++++++++
I woke up, hearing the screen door opening and slamming shut. I saw the back of Justin's head and a fishing rod over his back.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and stretched, every muscle, tendon and bone popping from sleeping so deeply. I groaned in relief and looked around. Claire and Justin's bags were nowhere in sight. I stumbled to the bathroom and got ready for the day, filling the bucket from the kitchen sink to flush it when I was done. I still had no idea where Claire was, but she wasn't inside the cabin. I debated looking for her, or fixing breakfast, but I decided to see what they were up to.
Justin had a fishing pole, and the rest of the gear was gone from the door, so down the trail I went. It wasn't long before Justin's voice could be heard, and his mother trying to keep him quiet, to keep the chance of the infected from hearing and locating the three of us. I had to smile, she was smarter than I was about things up here and wasn't a townie. I spent most of my life in the city, living with my grandparents and in apartments. My nature experiences were at the local park.
“Now, get him close and I'll use the net to...” Claire was saying but I lost the rest as the weeds and leaves crunched under my feet as I left the trees and walked into the opening that surrounded the lake.
Walking to the rowboat and stopping to watch, I saw Justin pull a good sized walleye from the water, easily a few pounds, with his mom's assistance with the net. They raised a rope that was tied off on the dock, showing some sort of wire cage contraption and opening the top, dropping the fish in. Then Justin cast the bait back out, jerking the rod in an odd manner while reeling in, pausing and repeating all over again. I watched in silence as he did it a couple more times, almost giving myself away when his rod bent in half, and I choked down a surprised sound.
“Good, let's hope this is a fat one.” Claire told him, getting the net ready again.
I walked as quietly as I could, watching mother and son bring in another fish, putting it into the wire looking cage.
“Looks like breakfast is served.” I commented, and watched them spin around, eyes wide.
I almost missed Claire's rifle, in my attempt to sneak up, but it went from the shoulder strap to her arms in half a heartbeat and was pointed at me before I could take another breath. I froze and watched the bore of the hunting rifle waver for a moment, before she lowered it, making an exasperated sound.
“Don't scare me like that!” she said, clearly pissed.
“I heard you telling Justin to stay quiet, not to draw the zombies in.”
“I did, I meant that...”
“Mom, can I keep fishing? I have a ton more to catch.”
“More?” I asked.
“You know how much food we need to put away for this winter? How much protein it's going to take?” Claire asked me.
“I honestly don't know.”
“A lot. We won't have a ton of vegetables, so we need to stock up and store what we can. Fish is the easiest, but it doesn't last long. I really need that smoker...” she said wistfully.
“How many fish do you think it'll take?”
“Too many. I lit the fridge this morning, so we can start storing the jerked fish in the fridge and freezer. I'm going hunting later on, though I hope you aren't going to follow me out there too.”
“Mom...........” Justin begged.
“Fish, hon,” she told him; he smiled and started casting again.
“You lit the fridge?”
“It's propane. You have a huge tank, and I figured you hadn't lit it to conserve the gas, but with all the food we need to get soon...”
“A propane fridge?”
“You didn't know?”
“No,” I admitted.
“City boy, you have a lot to learn.”
“Mom, I have another one!” Justin exclaimed.
Instead of hunting and firewood gathering that day, we spent it at the lakeside. After a while, we started cleaning the fish, and Claire made trips back and forth to the lake, once bringing us sandwiches, another time to bring a large tub and a container of salt that she had found in the cupboard.
“What's this for?”
“Making the brine. We're going to soak the fish overnight, and set them out tomorrow. It would taste more like Jerky if we had something to add to the marinade. Liquid smoke, Teriyaki, Soy Sauce... something.
“Hey, I've had teriyaki and black pepper before. I think I might have some different seasonings packed away.”
“Thank God... Now the fish will last a while, but without the fridge or freezer, I don't know how long it'd last at room temperature.”
“Luckily, it's getting cold outside soon.”
“Bears.” Claire said softly, her lips pinching into a smile as her gaze drifted over my shoulder. Turning, I saw Justin pull a Laker out of the water, this time without the landing net.
“Got you. I, uh... There aren't a ton of them up here, are there?”
“City boy...” she growled disgustedly, and we laughed.
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November 13th, 2015
The next few weeks were spent in a feverish pace. It ended up being a warmer than usual November, and the snow had stayed away. I split and carried wood until my back wouldn't take any more. I'd wade into the lake, letting the cold water loosen my muscles until the shivers overtook me, and then I’d start all over again. Claire was able to kill a deer and two turkeys and Justin caught a ton of fish. The solar dehydrator was used almost nonstop and, using one of Frank's books, we made a poor man's smoker.
What we did was basically make a tepee frame over a small fire pit, with small sticks woven in and out almost every three to four inches to make a shelf within the tepee. Then we wrapped the outer surfaces with a tarp. A fire of hickory was made, put out, and added underneath the tepee, loaded with fish and meat sliced thin. Everything had been soaked in Claire's brine solution and, even raw, it smelled wonderful. She made good use of the supplies I had bought and, after a few attempts, we made some fish jerky and venison jerky. But we also wasted a lot of food learning...
“If I had my smoker from the garage...”
“Would it make things easier?” I asked her.
“We wouldn't have lost almost twenty pounds of food, and firewood.”
I winced; I felt every pound of firewood in my muscles. I had thought I was in shape before, but even in my pained state, I was in 100% better shape than I was before Janie died. It had only been a few short weeks and I could still picture her perfectly, and I wondered what our child would have looked like. It hurt, a lot, but I kept my distance from everyone as much as I could when the day was done. My soul was still raw, and watching Claire and Justin, I was jealous. I wanted that sort of connection someday, and I avoided questioning Claire or Justin about his father.
To say I was worried about the Andersen's would have been an understatement. I had gotten no messages, no voice mails and no updates. I also hadn't been back towards town in a week, so it was also possible that my phone would blow up if I did, if the cell towers were still working. That weighed heavily on my mind as I walked up the porch, the way a zig/zag pathway of firewood leading to the doorway.
Claire and I had thought that stacking the firewood by the front would do a couple of things. We stacked it in a way to slow any zombies from a clear and direct path to the door; oftentimes the stacks were almost six feet tall and eight feet deep. They would have to climb over it, or run a gauntlet that we had devised using the visibility of the front facing windows for shooting paths. Anything that tried to approach us while we were diligent would be cut down or slowed enough that we could get away.
The smoker though, it was at Claire's house, the closest point I could get a cell phone to work. I debated the risk for two or three days. We hadn't seen anything the entire time, and we had set up a watch a week ago and abandoned it almost immediately, as there was never anything moving about but the deer, squirrels, or the fish jumping out of the lake. It was almost an idyllic sight, if we
weren't under the threat of death from either Ebola or being ‘zombified’, as Justin called it.
I needed to check on Frank's progress, as it had been way too long. In the normal world, it was a four or five hour drive. It had been over two weeks since Frank had sent his last message and, besides, if I got Claire's smoker, she could be happy and quit bugging me about it. She was sort of growing on me, but I puzzled how or why; my dreams were messed up, and Claire's face was superimposing over Janie's. I knew it was my brain's way of coping, but it was damn confusing and, other than the first day she hugged me, we'd had no contact, and I was relieved.
“I'm going to go get the smoker and check on Frank's progress tomorrow,” I told them that night, as we ate some fish and greens that were picked that afternoon.
Justin had found a book he thought was originally about hunting called 'Stalking the wild Asparagus' but it wasn't about stalking, it was about finding edibles and foraging. We'd have to do a lot of that until the snow hit, and then things were all up in the air. I just hoped Frank was close, if not here soon.
“Can you clean out the cabinet over the stove?” Claire asked me. I raised an eyebrow in question. “I have a ton of spices and vitamins up there.”
“Sure. I hope to be in and out in a hurry. Where is your smoker at?”
“Right inside the door on the left.”
“Is the house and garage locked?”
She held out a set of keys, and pulled off one.
“Front door and the garage,” she told me, pressing it into my hand.”
“Thanks. I'm leaving in the morning. If I don't come back...”
“Mom...” Justin said over his plate of fish.
“You'll be safe,” she told me, and then to her son, “This city boy is learning fast. As long as he doesn't meet any wayward girls...”
“Mommmmmmmmm…” Justin stammered, exasperated.
“He’s mine, Justin,” she said, more for my benefit than his, and Justin colored a deep red.
I realized that there may not be any girls his age, not for a long time, and I almost agreed with him before meeting Claire's gaze. She looked athletic when I first met her, but the two weeks had trimmed us down even more. She smiled at my glance, and squeezed my arm for a moment before turning and finishing her dinner in silence, my face burning in a blush, not used to being looked at like that by anyone other than Janie.
I needed a plan and, as long as the dead heads hadn't traveled that far out, it would be an easy trip, one I could make quickly. It was my night for dishes, and the pot of water we kept on the wood stove went into the sink. I did them up quickly. I was soon joined by Justin, and Claire headed to the bathroom and bedroom to get ready for the night.
“You will be back, right?” Justin asked.
“I plan on it buddy.”
“I'm just worried...”
“What about?”
“My dad went away when I was younger. It was almost a month later when they found him. He'd gotten hurt while hunting and he...” his voice hitched, and soon he had silent tears running down his cheeks.
“I'll be back. I promise, buddy. You still have to catch me a pike for dinner one night, remember?” I asked him, remembering the boast from a week ago.
“Yeah, I'll have one ready for you tomorrow night.” He wiped his eyes.
Chapter 13 – Running Gun Fight
November 14th, 2015
I spent the rest of the evening looking through Frank's gun locker, trying to decide if I needed to take another gun or not. I had looked over the AKs a few times, making myself familiar with them as best as I could, before loading three clips and putting a box of ammunition aside with enough for another two clips. I prayed I wouldn't need it, but I knew it was better to have it, and not need it.
My sleep that night was troubled, the nightmares peppering my sleep. It was more guilt dreams, more of my untold terror at venturing outside the zone of imagined safety we had here at the cabin. I didn't have any illusions that two weeks of food gathering would be enough for the winter, but if the smoker could be added to our supplies, Claire was sure that we would waste a lot less food and lose less to spoilage. It was worth the risk, and I needed to call Frank.
In one of the dreams, I got to Claire's house, only to find a dead dial tone every time I tried to call somebody, and my way barred from leaving by tons of the infected. I awoke in a sweat, and looked around. For once, I had beaten sunup, and wanted to make a quick start to the day. I found the notepad that we'd been keeping notes of what we put up in storage and wrote a note out to the Woods'.
“I am going to get an early start today. Everything I know about this place, Frank has left in a binder that I'm leaving under this note. With any luck, I'll be home before you're awake. I'm taking the Jeep so I can make a quick getaway if one is needed. Depending on whether or not I get word from Frank and Katherine, I may scout out a little bit by the town.
I'm not telling you this to worry you, but to let you know. None of us know how long the infected can live, and I don't know what they eat or drink on a regular basis. I know we've had talks about zombies, Ebola, rabies etc., but none of us know. It would be good to have an idea of what's going on, and if I find any other survivors... They might have valuable information. If Frank, Katherine and Sarah make it up here before I get back, show them this note, that way they know you aren't random looters.”
I added a smiley face and my name. I contemplated putting more in there, but decided that I couldn't trust my emotions enough to tell them how much they had grown on me. I had started to wonder what Claire thought about me, but had beat those feelings down, chalking them up to the situation we were all in, and the endless days of work and worry for almost nothing but sore muscles and close quarters. None of us really knew if this was all needed, or if the government had finally gotten control of the situation and we could come out of the woods.
I grabbed an old camo backpack I had found in Frank's room, emptied the contents out on the bed and left everything except a belt knife and some waterproof matches. I didn't know what the rest of the supplies were, or how to use them. I think Claire called it a blowout bag, or something like that, but I didn't want to be carrying the extra weight if I had to move quick. I didn't plan on being gone long.
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The drive wasn't as long as I thought, and in no time at all I shut the ignition off. Trying to open the Jeep quietly was both an exercise in caution and patience. The world had changed, and I had hardly touched upon the changes in my isolation. Were there others like us? Just as isolated and not knowing what was happening around the world? These questions swirled through my head as I pulled the AK, and put it over my shoulder, settled the .44 on my hip, and carried the backpack loose on my back. I found the keys to the garage and considered what I wanted to get first.
In the end, I decided to try the garage. There was only one window and one door, and I could easily see that neither had been tampered with. The smoker was right where Claire said it would be and I gulped. It wasn't a little smoker like I expected, but rather a stainless steel looking box that took up at least a four by four foot square on the ground. I expected it to weigh a ton, but I was able to rock it easily. I lifted the top up, and quietly put it on the cement behind me. The inner grates came just as easily, but now I had to figure how to fit it all in. My doors weren't big enough, and I cringed when the answer came to me. It was going to be a cold ride.
After I had things loaded up, I approached the house. Something didn't sit right with my gut, and I hesitated before unlocking the front door. Something stank; all the lights were out and the dawn light was still weak, and the rooms were cast in deep shadow. I moved through the unfamiliar house, looking where I could, the .44 held out in front of me loosely. The smell got stronger as I saw kitchen cupboards in the gloom. I figured the smell was the garbage can, left uncovered in the house. It had been weeks after all, and there were dead flies by the windows, something I noticed right off when I ca
me in.
I padded quietly when I heard a soft noise. I stopped, and tried to control my breathing as it started to turn into a panting due to barely controlled panic. This made the smell almost into a taste, and I gagged involuntarily. I leaned into the wall, my arm over my nose, trying to filter the smell out enough to not puke and hyperventilate. I didn't know how long I stood like that, but the soft noise wasn't repeated and wondered if it could have been a mouse.
I used my free hand to help navigate the gloomy shadows until I found the stove. It was an old gas model, and the cupboard above it was literally cram packed full of spices and other things I couldn't make out in the dark. I set the gun on the counter and took the AK and backpack off. Wincing, the zipper was undone on the pack and I tried to quietly start stuffing things into the pack. I froze when I heard a soft thump from another room, but I soon started again, almost finishing off the pack when glass shattered somewhere in the house, in another room.
Literally, pissing yourself isn't something that happens in the movies, but it almost happened to me right then. My hands started to shake as I closed and shouldered the pack, grabbing the rifle and pistol. A soft moan floated out of the darkness, and I faded back into the shadows, finding two doorways. One was slotted, and one had an animal door. I could hear footsteps getting closer and had no more time to choose, so I opened the slotted door, finding an almost empty pantry, and quietly wedged myself into the corner, closing the door softly.
I tried to quiet my breathing for a second time, peering out of the slats in the door, when a shadow detached itself from the gloom, and moved in front of the sink. My bladder almost let loose when I realized it was one of the infected, new wounds on its face and arms evident as the soft sunlight lit its features. It walked slowly, its flesh gray and sagging off the bones. The smell became stronger as it entered the kitchen.
Flirting With Death: Surviving The Infected Page 7
