She took one uneasy step down. The stair held; the rickety board sank a bit under her feet. Another step offered a suspicious groan, nothing more. The third step was missing; Tansy’s short legs were hard-pressed to reach the next. There was no railing to hold onto and she ended up sitting on the second step to reach the fourth. Then again no fifth step, but she reached the bottom and lowered herself to the moist dirt floor.
It became apparent she was in a root cellar; an adjacent door had been attached to the inside of the house but was crushed. She remembered her great-grandmother had owned a house with a root cellar. Her great-grandmother had always been doing down jams and preserves. Tansy’s heart leaped and her search became earnest as she looked throughout the large space. One quick cast of her dying light and, there. On one of the shelves she approached were jars.
Tansy’s legs shook with excitement. She reached a tentative hand outwards as her fingers closed around a Mason jar dark with some filling, she opened it. Delving her baby finger inside and lifting the contents to her nose she sniffed. Tansy’s heart almost burst with joy, she knew that smell; it was blackberry jam. She stuffed her finger into her mouth and made contented sucking noises. She did it again and again, the whole time trying to undue her backpack. There were six jars in all, each containing something different. Tansy wasn’t sure what, it was too dark to see, but she wanted it all. Once all the jars were collected, she hurried her way back to the others.
* * * *
Tansy placed a pair of ratty but fairly clean wet pants over a rope strung near the fire to dry. She shook her head, rubbed her neck then stretched. Afterwards, she stuck her hands as close to the fire as she dared, they were red, chapped and very cold. She didn’t know what to do if they were suddenly stuck in a snowstorm. It was too cold to wash outside without risking pneumonia. They had a little soap left and used the small cast iron pot she brought propped up over four stones and placed over a small cooking fire to heat water to wash their bodies with.
They were likely to get a lot dirtier before warmer weather would return and they could bathe in a lake or stream. Tansy didn’t know how her ancestors could stand to be so dirty. She smelled putrid.
Everyone was sound asleep but her. Everyone for once had gone to bed with a full belly. She had saved a little of the food she had found. Her mind rationalized two things: save the food and ration it. Also, they could die tomorrow so why not just eat it. She compromised; Tansy let them eat what they wanted, knowing their bellies had shrunk and they wouldn’t be able to finish it all. She was right; two jars of homemade peaches were left.
After hanging the laundry in their tight quarters, Tansy thought hard. Perhaps the root cellar wasn’t just a fluke or a lucky find. Maybe because it was built under the frost line it was a bit safer. The cave they were in was also a lucky find. It was chance they stumbled onto this one. They couldn’t stay here, they had to keep moving. They would be safe at the mines; she knew that. Her mind wouldn’t even consider that they wouldn’t.
Tansy wondered about people, or lack thereof. She knew people must be hiding, they heard the voices and cries of others when they slept in the subway, but were too terrified to approach them. They’d seen dozens of bodies and body parts. Animals were few and far between. What actually existed out there?
The fire spit and popped then calmed. Tansy also calmed, she knew they’d once again be on the move in the morning. If she were going to be able to carry Michaela, she’d need to be rested. Tansy curled around the child. Her eyes watered at the small amount of smoke within the cave. They were warm with the heat the fire cast and their combined body heat. She slept.
* * * *
He knew it was a tiger. When he’d first seen it and blinked hard, it was still there. How it got there was a different matter altogether, and if he didn’t do something and fast, he was about to become six foot three and a half inches and two hundred and forty-five pounds of raw hamburger. The menacing tiger licked its lips as if in affirmation to his disturbing thought.
Think, Aidan, his mind screamed. I am thinking, his brain screamed back. He had found a small town after escaping the tornado and the elephants...the elephants he didn’t want to contemplate. On some level, he was positive he was in hell, zoo hell, but hell nonetheless.
Aidan backed up, never breaking eye contact with the tiger. Creeping with one hand behind, feeling the way, not wanting to trip. The tiger roared and goose bumps rose on his flesh, his jet-black hair had grown in longer, but he swore it stood on end. He stopped dead in his tracks as the tiger gathered itself, readying to pounce. Aidan’s hands came up to fend off the inevitable. As the tiger lunged, Aidan dropped to the ground and heard an explosion. His breath was knocked out of him and he thought he might have passed out when he felt the heavy weight of the tiger being yanked off him.
“Well, don’t just lie there, buddy; give me some help,” came an irritated groan.
Aidan didn’t think twice, he shoved and pushed to get the hulking beast off and soon the other man had him clasped under his arms and pulled. As his legs were freed, both men fell backwards into a heap. Lying there half on and half off the other man, Aidan looked back and gratefully offered him his hand.
“Thanks.”
The man grasped the outstretched hand, gave it a firm shake, and shoved Aidan off him while also yanking him to his feet in one fluent motion.
Slightly shorter, but of a more burly build, Aidan assessed the man. He was older than Aidan, had longish dark blond hair, hazel eyes, and a large rifle. So the posse has arrived.
“I’m Ethan,” said the man. He held out his hand while cradling the rifle in his other.
“Mine’s Aidan,” he replied, and clutched back at the first live human being he’d seen.
“Have you eaten lately?” Ethan asked.
“Some.”
The man offered him a friendly smile, displaying white even teeth and gestured Aidan to come with him.
“Follow me; I need to get back to my wife, Sarah, and my son. I hadn’t expected to be gone this long and I’m hesitant to leave them alone to begin with,” Ethan said and began to move away at a fast pace.
Aidan followed closely on his heels; no, he wasn’t going to let this one get away. They traveled out of town toward a muddy dirt path that might have once been a road. The storms had tossed sticks, logs and branches haphazardly over it. The day was overcast, the sky quiet. It was eerie. A densely wooded area but there were no squirrels playing, no birds singing, the lack of noise had a foreboding quality.
“Ethan?” Aidan began. “Could I ask you a question?” without waiting for a response Aidan forged ahead. “Are we dead?”
“Where’ve you been, on another planet?” Ethan responded with a confused grin.
Aidan cringed, another planet for sure. Jail was like nothing he ever experienced. Solitary confinement would be more amply named solitary hell. He’d been placed there for fighting and saving another’s life, and it caused a great rage within him. It didn’t matter the guard argued it was for his own safety. Aidan couldn’t stand being left alone with his memories.
Depression had hung over his head until he thought he would expire. After the guard realized Aidan’s problem, he made it a point to visit him regularly, bringing him magazines and baked goods from home. He chatted with him occasionally in a friendly way. Even though it had been the same guard who released him, Aidan spent a great deal of time pondering he had been betrayed. Perhaps the guard had feared him after all. He had left him alone in this nightmare without so much as one word on what occurred.
A new fear came on swift wings, what if Ethan sent him packing? What if he found out about jail and left him all alone on the trail? He’d be better off if he shot him than to be left all alone to wander aimlessly through a sea of debris and dead bodies. Aidan was no liar, nor was he a coward, and if he possessed nothing else in this hell of a world he maintained his integrity.
“I was in jail,” Aidan said, his eyes downcast.
“What did you do?”
“I killed a man who murdered my mother.”
He looked up, his gaze locked with Ethan’s. In that moment he bared his soul, his raw emotions. All the anger and hurt and frustration shone from his eyes bright with unshed tears. Aidan wanted more than anything to accompany this man back to his family, back to reality and sanity. He couldn’t go on alone any longer.
Ethan stood quietly for a moment. “Come on,” Ethan said, exhaling loudly. He clamped a hand onto Aidan’s shoulder and gave him a wry smile. “Anyone who’d go to jail for his mother doesn’t seem all bad.”
* * * *
The traveling was slow going. At night Tansy and her brood found shelters in basements with partial roofs, under bridges that were standing. When they were lucky, which wasn’t often, a tiny cave or hole in the ground gave them some relief from the bitter weather. Their feet and legs ached from constant motion and the cold, while noses ran like leaky faucets. Tansy wept most nights from the agony in her back and shoulders from carrying Michaela, they took turns with her, but the loads they carried to survive were heavy. The drudgery of day to day living, existing, had taken its toll.
Marge was faring the worst, her feet were an agony of broken blisters; her limping grew pronounced as the days dragged by. Her hands and face were chapped and peeling. The weight she lost had her clothes hanging, she looked thinner; her gaunt forlorn face held deep black circles around tired red-rimmed eyes devoid of life, she wept often for Sam.
They found a small building with a sturdy cement basement that was dry but smelled of mold.
A vending machine held a single bottle of semi-frozen water and an icy can of diet Pepsi. Tansy searched the corners of their new shelter, not wanting Mike to become easy prey for rats.
Tansy had taken the initiative and made a slingshot. It was a crude piece of stick that looked like a small divining rod. She found a stretchable piece of black rubber from a car’s engine. She slit two small holes in either side of a piece of leather from a ripped jacket, threaded the rubber through the leather at the ends and practiced. At first she couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn, even if one had been standing. With determination she became a fair shot, at least enough to frighten any vermin away. It was only by accident she found she could hit food. While aiming at a large coniferous tree, Tansy absently aimed for a branch, her gaze intent on her target. The next thing she knew a large plump gray squirrel lay dead at her feet. Her stomach queasy, Tansy thought they couldn’t possibly eat it, or could they?
After the initial shock of getting over what they were eating, it became a habit of searching for the quick little creatures. Survival instincts kicked in. Tansy remembered making a bola with her grandfather, a few hand-sized stones attached to pieces of rope and spun overhead. They’d done it for fun, but her grandfather mentioned you could hunt birds like that. Not many seemed to exist, but taking a chance paid off when Tansy noticed a small group of geese by a pond.
Tansy felt exhilarated when the geese took flight and she let fly her weapon bringing down one of them. As always, her elation died when she realized what her next task would be. Though the bird wasn’t as difficult to gut and clean she hoped she would get over the need to vomit when the innards came outwards.
“Look what I found,” Emmy squealed.
Emmy, Chris and Shanie had gone for a small search of the building. Tansy, Marge and Michaela stayed to set up their sleeping quarters. Tansy started a fire with a piece of flint, a stone that seemed fairly common and the back of her steel blade. The matches were gone, their lighters exhausted. It had been with hesitation Tansy had thrown out their flashlight, but with batteries nonexistent and their need to always lighten the load, it seemed the only intelligent thing to do. It came with bittersweet feelings. Their grip on their past life was coming to an end.
“Toilet paper,” Emmy shouted, waving it about for all to see with a look so full of self-satisfaction her mother was hard-pressed not to laugh. Although it would be a welcome relief, everyone was feeling a bit raw from using old rags and leaves or whatever they could get their hands on.
“I found it on the floor in a cubical. There’s no water in the toilets, and the sinks don’t work, but I grabbed it when I saw it.” She then smiled secretly and held out her hand. “Best of all look what I found.” Three closed packets lay on Emmy’s open palm.
“Oh, presents,” Michaela declared.
Chris turned crimson and Marge chuckled.
“They’re presents all right,” Emmy concurred.
Besides toilet paper, tampons had been nonexistent. Tansy hadn’t thought about it. After Michaela was born she hemorrhaged and needed an emergency hysterectomy. Marge had been a ‘late in life’ mom. Approaching sixty she’d hit menopause and not having any daughters she had been unconcerned. Emmy, mortified, had run into the problem. Granted she had been late but her mother reassured her it was not uncommon during a stressful time.
“Could I have one?” Shanie asked.
Emmy leaned closely to Shanie in a conspiratorial sort of way. When Shanie offered her an embarrassed nod, Emmy handed over all three packets. Michaela rebelled with a shriek of protest wanting a present too, but Chris was quick to offer a distraction. He did what Michaela referred to as the duck dance. His lips pursed and with arms outstretched he preceded to waddle-chase the child and was rewarded with appreciative laughter from all.
Wooden chairs broken into pieces lay in a pile close to a fire. Tansy stuffed the rest of a rodent’s nest into a small pouch she was using as a tinder kit. Rodents gathered small bits of fluff and soft dry things that were receptive to minor sparks.
They shared the can of diet pop from the vending machine for dinner. It was the only sustenance they’d had besides the last of their provisions, depleted almost two days prior, a solitary can of chicken broth. Tansy gave Michaela the last sip of water from the bottle they found. Michaela succumbed to her exhaustion soon after.
The night was quiet, too quiet for Tansy. She couldn’t help but have an uneasy feeling. They were pressed against the far side of the wall, the concrete cold against their backs, but it offered the most protection. The tornadoes had been subsiding, the rain lessening. Tansy assumed it was because of steady colder temperatures. The smell of snow was in the air and Tansy worried; they had a long distance to travel.
They would now face frostbite, hypothermia and hibernating animals. There would be no plant life as it would most certainly get buried. Their existence would depend on what they could find. Searching for scraps like wild animals.
Tansy was the last to sleep; her heavy eyelids closed reluctantly and soon she slumbered. Dreams of chaos and doom haunted her until soon she was sitting bolt upright. The fire had died down to embers, Tansy reached for the pile of wood nearby. When she rebuilt the fire, she settled back beside Michaela who was too weak to move in her sleep.
Something wasn’t right; Tansy didn’t know what. She didn’t know how she knew, she could just feel it. Then she heard it, a whisper, a soft expletive and then silence. They weren’t alone. Her hand closed on the rifle she always kept by her side. With her toes, she nudged Chris who was to her left, his face in her direction. He opened his eyes. When Chris noted Tansy’s strained features in the soft light, he moved his hand slightly to clasp his mother’s; her eyes flew open immediately. All knew they were in for trouble.
At a signal from Tansy, the three jumped up, protectively standing in front of the others. Emmy and Shanie woke instantly and amidst the confusion rose to join their ranks while Michaela still slumbered. A chuckle from the shadows sounded as three powerfully built men came into their view. They advanced upon them. Tansy’s breath caught.
She had never felt so terrified in her life.
Chapter 4
The men were filthy. Their pungent clothing was caked in dirt and grime, or smeared blood and fouled guts. Tansy detected a rotted odor permeating from the lot of them. Her offended nose wrinkled. She thought s
he smelled bad.
“Easy baby, we’re not going to hurt you,” the largest man said, sauntering closer. He pulled a filthy hat from his head. He was bald, his features pure rough male, it made him look dangerous as hell. She could see his powerful muscles ripple under his clothing, they were that huge. All of them had short unruly beards covering dirty unwashed faces. All three were dressed in army fatigues, although nothing about them spoke army, a decided lack of nobility of character. The largest man, obviously the leader of the pack, looked them over with a leer, his eyes lingering on the two teenage girls.
“Don’t come any closer,” Tansy warned, holding her rifle high. Her heart hammered within her chest. She was terrified. Terrified for her girls. The rifle held only a single shot at a time. Even if she made it count there would be two men left, all three were over six foot four, the largest easily six-six, powerfully built.
“It’s all right,” the biggest man soothed.
“Stay back,” Tansy warned again, teeth gritted, her riffle trained on his broad chest.
The man raised his hands in supplication and he stopped advancing. They stood calmly, one with his arms crossed over his chest grinning.
“Mommy?”
Michaela woke and pulled herself up by grasping her mother’s pant leg. One of the men looked wide-eyed at the child, then to Tansy and back to Mike. His interest angered Tansy and her hand steadied the rifle onto him, lowering the barrel to the man’s groin.
“I’m a damned good shot,” Tansy threatened.
Back To Our Beginning Page 6
