by Gary Chesla
She had dark circles under her eyes, her hair was straggly, her skin pale, her eyes sad and her clothes hung on her thin body as if she was wearing someone else’s clothes.
Her reflection reminded her of some of the kids at school, the kids that were poor and were on the school lunch program because their parents couldn’t afford to pay for their lunches or buy them clothes that fit, so they came to school wearing old half worn out hand me downs.
She had always felt sorry for those kids.
Especially the way some of the other kids made fun of them.
Her dad wasn’t much of a father, but at least he always made sure she had food to eat and decent clothes to wear, even if they weren’t what she really wanted.
Now she was one of those kids, but her situation was much worse.
She was an orphan, living in the woods, surrounded by things that wanted to kill her, and there was no one that gave a shit about her.
John sounded like he cared, but he was just a voice on the radio and he lived hundreds of miles away.
For all she knew, he was a dirty old man that was hoping for an opportunity to molest her.
But she was reaching the point, that even that would be a welcome change.
At least there would be another person, someone she could hug and know that she wasn’t alone.
But she was sure John wasn’t like that, he couldn’t be, he was always so nice to her and tried to help her.
He was nicer to her than anyone had ever been.
Then there was the voice.
The voice in the back of her mind that had so often crept into her thoughts, the voice that now spoke to her more frequently, constantly reminding her that she was going to die, alone.
Every day for the last month, she had to fight back the tears as she thought about her situation.
The only thing she had to live for was her nightly talks with John, Wolfman and Flash, and now only John seemed to still be on the air.
She worried constantly that soon, she wouldn’t be able to reach John anymore.
She was afraid that something would happen to John or her battery would go dead, leaving her completely alone.
The feeling of being alone terrified her and that feeling was getting worse each day.
She honestly didn’t know what would become of her.
She knew she wouldn’t be able to live like this for much longer.
She knew for the last month that she was going to die soon, die just like everyone else, the only question was how it would happen?
The images that would run through her mind about how she would die were enough to drive anyone insane.
It was a miracle she was still alive and as sane as she was, but then again, thinking that she was still sane was only her opinion. Others might disagree with her.
The rumbling coming from her stomach reminded Fran that she hadn’t had anything to eat yet today.
Fran walked over to the kitchen cabinets and began opening the doors and pulling out drawers.
She knew she wouldn’t find anything to eat, she had eaten the last Slim Jim last night, but she looked again anyhow in the hopes that she had missed one.
Of course, she didn’t find anything in the house to eat.
Fran walked back over to the window and looked outside.
If she wanted to eat, she would have to go back outside.
She hated going outside even worse than she hated being trapped in the house.
At least in the house she felt safe.
When she ran out of food the last time, it took her two days to work up the courage to go to the only place she knew where she might find something to eat, the sawmill.
The place had been scary as hell, especially after the horrible things she had seen when she went there to find help for her dad.
The road and parking lot was still covered with dried blood and some rotting bits of flesh that she assumed at one time had been part of someone’s body.
The sight of the abandoned sawmill made chills run down her spine.
She had heard noises that sounded like something banging against the walls inside the office building, so she kept her distance from any of the buildings.
She could imagine who was making the noise and what would happen to her if she got too close.
Since she was afraid to go near the buildings, so did the only other thing she could think of and searched the trucks. She had found enough Slim Jim’s to keep from starving for a few weeks.
The sawmill scared her, besides the noise that she had heard coming from the buildings, the sawmill was infested with rattlesnakes.
Out of desperation, she made a second trip to the sawmill two days ago, and was lucky to find two more Slim Jim’s.
But on that day she had also made up her mind that she would never go back there again.
The sawmill was too scary and too dangerous.
On her last trip to the sawmill, she was trying to be careful, but she was distracted by the noise coming from the buildings and accidently stepped on a rattlesnake that was hiding under one of the trucks.
The snake bit her shoe when she stepped on it.
It had scared the hell out of her, but lucky for her, it’s fangs didn’t penetrate her shoe.
She kicked her foot for what had seemed to be hours trying to get the snake off her foot, but in reality it had only been a few seconds, before the snake let go of her shoe.
When the snake landed on the ground in front of her, Fran turned and ran as fast as she could to get away from the sawmill.
There was no way she was ever going back to the sawmill.
Between the snakes, the noise coming from the buildings and the fact that she had probably already found the last Slim Jim there, it wasn’t worth the risk.
Fran knew she no longer had the courage to go back up there.
She would have to be desperate to go back up to the sawmill again. Fran couldn’t think of a single good reason why she would ever want to go back.
But today, Fran was hungry and had to do something.
She thought about her conversation with John last night.
Fran walked to the kitchen window and looked out into the back yard.
She saw two squirrels tearing up the grass, digging little holes, apparently looking for the nuts they had buried for winter. For some reason, the squirrels must have changed their minds but now they couldn’t remember where they had buried the nuts.
It was comical to see them digging one hole after another, then the look of disbelief on their faces when they didn’t find anything.
Today there weren’t any rabbits out back yet, but she knew they would make an appearance before the day was over. The rabbits didn’t come around until the summer air cooled off later in the afternoon.
Fran was hungry enough to eat a rabbit.
She wasn’t sure about eating a squirrel, they looked too much like rats and Fran thought rats were disgusting.
“John had suggested that I could trap a rabbit under a box then jump on the box and squash it,” Fran thought to herself, then shuddered at the thought. “Maybe tomorrow. I’ll see if I can find some black raspberries today instead.”
Knowing that she wasn’t going to jump on a box to crush a rabbit today sent a feeling of relief through her body.
Fran knew that she would face that decision again tomorrow, but was relieved to know that she could put it out of her mind at least for one more day.
Fran looked in the cupboards until she found a large Tupperware container to collect berries, then walked to the back door and stared out into the woods.
She spotted what looked to be a berry bush at the edge of the yard past the truck.
There seemed to be enough black and red berries on the bush to promise a nice snack and her mouth watered as she thought how good a mouthful of black raspberries would taste.
Fran moved from window to window to be sure there wasn’t anything outside before going out.
After making a sec
ond walk through the house to look out the windows, Fran sighed and nervously walked to the back door.
She could feel her legs begin to shake as she opened the door.
It was only going to be a short walk, she could imagine how her body would be trembling if she was going up to the sawmill again today.
“There is no way I am ever going back to the sawmill!” Fran said to herself as she reached for the door knob.
She opened the door and slowly walked out into the yard. She stopped by the truck to again check the yard around her when she thought she heard a sound.
After a few seconds of silence, Fran stated to relax.
She looked back towards the berry bush and smiled.
From where she stood, it looked like she would soon be enjoying the sweet taste of black raspberries.
She felt her hands tighten their gripe on the Tupperware bowl she brought to collect the berries as her stomach growled again.
Before Fran could start moving, she froze when she was certain this time that she heard a sound.
There was something moving in the woods.
She relaxed when she saw a dog’s head poke out through the high weeds near the berry bush along the tree line.
But the smile faded when she heard two different men’s voices in the woods coming from somewhere behind the dog.
Fran was conflicted for a second as she tried to decide what to do.
She liked dogs, and she hadn’t seen another living person for almost a month.
Should she hide and wait to see who these people were, or should she run to greet them and express how great it felt to see another living soul after all this time.
Her heart was racing with excitement at the idea that she wouldn’t be alone any longer.
She was excited and terrified at the same time.
Fran knelt down, using the truck for cover, trying to decide what to do.
“Maybe I should wait and see what they look like,” Fran thought. “I don’t think zombies can talk, but it would be just my luck to get attacked and killed by the world’s only talking zombies.”
She convinced herself to be patient and wait for a minute.
After a month, what difference could another few seconds make?
What she heard next quickly told her what she should do, and the answer was to hide.
The dog yelped in pain as two men came out of the woods behind the dog.
One of the men kicked the dog and yelled obscenities at the animal to get the hell out of his way.
Then the other man spoke, “Chad, watch you don’t break one of the little bastard’s legs.”
“Who the hell cares, Pete,” Chad replied. “The little mutt isn’t good for anything and it just keeps getting in my way.”
“I know, but if we don’t find anything to eat today, the mutt is going to be our dinner,” Pete said. “Just don’t kill it before we’re ready to eat it, unless you want to carry its flea-bitten carcass around for a few hours.”
“The little bastard is nothing but skin and bones, it won’t make much of a meal,” Chad growled. “If it gets in my way one more time, I’m going to break its neck, the hell with trying to eat it. There isn’t enough there to eat anyway.”
“Holy shit Chad,” Pete gasped as he spotted Fran’s house as he came out of the woods. “A house!”
“A house is nice, but that truck is even better,” Chad smiled, “With a truck we can finally get the hell out of here. I’m tired walking and I sure as hell am tired running from those dead mutants.”
“I wonder who it belongs to?” Pete asked.
“Who the hell cares, it belongs to me now,” Chad beamed.
“Maybe the owner is in the house,” Pete said, his voice was almost a whisper.
Fran heard the sound of footsteps approaching the truck.
Feeling a sense of panic come over her, Fran frantically began to look for somewhere to run.
After deciding there wasn’t anywhere she could run without being seen, Fran dropped down on her stomach and crawled under the truck.
When she reached the center of the space under the truck, she heard the door to the truck being pulled open.
“Did you really expect to find the keys in the ignition?” Pete asked. “Only an asshole would leave his keys in the truck.”
“I don’t need the keys,” Chad snorted and pulled out his knife. “I can hotwire this thing in ten seconds flat.”
“Well you better do it before someone comes out of the house with a damn gun or something,” Pete replied.
“He’ll stay in the house if he knows what’s good for him,” Chad laughed.
Fran closed her eyes and prayed the two men wouldn’t find her under the truck as she listened to them talking in the truck’s cabin above her.
She wasn’t worried about them starting the truck and running her over, because she knew the battery for the truck was in the house by the table.
But what was beginning to worry her as she opened her eyes and looked out from under the truck was the dog that was sniffing the ground around the front of the truck.
Her heart started to race when she locked eyes with the little Beagle puppy and it started wagging its tail.
“Oh shit, it’s going to give me away.” Fran thought as the dog ran around the truck, stuck its nose under the truck just below the driver’s door and began to bark.
Fran’s eyes darted around the bottom of the truck, hoping to find where she could crawl out from under the truck and make a run for it.
Her search stopped as she saw a foot swing down from the driver’s side of the truck and kick the little dog.
The dog yelped and ran towards the woods, stopping near the woods line where it sat down and looked back at the truck.
“Damn dog,” Chad growled. “Pete, look under the hood and make sure the battery cables are tight.”
Fran heard the passenger’s door open and then two large boots hit the grass three feet from her right arm and began walking to the front of the truck.
Fran glanced at the dog, which was now lying on the ground with its nose resting on its front paws. Its eyes watching Fran.
When their eyes met, the dog’s tail started wagging again.
Fran quickly looked away so she wouldn’t encourage the dog to run back over to the truck.
“Stay there dog,” Fran said to herself, “for you good as well as mine. If you’re smart, you’ll run away before you get killed.”
Fran’s nose rested on the ground, her body trembled as she listened and prayed.
“Someone stole the damn battery!” Pete yelled from the front of the truck.
“Shit,” Chad said as he got out of the truck and walked to the front of the truck and stood next to Pete.
“I thought we were going to finally be able to get the hell away from here,” Pete said, sounding disappointed.
“We still might be driving out of here,” Chad said. “Let’s go inside and see if we can find the former owner of this thing.”
“Then what?” Pete asked.
“Then we beat the hell out of him until he tells us what he did with the battery,” Chad replied. “And maybe we find today’s dinner while we’re in there.”
“That sounds good to me,” Pete grinned. “Lead the way.”
Fran slid closer to the driver’s side of the truck as the two men walked by the passenger’s door on their way to the house.
Fran watched their feet as they walked closer to the house.
She had to stifle a scream as a dry warm nose poked her in the ear, then a warm wet tongue licked the side of her face.
“What are you doing you stupid dog?” Fran smiled as she laid there, eye to eye with the little dog.
The dog’s tail wagged happily, thumping on the ground as it continued to try to lick Fran’s face.
Fran’s head turned back towards the house at the sound of a loud crash, followed by the sound of laughter.
“The bastards kicked in the door,” Fran thou
ght. “They didn’t have to do that, the door wasn’t locked.”
But she didn’t try to answer her question, she had heard enough from listening to those two to know the answer.
“They were just evil people that did whatever they wanted, to whoever they wanted,” Fran thought. “They kick defenseless little puppies and God knows what they would do to me if they found me.”
Fran’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of things being smashed and thrown around inside the house.
“I’ve got to get away from here while they are occupied with trashing my house,” Fran thought as she began looking where she could run.
Fran crawled out from under the driver’s side of the truck.
Keeping the truck between her and the house, she crawled towards the woods.
The Beagle puppy danced around her head, trying to lick Fran’s face, thinking Fran was playing with it.
When Fran reached the woods, she scooped up the puppy to keep it quiet and scurried back into the woods far enough to not be seen by the men in the house.
She then circled around behind the house in the woods until she was at the far corner of the house.
Fran sat down in the woods in the thick brush, still ten feet back from the edge of the back yard and listened to her house being trashed.
They were smashing the windows, throwing things into the walls, and many other crashing sounds that Fran couldn’t identify.
All Fran knew was that if she survived this, she wouldn’t have much left to go back to.
Suddenly the crashing noises stopped, followed by sound of the two men laughing.
“The sick bastards,” Fran sobbed quietly, not realizing that she was hugging the puppy tightly against her chest.
Fran looked up when she heard voices coming out of the house.
She leaned behind the big Maple she was sitting by, keeping her head down below the brush.
