by S. Ison
It was a step-by-step method, but Kelly had found it worked for her. It also told her spring was around the corner. She was excited and couldn’t wait to start planting her seedlings. She looked over at the greenhouse, where she could see small green things through the frosted glass.
There were tomato seedlings, bell peppers, broccoli, and carrots. She had also planted pumpkin and squash, zucchini and cabbage. She wasn’t much of a squash eater, but figured she could make breads and stews. She’d had the seeds for a couple years and had been dubious they’d grow. But they were growing, and she was thrilled to see the tiny leaves begin to form.
Some of the plants, like the tomatoes and green peppers, would stay inside the greenhouse until maturation. She would plant more tomatoes in a few weeks, and those would eventually make it out to the garden. The rest of the veggies, especially those that vined out and spread out, would go out to the garden in about six weeks or so.
It always depended on the warmth of late spring. The potatoes had been set out in the basement to encourage rooting. Once the ground was warm enough, she would take the spuds with their network of roots, and plant them. She loved planting, and was always excited when something grew.
She would have to ensure that Lonesome was corralled. They could not afford to have her out and eating everything they’d planted. Tim had suggested putting her on a long dog chain, ensuring that she couldn’t eat through it, to give her room to graze and wander around. Kelly thought that was a good idea, given the knitted vest fiasco.
“Kenny got news from a few connections,” Tim said in a loud voice as he shoveled the barn. “They’re saying there’s no government, military, or police force. He said he got word from as far down as Pennsylvania.”
“I was really hoping that something was left, but I’m almost afraid we will never recover. That Ebola virus took too many knowledgeable people out, a lot of the government fled DC, and then when the computer virus hit, no one could repair the damage, whether it was to government or infrastructure,” Kelly called back.
“I can’t help but feel for those caught unprepared, especially those in the big cities, where they lived close together,” Tim said.
“True. Did the person say how it was? Any fighting? More looting?” Kelly asked as she changed buckets, giving Tim the empty one and taking the full bucket of manure and straw.
“Kenny said rumor has it there are groups going around swallowing up those around them. Either by force or coercion. Kenny listens on the radio and hears random transmissions for help from time to time,” Tim said.
“Christ, that’s scary. And sad. There is no help but self-help. I can’t help but be grateful we live out here in the woods,” Kelly said, dumping the contents of the bucket along the turned-up soil.
“Yeah, I’d say we hit the survival lottery living here. We have the resources. We just have to work at using and sustaining them. It’s hard work, but very doable,” Tim agreed.
Their conversation grew quiet as they each became engrossed in their own thoughts. They hadn’t spoken much about the pregnancy. She thought they both were afraid to, and overwhelmed. The future was so uncertain, and with no doctor, it weighed heavily on Kelly’s mind. Tim had suggested she talk to Patsy.
Patsy and Kenny Summers had six children, fourteen grandchildren and three great grandchildren, all healthy and all alive. They’d been very fortunate to be hale and hearty during the height of the virus outbreak. Kenny’d said they’d all hunkered down and didn’t go out unless geared up heavily, and disinfected before heading near anyone. They were spread around the area, accounting for Kenny’s remarkable intel.
She had decided she would go for a visit, chat to Patsy and get some tips. Maybe, with more knowledge, she wouldn’t feel so frightened. After they finished with spreading the manure, she would take the truck in. Tim had removed the three bodies from the front of the road after Chum and his men had left. She was glad she didn’t have to look at that grisly reminder of last year.
The previous fall, she and Tim had taken her gas generator to trade. Kenny’s eldest son, Paul, who controlled the gas station, had said he’d give her gas for her truck as long as it lasted, and he’d given them an ATV. There was a plethora around, and no shortage of parts. Tim had thought that was an outstanding trade. They didn’t plan to go many places, but it would be good to have the ability to trade in the summer and fall.
Tim had radioed Kenny the evening before, and agreed that Kelly would arrive sometime in the early afternoon. Kenny said Patsy was thrilled, and they’d see her then.
As Kelly turned to walk back to the barn, Hope and Chance came barreling at her at full speed, breaking off at the last second to charge into the woods. Her heart lodged in her throat. That had been close.
A high-pitched whistle sounded, and both dogs stopped immediately and went down. Tim had seen the near miss, and his pale face indicated he’d realised the danger to her and the baby.
“I think it is about time to find Hope her new home,” Tim said, pulling off his leather gloves. “They’re becoming too reckless.”
“I’m sorry to say, but I think you’re right,” Kelly agreed. “I’ll mention it to Patsy when I see her today. Maybe we can set up a time for a trade. She said Paul really wanted Hope. Maybe we can get some more grain or hay in the trade.” She was sad they would have to get rid of Hope, but the house was getting crowded with three large dogs and a cat, and soon a baby.
“I’m done with the mucking out. Did you want to go get cleaned up and head out?” Tim asked.
“Sounds good. And I’ll take a loaf of the apple bread with me,” Kelly said. She picked up her shovel and they walked back to the barn.
“What do I do when Kenny talks to me? There’s no way I’m going to understand that man,” Kelly griped.
Tim laughed at her and hugged her to him. “Don’t worry. Patsy will make sure he minds his manners.”
“Hmmm,” Kelly grunted, not convinced.
Tim laughed again and kissed Kelly’s head.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bridgman, Michigan
Mike made his way through the alley near the brownstone where he’d found Alisa’s body. He was unsure what time it was, near 1 a.m., he thought. He wanted to make sure that the men either had their guard down or were asleep. He was pretty sure they were arrogant enough in their numbers to not worry about being attacked.
He stopped for a moment. There was no moonlight, and the alley was pitch black. He could smell the funk of decayed garbage, feces, and neglect. He strained his ears to listen for the slightest noise. There it came. Male laughter, very faint. Perhaps two blocks away. Slowly he moved forward. He carried the boning knife in his belt loop and the Glock in his pocket. He didn’t want to use the gun. It only had five bullets, and he knew he wouldn’t have enough to kill the all men.
He intended to go in and take them out one at a time, one a night if possible, more if he could get away with it. He couldn’t be sure how long this self-imposed mission would take. He knew he had to be very quiet about it. They could overrun him easily, and he didn’t want to be trapped by them or let them escape to wreak havoc on others, and possibly Janet and Zack.
Once they found out someone was killing them, it would become harder to get to them. But he would take as long as was needed to kill them all. There was no other choice, as far as he could see. Letting even one of them live was out of the question.
Going along the backs of the buildings, he drew closer to the laughter. He slowed his pace and peered around a corner. Two men were standing at a barrel, illuminated by the flames within it. He reckoned they constituted the guard. And they were drunk. Good, he thought.
He stood watching for a long while. He didn’t see anyone else around, so he figured they were more than likely asleep or passed out from drinking; maybe drugs too. He stood, unmoving, in the shadows, his eyes shifting around the other buildings and vehicles. Abandoned vehicles sat desolate in the road and on the sidewalks; ple
nty of cover for him to get closer. These fools won’t even notice, he mused.
He was about to move forward when he noticed some movement ten feet away, by a burned-out UPS truck. In the darkness, he spotted a small figure crouched there, a hood covering its head. In one hand the person held what looked like a large cleaver at the ready. It was clear that the small figure’s targets were the two drunk idiots.
Shit, Mike thought. This is going to screw shit up if I let that kid get near those men. Drunk as they were, they could easily overpower the slight figure. Making a decision, he stepped forward, his long strides silently eating up the distance.
Stealthily, he came upon the crouched person within seconds, so intent on their target they apparently didn’t hear Mike’s arrival. He snatched the wrist of the hand holding the cleaver, and at the same time placed a hand around their head to cover their mouth. He drew the slight body against his and quickly whispered, “Don’t move, and don’t make a sound. I’m not going to hurt you. Those assholes will kill you. Don’t be stupid. I’m going to let go, but don’t fucking make a move or noise, or they’ll be after us. They’ve got automatic weapons, and as drunk as those fools are, they’ll spray us with bullets.”
The kid stopped struggling. It stank like it’d been wallowing in filth for years, much like the garbage in the alleyways – sour and wretched.
“Can I trust you to keep quiet? I know you don’t know me, but will you trust me enough not to make a sound and try to hurt me? I could have easily killed you, but I didn’t.”
He felt their head nod slowly.
“Okay, I’m going to let go. I want you to follow me quietly. I’m here to get them, but I can’t have you getting in the way. I can only do this quietly. Okay?”
Again, another nod.
Mike let his hand slip away. He held his breath, hoping the kid didn’t screw him over and make a ruckus. The small figure remained quiet, and didn’t move.
Mike thought that was a good first start.
“Come on, let’s move back away from them so we can talk without being heard. I don’t know where the others are, so stay low,” Mike whispered softly.
The hooded figure nodded and, staying crouched down, slowly followed Mike. He looked back behind from time to time to check, keeping his body low. The men at the barrel were still talking and laughing.
They made it back to the alley two blocks up. Once there, Mike turned. “My name’s Mike Taggart. Who are you?” he said softly, keeping one eye on the men.
“Jada Lowe, and those bastards killed my twin sister, Jenna,” Jada hissed softly, and Mike could hear the suppressed rage. He couldn’t see her face, but she didn’t sound like a kid. More like a woman.
“They killed my brother and his wife,” Mike said simply.
“Are you here to kill them?” Jada asked, and her head turned. He could tell she was looking at the men.
“Yeah. I’m here to kill them all.”
“How? How can you kill them all?” Jada whispered harshly.
“I’m going to go at them one at a time. I’m going to make them squirm with fear and wonder when I’ll hit them next. It’s gonna take some time,” Mike whispered. “I want to do it quietly. There are just too many to go at them in a frontal attack, as I don’t have the ammo. I’m thinking I’ll take them out until they’re wiped out.”
Jada nodded her head in decision. “I was planning something like that. I want to help. I want to kill those bastards too,” Jada whispered, and Mike could hear the hatred in her voice. She stank badly, not only of filth, but of malnutrition. It was almost a sickly sour smell. He breathed through his mouth, trying to avoid inhaling the waves of stench that rolled off her.
He wondered if that was why she was so small. He pulled off his backpack, then took out a water bottle and two packets of Janet’s granola bars. She’d made them for him before he’d left. It was light and easy food.
He offered Jada a bar and he watched her silhouette go still.
“It’s okay, I have more. Eat. And here’s some water,” he said, handing over the bottled water. He pulled out another bottle and squatted down, leaning against the building.
A small hand took the bar, and Mike noticed it was shaking. His heart pulled. He’d never thought much of others, but he knew many people must have been doing without. They hadn’t had much, but he and Stephen had squirrelled away a lot of food and supplies. Jada was clearly starving, malnourished. How long had it been since she’d eaten last?
Mike ate his bar slowly, as did Jada, and both sipped their water, in companionable silence. Once finished, Mike put the garbage and bottles back in his pack, and swung it onto his back.
“Look, there’s only one man now. The other has gone,” Jada whispered excitedly.
“Good. Let’s move up, going from vehicle to vehicle. You keep an eye out for anyone else, and I’ll go up behind him,” Mike said, pulling out the long thin boning knife. He’d wrapped layers of duct tape around the base, making a custom grip.
Jada looked at the knife and nodded her head. Mike couldn’t see her face, but he got the sense she smiled. He didn’t know why, but he did.
Silently, the duo got up and crept back toward the solitary man standing at the fire barrel. The fire had died down now. There was a glow from within the barrel, but its illumination was limited to about a foot all round. The man held his hands over the glow, swaying slightly.
Mike moved forward with light stealth. When he reached the man’s back, he slipped a large hand around the man’s head and clamped down on the man’s mouth as he drew the boning knife across the man’s throat.
The knife jarred on the man’s windpipe, and he applied more force to dig it deep. The spray of warm arterial blood came up and over his wrist to hit his face. He turned his face away, trying to avoid it.
The doomed man bucked and jerked, his hand grasping and tearing at Mike’s coated arm. Mike clutched him closer to his chest, feet off the ground. Fear of being caught sent a surge of adrenaline through his body, giving him more strength. Mike could smell the musk of the man, filthy, sour, and the man’s bowels began to let loose, his legs kicking out. Mike pulled the man away from the barrel, away from the light. Slowly, the man’s struggles began to slow and then they finally stopped.
Mike felt rather than saw Jada come up beside him. He laid the man down on the ground and stood, taking his arm and wiping the blood from his face. He felt numb. There was no elation. It was done.
Mike looked down and saw Jada raising her cleaver and begin to hack at the body. Mike didn’t stop her. When the dead man’s buddies found him, he wanted them to be horrified and afraid. He figured Jada needed to also work through some things. He walked away.
Jada finally caught up to Mike, and he could smell blood and other noisome and grisly things on her. She didn’t say anything, but walked quietly beside him. They disappeared into the darkness of the night.
“You know there are nine more of those bastards, don’t you?” Jada said abruptly.
“I wasn’t sure, I thought there were about ten of them, but I didn’t know if there were more. Thanks for the intel,” Mike said quietly.
It was good to know. One down, nine more to take out. Once more, Mike wondered how Jada survived so long out here with these animals roaming around.
Topsfield, Maine
Tim sat on the couch with Chloe in his lap as he rubbed her head. Schrodinger’s Cat sat near him, her large head on his knee, watching him pet the kitten. Her large liquid brown eyes followed every stroke Tim’s hand made. Tim watched her eyes, and felt the vibration of laughter rumble through his body. He knew Schrodinger’s Cat wanted Chloe.
It was so much better than TV, watching the way she mothered the orphaned kitten. Chloe’s soft white fur was spotlessly clean, and was kept that way assiduously. The big dog just about licked the fur off the kitten’s body.
Schrodinger’s Cat whined softly, and licked her lips. Laughing, Tim lifted Chloe and handed her over to Schrodi
nger’s Cat, the dog’s large soft mouth encasing the white ball of fur gently. He watched as she trotted over to the woodstove, dropped the kitten between her paws, and began grooming it.
Tim looked at his watch. Kelly had left well over an hour ago, and should be chatting with Patsy now. He hoped Kenny wouldn’t tease her too much. Kenny knew exactly what he was about.
Tim shook his head and got up. The chickens – or chickionies or hefferdoodles, as Kelly called them – needed to be fed, and Chance and Hope needed to burn off some energy outside. They were already sniffing around the boots.
Pail in hand, Tim stepped out into the sunshine. It was sunny and warm. He looked over at the thermometer. Forty-one degrees Fahrenheit. Very nice, he thought. Spring was around the corner, and it felt good to be out in the sunshine without a coat. He shook the pail of grain and the chickens came running en masse, their bright beady eyes targeting the pail.
Taking a handful of grain, he threw it out onto the thawing ground. Some grains went into the snow, but most fell on the muddy ground. Chance and Hope edged closer, and Tim sent them away. They often tried to either eat the grain or chase the chickens. Both were unacceptable.
Giving in with good grace, the two long-legged pups ran off into the woods. They would stay in the area; they knew their boundaries. He also knew that if they found a rabbit, he’d not have to worry about feeding them much later. Chance tended to be extremely proficient when hunting, and was always willing to share with Hope.
Going into the barn, he gave an apple to Butter and another to Lonesome. He scratched the goat’s head, and Butter nickered softly. He smiled and went to her, giving her a scratch behind her ears too.
“How about we go for a short ride, girl? You getting cabin fever too?”
Tim put the worn leather harness over Butter’s head and led her out of the barn. Holding her mane, he sprang up onto her back. Riding bareback, he guided Butter along the sunny parts of the road. The ground was still frozen here, but clear of ice. He kept her at a slow pace, not wanting to risk any slips.
