Monte Vista Village (The Survivor Diaries, Book 1)

by Lynn Lamb

  “That’s when I found the ‘Move It Yourself’ place. In back were the bad boys we drove up here in. We loaded the bikes inside and got ourselves back to the store. We spent all night and into the next day loading the stuff from Laura’s list. We slept there last night, and we drove it back here today.”

  We all sat compelled by the story. I was almost sad that it ended, until I realized that it was actually a true story, and we now had a huge load of supplies.

  “Thank you,” I said. And I meant it more than they knew. “But why didn’t you ever call us on the ham radio?”

  “Didn’t work. Joseph is going to have to take a look at it,” said Carrie.

  “We got as much as we could,” Billy said. “Sorry we couldn’t get you the fro-yo from the concession stand, Laura.”

  “I snuck that on the list for a laugh,” I said with a giggle. “We always had one when we shopped there. It was a little family tradition.”

  “Thanks for that, Laura. We did laugh. But, seriously, we need to get those trucks back out there. It is just a matter of time before people figure out how to get trucks in there and clean out the store,” said Billy.

  “One of you will need to go, but I will get a fresh group out there in the morning,” I said.

  Levi volunteered to show a new group of Out-bounders the ropes. And our brave group of gatherers made their way to their homes for some much needed rest. Their story had made me tired just listening to it. Mark, Bailey, Hershey and I curled up together on the couch near the fire until after dark.

  August 23

  I ushered the homeless down over to the Village the first thing in the morning. They didn’t seem eager to find their new homes, even after I told them that there were now many beautiful ones to choose from.

  We spent over two hours walking up and down the streets, going into empty places. Some had been inhabited by the dead until we had removed them, but they were beginning to air out nicely. I wondered if it was bothering them that they would now be living in houses only because so many had died. But they acted the same way when it came to homes where the occupants had left for parts unknown right before the bombs hit. Even the homes that were empty because they had been for sale didn’t seem to excite them.

  I wasn’t sure how to proceed when we made it back to the Town Square. Then Sampson, one of the group who spoke more than the others, asked, “What about the Town Houses above the strip mall? No one seems to live in those.”

  “The few residents of the Town Houses who survived opted to find houses to live in. So they are empty. But don’t you want guys each want a house of your own?” I asked. I knew I was missing something I shouldn’t be.

  “Not really,” said Marla. “We are used to being together. We have been a community for a long time. We would like to stay close to each other.”

  That was lesson number one from them. Humbled, I lead this beautiful group to their new homes.

  Later in the day, I went by to see how they were settling in. In front of the MV Town House sign stood a new sign. It read “The Homeless.” I tore it out of the ground and walked up to the first door I could find. I rapped loudly. I was fuming.

  Sampson opened the door. “Is everything alright?” he asked, eyeing the sign in my hand and the expression on my face.

  “No, I just found this,” I said.

  “Come in, sit down,” he said.

  I looked at him and felt ashamed of my Village. “I am so sorry. I will find out who put this here and take care of them.”

  He shook his head. “That’s our sign.”

  It took me a minute to grasp that one sentence. “Why would you put it out there?” I asked, stuck on the concept.

  “Because that is who we are. It’s our identity, and we are not ashamed of it. So many people died, but we didn’t. The Monterey Homeless made it, and now we are living in this beautiful place.”

  Lesson number two came through loud and clear.

  “Oh,” I said. “I hadn’t thought of that. But may I ask you a favor? I don’t want to start up any more social classes. I think that was part of the reasons for the wars in the first place. So, if it is alright, you are no longer the ‘homeless.’ Now, you are Villagers, just like all of the rest of us.”

  Sampson smiled and nodded. “That will be alright with us,” he said.

  And today, I was schooled by the people who used to hold signs on the street corner; the same ones I used to drive right by.

  August 24

  Today we began a big project here in the Village; Charlotte’s Garden. We used the pallets and soil from the delivery the other day. We had four tin garbage pails to catch rain – if it ever comes back, that is. The work included twenty-six gardeners. Our house had never seen activity like that before.

  Annie had refreshments to pass out to the sweaty, dirty people. It was actually a lot of fun. I kept Bailey out of child care for the afternoon, and even Shelby put someone else in charge and joined us. Jessica and she took turns watching little Camella, that is, when they could pry her away from Annie and I. That child is a living doll.

  Everything was taking shape by the afternoon. Many other Villagers came to take a peek, and some even tried to offer tips, but Charlotte would have nothing to do with them. She knew exactly how she wanted everything, from the linings in the raised beds, to the PVCs, bowed with clear plastic over them like an old fashioned covered wagon.

  We had taken down the fence between ours and the large house next door, once owned by a pilot, which now stood empty. That made the garden space huge.

  Our main concern was watering all of the seeds. I had sent out a team with one of our newly acquired moving trucks to find a way to the Carmel River. It was maybe eight miles from us before the war, but who knows how long it would take to get there now? Hopefully, it would be pure enough to use on the garden food.

  Charlotte decided to dedicate a large portion of the lot next door to growing wheat. “I’m not sure about what weather the destroyed environment will bring this year. We have to be prepared for everything from extreme heat to freezing temperatures and snow; and everything in between.”

  “That’s not great news, but we will deal with it, right?” I asked with hope.

  She shrugged in reply.

  I can’t imagine Monterey having snow, real snow I mean. Every year some anonymous person used to pay to have a snow maker come to a local park and give us Cali-Natives a taste of winter. But never have we seen what it would look like to have a snow covered landscape. Maybe it would cover up the view of the ruins that have become our new window on the world.

  Watching Charlotte share her skills with those younger than her gave me an idea that I wanted to put into motion before the middle of the next week. So I went to my room and opened the curtain to see the swirl of activity below. It stood as my inspiration for growth.

  I sat at the desk and started to plan the next phase of our Village life.

  Charlotte’s efforts not only inspired me, but they gave me ideas of how to keep the knowledge of the generations going to keep us alive. We cannot afford to waste the information housed within the older populations we have in the Village. We need it now more than ever; before it is too late.

  August 25

  This morning the classes began, and each Villager under the age of sixty was required to take at least one. The classes were designed for anyone over the age of fourteen. I created ten groups of them, all taught by people who had been experts in their fields. Everyone would cycle through every class, eventually.

  I was enrolled in three classes; 1) Sewing Clothing, a class that would teach both mending and creating handmade clothing from templates, 2) Vegetable Canning, and of course, 3) Survival Gardening. The two latter classes helped a lot because they both took place at my house. I knew that I was pushing it with my already overly ambitious schedule, but I would give it a try. I needed to be a role model for the Village.

  Mom’s big kitchen was perfect for the food canning, especiall
y since the veggies would already be here so there would only be transportation from the backyard to the kitchen.

  One big advantage was that our kitchen would be granted a precious generator. Not that we could use it for running electricity throughout the house like we had before, but we did volunteer to do movie nights at our place.

  I took Bailey to her first day of “school” at the Town Hall, and then made it to my first class, sewing; a skill in which I had never shown much promise. But I was excited to get away from my little office and all of the planning that I had been doing.

  I made my way to the address of Mrs. April Ingram. It was one of the smaller homes in the neighborhood. It was nicely painted, and I bet that the garden had once been neat and beautiful.

  Several of what I assumed to be my new “classmates” made their way to the door with me. One gentleman took the lead and knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” came an old voice. The six of us at the door walked into the living room. The smell of sweet powder brought the memory of my grandmother rushing to me.

  Ammie was sitting on her great grandmother’s lap, looking up at her. She asked innocently, “Why are you called Grandma, and Annie is called Grandma?”

  “Well,” said my beautiful grandmother to the small child with amber colored eyes. “That’s because I am your grandma, too.”

  Amanda held out two tiny fingers, “You are Grandma II.”

  Amanda and Brianna called her Grandma II until the day she died, just under four years ago.

  I took a shallow breath and got up the nerve to make my way through the chilly living room. The lady I saw the day the Out-bound team came home sitting on the street, watching the whole “homeless” upheaval was none other than Mrs. April Ingram.

  She was a slight woman, sitting in her wheelchair with an afghan over her legs. She smiled when she saw the small group of us walk through the door. “Come in children, come in,” she said in a polite and quivering voice.

  I went over and introduced myself to her. “Hello, I am Laura Balous,” I said, taking her fragile hand in mine. It was soft, like my grandmother’s had been, too.

  “Oh, dear. You don’t need to introduce yourself,” she said.

  She had set material, needles, threads and holey socks out on her coffee table and started to introduce us to the basics of sewing. While we threaded our needles and plunged them uncertainly into the socks, she began to tell us the story of how she had become a seamstress and designer.

  The hour flew by, and at the end, I didn’t want our time to be over. I was looking forward to sewing class tomorrow.

  Later in the day was Food Gardening, followed by Canning 101. I spent some time in the office before I made my way up to the house. Bailey had pleaded with me to attend the “Grown-ups” Gardening Class, so I picked her up right after school. She could have gone to child care, but I thought that our sweet girl would get a lot more out of this.

  We took the route past the Rajas, who joined us on our way to my backyard. The yard was filled with people. Lizzie didn’t tell me that we had over forty people sign up for this class.

  Charlotte was on top of it though. She had a group of people carry up all of the donated gardening tools to the house; and there were a lot of them.

  She had half of us working on tilling soil, and the other half was building the raised beds. It was an amazing sight to see all of us producing our food for the future.

  Just as I was getting into the groove of it, my radio blared out, “Laura to the main fence. Annie to the main fence. Mark to the main fence.”

  “I’ll be right down,” I answered.

  “What’s going on down there?” I heard Jackson say. He was almost too protective at this point, but that’s good I guess.

  A voice answered over the walkie, “There are some people here who say they know them.”

  I had no idea who it could be after all of this time, but something in my gut tugged at me. I started to run down the hill to the great wall that was being erected around my Village.

  Annie had been in the kitchen, and she yelled my name as I ran past. I saw Mark ahead of us.

  And then I saw an old, very beaten up Buick with someone in the passenger’s seat, legs hanging out, head bent. We were still a distance away, but I knew the figure wearing a tank top, standing next to a slim man holding a rifle. Behind them stood a smaller female. I was sure at the moment I was dreaming because it was simply impossible. My family?

  I ran past Jackson, who was already on the radio to the Doc. He tried to catch me, but I hit him really hard (heh) and ran right by his efforts.

  I ran up to Bri, and she dropped her rifle, just as shocked to see me as I was to see her. I grabbed hold of her thin frame. My head filled with a mist, making it hard to understand what was actually happening. Was it possible that I was hallucinating? Did I have the plague?

  Amanda ran up to me, as I passed Bri to Annie. I held her, and she felt so tiny. We clasped each other tightly, and we fell to the hard pavement. We sobbed as Mark came and gently pulled up both of us into his strong arms. He grabbed Bri into our group hug, tears leaving a trail on his brown skin.

  I saw Malcom, helping the person in the passenger seat out of the car. It was a man, and he looked very sick. His face was hollow, and pocked, lips severely chapped and bloody. I gasped. I hadn’t recognized my own brother. I started towards him, but Jackson was determined to hold me back this time. His thick arm was impossible to break away from.

  “JACOB,” I cried out as loudly as I could. The Doc, wearing protective clothing, placed him in the golf cart, and started driving towards the Hotel.

  Bri and Ammie flanked either side of me, and held my arms as the Doc took their father away.

  “He’s is the best doctor alive. He is bringing him to a quarantined area. He will treat him. If anyone can save him, it’s Doc Malcom,” concluded Jackson.

  “He needs to go up to the hospital, now,” I yelled at Jackson, as if my brother’s illness was his fault.

  Mark made his way to us, and nodded in agreement with Jackson; traitor.

  “The Doc will help him, Laura.” Mark looked as blown away by all of this as I felt.

  Bri walked over and took the arm of the man who was waiting and watching. “This is Adam, um, my boyfriend. You talked to him on the phone a few times, remember? He helped get us here.” Bri presented him proudly.

  I grasped him into a tight hug, and he kindly patted my back. “Thank you for getting them to me.”

  “Bri is very kind, but it was a group effort. And she led it,” he conceded.

  “I wouldn’t believe anything different of my strong and brave niece. Both of them. You made it,” I said through my tears as I watched a group of medics in even more protective gear make their way quickly to the Hotel.

  “What is all of this, Laurie?” asked Ammie. She looked confused and flustered.

  Before the war, Ammie had gone from brave and confident child, right into a painfully shy, yet brilliant, teen. I could tell that she still had trouble with strangers, though.

  I looked at Jackson and defiantly said, “These people are coming home with me. You can see they are fine, just starving. They need to come to their childhood home. That will give them strength.”

  “And they will,” said Billy. Where had he come from? I should have known; he was always with Annie lately. “But first they have to go to the Hotel. Laura, they might have some virus or they might be the carriers, we don’t know by looking at them. They need to go into the three day quarantine, just like everyone else. You saw your brother.”

  I wanted to yell at him to just shut up. I needed to be with them. I heard Annie calling to the kitchen for food, water and chicken broth, probably for Jacob. I looked at her face. She was trying to stay calm, but her baby was sick, and she was the ultimate Mama Bear.

  “Then Annie and I will go in with them,” I plead with everyone standing, watching the spectacle I was making of myself. I didn’t care. “S
urely, the Village could make it three days without us. We hugged them; maybe we are sick, too.”

  Tabitha, the PA, came to my side. “You are right. They look healthy, but we can’t take any chances with anyone, especially you.”

  “Laurie, it’s okay. We will be okay for three days. I’m not sure how many people are alive here, but we need you all well when we come out. And you need to make sure they get Daddy to the hospital. Please,” Ammie said, looking so scared.

  “I will, baby, I will,” was all that I could mutter.

  Tabitha started to direct them to the Hotel.

  “Jackson, give them your walkie and make sure it is on the most private channel. Understand me?” I ordered. He was already adjusting it before I could finish the sentence.

  Annie, Mark and I watched as they walked across the street and into the building.

  I turned to Annie, and we sobbed with every emotion we had in our arsenal.

  I walked back up the hill with Annie, Mark and Billy knowing that my family, who I believed must be dead, wasn’t. They were alive, and they were here.

  ~~~

  On our way back home, we walked past the Village gardeners. Bailey came and clasped my hand. All eyes were on us, as this part of my family walked into the house, and shut ourselves away from the world.

  I went to my room alone because I needed time to digest what had happened. I lay down on my bed and clamped my eyes shut. Then I was afraid to open them and find out that I had dreamt it all.

  Finally, I began to write in this diary. It is the only place I can be completely truthful with myself.

  My brother is so sick and I knew, as soon as I had realized it was him, the chances are that he will be dead soon. It’s like having him die twice, and I don’t know if I could take that.

  Hershey had his head next to mine, and he even placed his paw on my shoulder, as if to tell me that everything will be alright.

  I have spent about an hour in my room, alone. It’s time to join everyone and get things in place for my beautiful family of refugees.