inspection. It was warm, but shivering. He wasn’t sure how it had survived, but it wouldn’t last much longer if he didn’t get it in to Kelly. Opening his jacket, he slipped the tiny kitten into his shirt, next to his skin.
Making his way back to the cabin, he met Kelly, who was carrying hot water in two large jugs to the barn.
“I have something for you,” he said, his face somber but a smile was present.
Kelly’s eyebrow went up in query when he opened his shirt. “What? You want to have sex now, here out in the snow?” she laughed.
Tim rolled his eyes lewdly, and shook his head. “You are a very naughty girl. You are always hot after my bod.” He laughed as he watched pink bloom on her cheeks prettily.
Opening his shirt a little more, he reached in and pulled out the solid white kitten.
“Ohhhh…” Kelly sighed softly. “Poor baby. Where did you find it?”
“In the barn. There was a momma and three other babies, but they didn’t make it.”
“Oh, poor thing. Let me take it and you can water and feed the chickens. Don’t forget to bring any stray eggs you find,” Kelly said, exchanging the jugs for the kitten.
Tim watched as she curled herself around the kitten and ran back to the cabin. He smiled after her, his blue eyes crinkling with love and humor. She will make a great mother, he thought.
San Gabriel Mountains, California
Squinting into the gunsight, Larry aimed carefully.
“Don’t forget to breath,” Charmain said softly.
Larry could feel the breath exit from his chest, slow and steady. He pulled the trigger, then felt the kick of the Beretta M9. He saw his target, a pinecone, jump and fall off the horizonal log.
He grinned and looked at Charmain, and saw the pride in her eyes. “Damn fine shot! That is one hundred feet,” Charmain crowed. “I’m impressed, boy!”
Larry grinned foolishly. That was high praise, coming from Charmain. She didn’t flower things up.
“Thanks. I really like this weapon,” he said.
“Have you named it yet?” Charmain asked.
“I was thinking of Shogun, you know, after the warriors in Japan,” Larry said. He watched as Charmain’s mouth moved suspiciously, but she said nothing. Merely nodded and turned away.
“Let’s head back. I’m hungry for some lunch,” she said.
Larry wasn’t sure, but it almost sounded like she was trying not to laugh. Maybe Shogun isn’t a good name. After all, her call sign was Neanderthal, and he thought Shogun sounded way cooler.
⅏
Charmain was listening to the radio. She’d received a call from Big Eyes, and the news wasn’t good.
“Got a call from Eagle Eyes, said he’d seen smoke from his platform. When he got on the glasses, he could make out a large group of people moving away from a small makeshift cabin about twenty miles east of his location. Over,” Big Eyes said.
“Roger, Big Eyes. Did he get a number? What kind of damage? Over,” Charmain said.
She looked over to Larry, who was sitting quietly, watching her. He had Kaluchia in his lap, and was stroking her absently. She tried not to laugh, Kaluchia was a finicky lover of a cat. She had been a rescue, had been abused by a man, and so wasn’t overly fond of them. Apparently, Larry was an exception.
“Roger, Neanderthal. Said he could see roughly twenty-five. Wasn’t sure on the number, though, as they were in the trees and quite a distance away. Said they were well-armed, from what he could tell. Looked like they were dragging women tied along a long rope, maybe five women hostages, but was hard to tell. Doesn’t sound good. Over,” Big Eyes relayed.
Charmain raised a hand to her forehead and rubbed hard, as though trying to rub away the reality of the danger. This wasn’t good, but it wasn’t unexpected. She and her friends had known there would be more traveling once temperatures warmed up. Though it was still cold, people seemed to be on the move.
“Roger, Big Eyes. I will pass along the info to Bear, Mountain Lion, and Wind Walker. Looks like trouble is heading our way. We’ll have to do a little recon. Keep me updated when you can. Out.”
“Who do you think they are?” Larry asked softly.
Charmain looked up. She rubbed at the side of her face, where the scar ran down and puckered along her jawline. “Don’t know, but looks like they’re taking and not asking. It isn’t good. Anyone in their way will be run right over,” Charmain said flatly, her eyes narrowing.
“I take it we’re going to go have a look?” Larry asked.
Charmain hear the fear in his voice and smiled gently. She’d known he’d been through a lot when he first showed up at her cabin. Fear or no fear,
they had to hit this thing head on or it would run them over. “Yes. We need to see where they’re headed, because if we don’t, they could be on our doorstep within weeks. If that happens, we’re dead.”
“When do we leave?” Larry asked.
“Not for a bit. I want to talk to my other friends, get more intel and see what our best plan of action is. It’s a good thing you are getting proficient with the rifle,” she said, her green eyes glittering.
Charmain had never turned from a fight or a difficult situation. In fact, she ran right into them with gleeful abandon. Some said she was foolish, but she like to think of herself as proactive. She wouldn’t wait around to become a victim.
⅏
Larry watched as Charmain turned back to her radio to contact her network of friends. He was awed by her; she was fearless. He wished he could be like her, but knew deep down he was somewhat of a coward. Perhaps coward wasn’t the right word. He had tried to save himself and Jake. He had traveled through the forest alone and survived.
He guessed he was just a man who didn’t go looking for trouble, but figured that when it came time, he would fight. He didn’t want to lose his home. Yes, this is my home now, he thought. And he would be damned if he would let a bunch of assholes take it from him and Charmain.
He might not be the bravest man in the world, but Charmain had taught him how to use a gun. He wouldn’t let her down. He wouldn’t make her sorry she’d taken him in.
Going outside, he got the ax and began to chop wood for the stove and fireplace. He kept up with the firewood, never waiting for Charmain to ask. He wanted to make her life easier, grateful to have a home to live in. He just wished Jake was here with them.
CHAPTER FIVE
Bridgman, Michigan
Stephen stood beside Mike out on the ice. Each man held a fishing pole, the lines feeding through a three-foot hole in the thick ice. The air was cold and quiet, and they could hear the subterranean squeaking, cracking, and popping of the ice below their feet. Spring was right around the corner, and the ice was starting to melt. Birds quarreled in the trees that lined the frozen lake.
“Alisa has been kinda bitchy lately. Is everything okay?” Mike asked without preamble. His friend had been very quiet today, and Mike had figured a couple of hours of fishing might do everyone good. It had been a while since they’d had fresh fish.
“Yeah, she’s okay, I think she’s just getting cabin fever. Plus, I think Zack is cutting a tooth. He’s a little fussy,” Stephen said, stretching and twisting his upper torso, the pops from his vertebrae resounding off the ice.
Mike grunted. He too felt the claustrophobic effects of staying inside, the days short and the nights long. No matter how many games of Scrabble or Monopoly they played, they did not cure the tedium.
Mike thought for a bit, worrying his lower lip with his strong white teeth. “How about, if we catch some fish, you do your woman up an old-fashioned fish-fry? I can take Zack to go see Granny Janet, and you and Alisa can have some alone time. Maybe a romantic picnic on the beach.” He watched Stephen to see how this suggestion would go over.
“Hmm. That sounds like a great fucking idea, man, thanks,” Stephen said, his pale cheeks flushing with enthusiasm. “Yeah, man, that is a good idea. She and I’ve not been alone since Zack’s birth, and I think she needs a break. I mean a real break.” Stephen grinned widely.
At that moment, Mike felt a tug on his line. His grin widened, and he began to reel in the fish, its weight pulling the line taut. He felt the thrill of the catch shoot up his arms.
“Oh, shit man, I think you have a whale on that line.” Stephen hooted and danced around the hole, slipping and nearly falling through the ice.
Mike laughed. “Dude, you fall in and I’m not pulling your sorry ass out of there. And don’t scare my fish off the line.”
“Fuck you, and hold on. Let me get the net,” Stephen said, and walked the two steps to where they’d left the tackle box and short-handled net.
Mike hauled a struggling thirteen-inch trout to the surface and shouted with amazement. “Look at that beauty! Can you friggin’ believe it?” Mike crowed, watching Stephen put the net under the flipping fish and scooping it neatly.
“No shit, dog, you da man!” Stephen laughed.
Stephen took the fish to the shore, grabbed a large rock, and smacked the fish’s head. The large fish stopped its flopping, and Stephen walked back to the hole and picked up his rod. Mike watched him, smiling. He knew that Stephen and Alisa would have a good lunch today.
⅏
It was nearing noon. Zackary made content cooing noises as he bounced in the front carry halter Mike wore. Mike’s long, even strides kept the small boy bouncing in contentment. Mike sang old rock tunes in a deep voice as he walked to Janet’s home, about a mile and a half away.
He carried a small string of three fish in one hand. He and Stephen had caught six in all. Stephen had kept the large thirteen-inch trout for the romantic picnic. Mike grinned again, thinking of Alisa’s face when Stephen had walked in with the fish and announced they were going to have a fish-fry date.
Alisa had gone pink in the face and was so excited. She’d been a little nervous about giving up Zackary for a couple hours, but Mike had promised he and Zack would be fine with Granny Janet.
Mike looked down at Zack’s white blond head, his soft rounded cheeks pink with the cold. He was bundled up, and Mike had pulled his outer coat around the child. Of course, Zack had managed to pull off his knitted cap and was now gnawing on it. Mike gently disengaged the hat from the baby’s grip and held it before him, his mouth twisting in disgust. It was slobbery.
“Ewe dog, that ain’t no way for a man to act. You gotta be cool, gotta be stylin’. You can’t eat your clothes. When we get to Janet’s I’ll give you a bottle. For now, here’s your nippy,” Mike teased, and pulled Zack’s pacifier from his coat pocket. He then stuck it in his own mouth to make sure there were no crumbs or fuzz, then put it into Zack’s expectant birdlike mouth.
Mike turned his head and tried to spit a piece of lint from his mouth, and pulled at it with his gloved hand. “Yuck! See what you did? You made me get that fuzzy stuff in my mouth. Keep that hat on, little man, or your momma is gonna kill me.”
Zack’s blue eyes went to triangles with good humor, and his cheeks rounded more with the smile that grew behind the pacifier.
Mike saw this and laughed. “Dude! You been setting me up all this time? Man oh man. You, little man, are a mastermind.” Mike laughed again. Zack mimicked the laugh, which made Mike laugh harder.
Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina
Pearl stepped into the dim room and called softly to Greg, not seeing him on his bed. A muffled noise came from the closet, and she walked over to it. The room was cool, but not cold, and smelled of crayon and sand.
She opened the door and found Greg sitting on the floor of the closet, a cloth clown she’d made for him clutched to his chest. Getting to her knees, she held her arms out. The boy shot into them. She wrapped her arms around the boy’s slight body, which trembled. It near broke her heart.
Sitting among the shoes and toys, she rocked Greg and kissed his damp silken head. His sobs shook his body, and she let him cry it out. She’d been afraid of something like this and wasn’t surprised. Greg had been through so much in his young life, any threat was sure to send him back over the edge.
“It’s okay, sugar, it’s okay. MawMaw is here,” she cooed, rocking the boy gently in her arms. She could feel the dampness of his clothes from the tears, and the rapid beat of his heart, like hummingbird wings beating against her own heart.
“Are we gonna die, MawMaw? Are those bad men gonna kill us?” Greg asked, his voice tiny and shaking.
“Oh baby, what gives you that idea?” She already knew, but wanted him to talk out his fears.
“PawPaw said they were strangers, and maybe bad men. Bad men killed my mommy, and maybe my daddy too. Are they gonna kill you and PawPaw?” he asked
again, a new wave of sobs breaking through, filling the small confines of the closet.
“Listen, Pooh Bear. You are safe here. Me and PawPaw will protect you. We won’t let anything happen to you,” Pearl said, her voice calm and even.
“Ain’t you scared?” Greg asked, incredulous.
“Sugar, we are all afraid, but we can’t let fear win. I know it’s hard for you to understand, but it’s okay to be afraid. Being afraid can save your life. It can keep you out of danger,” she said, kissing his head.
Getting up from the floor, she carried the child through to the living room and sat on the couch with him, pulling a colorful knitted afghan around them. His body was still shaking, but the sobbing had started to ease.
“Honey, the world we live in now is a dangerous one. I won’t lie to you, lovely dovey. But even though we’re afraid, there are a lot of us to look out for one another. We will protect ourselves, and we will protect each other.”
“So maybe the bad men won’t come?” Greg asked hopefully, his bright gray eyes luminescent with tears that hovered on the brink of spilling once more.
Pearl pulled a tissue from her bra and wiped at Greg’s running nose, then dabbed at his eyes. “Sugar, if those bad men do come, we’ll fight them. We’ll beat their bonkies,” she said, and poked a finger at his rump.
Greg made a noise between a giggle and a sob. Pearl pulled him to her and held him tight. She truly hoped they could keep him and themselves safe. She didn’t want to lie to Greg, but she didn’t want to send him into sheer panic either.
Bridgman, Michigan
Zack lay on a large quilt before the fire, his stomach round and tight as a drum with repletion. He’d had his milk and cereal, and was now in a food coma, his large blue eyes blinking owlishly, sleep sneaking up him. Mike watched him with a soft smile on his face. He and Janet were finishing the fried fish. She had pulled out a couple of wrinkled potatoes and fried those up with the fish. It was the best meal he’d had in a while.
