They continued on and Aidan explained along the way, “You need to smell the air, Ricky; you need the nose of a bloodhound and the eyes of a hawk. But remember if you can smell them, they can smell you; you don’t want them to know you’re coming. Animals smell fear but they smell danger as well.”
Ethan and Ricky were transfixed by Aidan and his way of hunting. No wonder he looked so fit and well fed, Ethan thought. Ethan remembered Aidan said he was part of a special team. Fate must have sent him to them in their time of need. Ethan needed help as much as Aidan needed acceptance. Ethan knew Sarah was going to die. He knew their supply of food wouldn’t last forever.
When Ethan realized the storms were moving out to sea, he’d had the foresight to stock the bomb shelter. An intuitive man, he wondered if the government and media were being truthful about their situation. He’d hoped their supplies would last until the worst was over and normalcy returned. It was an ominous feeling to turn on the radio and have every station silenced. Not even static broke through the dead air allowing them to hope they were not alone in the universe. He had changed the batteries twice, tried a different radio until awful realization dawned.
When he ventured out, opening their enclosure with trepidation, wondering if the river might have reached the door, his travels throughout town and the surrounding areas yielded grim discoveries. His neighbor’s homes were obliterated; his own home was less than rubble. Life as they’d known it was gone for good. The money he’d pulled from the bank and hidden within the bomb shelter was useless. Their supply of charcoal had run out, batteries were dead and their propane was exhausted. Their dwindling stack of bottled water would disappear soon enough. Ethan knew it was just a matter of time before their supply of canned food was gone.
Ethan could fish and do a little hunting, but it wouldn’t be enough. The fish in the river had always been sporadic, and now they were most likely diseased. His last bullet for the gun was gone, used to save Aidan’s life. They would die of starvation. Ethan, like most everyone else had depended on society; he made money, he spent money, and in return society rewarded his effort by providing him with what he could buy. But those days were over, only the people with intelligence to live off the land would survive. They were lucky to have found one.
Ethan watched Aidan pull a piece of barbed wire out of his backpack, he pointed to green shrubbery. Ethan could make out a clean bite mark. Aidan approached an opening in the ground. The burrow wasn’t well hidden and with a quick motion, Aidan shoved the wire down the hole then pulled. A rabbit emerged. The barbed wire had plunged into the rabbit and lodged against a bone or internal organ, snaring it. Once he removed the rabbit from its den, Aidan wrung the rabbit’s neck, ending its pain; it lay still between his hands.
Ricky’s face was a ghostly white and for one fearful moment Aidan thought he might vomit.
“Ricky?” The boy looked at him, then the rabbit and sobbed dramatically.
“You killed the Easter Bunny!” he threw himself into his father’s arms and wept uncontrollably. Ethan patted at his son’s head; he realized that Ricky’s innocence was a thing of the past. There would be no more Easter Bunny, no Santa Claus and most definitely Ethan would never spend another Valentine’s Day with his wife. That life was over, a new one was beginning—such as it was, but Ethan was at a loss.
Aidan came to his rescue. He sat back on his heels and put his hand on Ricky’s shoulder.
“Ricky, I would never hurt the Easter Bunny, especially in front of you. What I will do is teach you how to live. There’s an old saying that if you give a man a fish he’ll eat for the day. If you teach him to fish he’ll never go hungry. I hope you never go hungry.”
Aidan looked at Ethan who was watching his son. Aidan knew what Ricky was thinking, it was the same speech Ray had basically told him the first kill he had witnessed and been a part of. Aidan tried not to chuckle remembering his own mortification when Ray had downed a beaver.
“Let’s go,” Aidan said, rising to his feet. With twine he tied the rabbit to his backpack.
“Are we going back now?” Ricky asked; he swiped the remains of his tears from his face.
“Not yet, we need some vitamins, rabbits don’t have enough.”
Aidan led them to a pine tree; he dug down at the base of the tree and removed the outer bark. He peeled back the outer layer to expose the inner layer and took out a large chunk knowing pines were rich in vitamin C. Bark was best in spring when their sap was flowing but knew it would be fine when boiled, it could be ground into flour after boiling.
Aidan collected spruce needles for tea, also rich in vitamin C. Along with that, he found red spruce, the young shoots were edible raw if gathered earlier in the season and you could also boil the needles for tea as was his intent.
Last but not least Aidan collected worms. As Ethan and Ricky looked on in disgust Aidan explained as he turned over logs and rocks to pull forth the slimy creatures that they offered their own rewards. Worms were full of protein and large amounts of amino acid. He squished one through his fingers to eject the mucky substance and explained he would dry them and pound them to mush and mix with other foods.
The victorious hunters returned with their bounty. Aidan moved away to skin the rabbit. He had slit its throat earlier to let it bleed then made a ring cut around its legs just above the knee. Then cut around the forelegs in the same place, cutting down the inside of the rear leg he cut to the crotch of the rabbit. He showed Ethan and Ricky, taking time to explain the method.
Once the rabbit was ready to roast Aidan skewered it in chunks and placed it over their barbeque indoors. Remembering the tiger, he didn’t want the meat left out with its enticing aroma making them vulnerable. As it was, Aidan was contemplating a spear. His mind was working on how to use the sharp edges of the tin cans for a more lethal weapon. The roots and tubers he found had been soaked then roasted in ash under a tiny cooking fire directly outside the shelter. He mixed the ground worms with the boiled inner bark, a few seeds, crushed nuts, berries and a little rabbit fat for a protein mixture.
Ethan was amazed at the extent of Aidan’s knowledge; he’d thought all plant life dead this time of year. Aidan found what he needed with ease. Ethan’s eyes misted as Sarah ate more than he’d seen her eat in months. Ricky chewed with wide-eyed wonder and reached for another of the small round cakes Aidan had made. While stuffing it into his mouth, he asked Aidan if he would cook again tomorrow.
Chuckling, Aidan tousled the boy’s hair but refrained from answering, he glanced at Sarah who was pale and slight. Aidan urged another small cake at her.
She smiled but declined. Eating seemed to require too much energy and she looked tired. Ethan cleared the table and took the plates and utensils outside where he scoured them with sand and rinsed them in brownish-gray murky water. The river would remain a dirty color until spring. Usually it cleared by early summer. Ethan was hopeful it would do the same this summer. He had spent his share of time pulling what debris he could from the water, trying to keep it from flooding higher up.
Ethan’s thoughts had been warring within his mind for hours. Aidan’s bounty of food reminded Ethan winter was here. Feeding his family was a frightening thought; the animals were so scarce. The snow had been falling in small amounts, though the area had never experienced large amounts of accumulated snow, except on rare occasions. The area was also never prone to the horrendous tornadoes that had assaulted them, and the few tremors from earthquakes felt within their shelter were terrifying.
If he could persuade Aidan to stay and help, to teach him and Ricky how to survive off the land, they would be in a much better position to survive. He approached the subject timidly, afraid of Aidan’s response. Ethan turned and with resolve faced Aidan who had followed him outside to help.
“You plan on sticking around?”
Aidan could see the worry etched in Ethan’s eyes. At first Aidan was a bit shocked then thought somewhat bitterly, why would they be any different? Wh
y would they want him around? He was a killer after all. They were a nice family who helped him out for the night, that was all.
“Your expertise is very handy; you’ve been very helpful,” Ethan rushed ahead noticing Aidan’s frown. Maybe he didn’t want to be stuck babysitting three people. Ethan had been doing his best but he had to admit he needed help, and truth be told he was terrified of being left all alone with Ricky after Sarah died. What would happen to his son if Ethan got sick, hurt or killed? Who would help him if Ricky became ill?
“What are you asking?” Aidan said, his voice tight, he waited almost too fearful to hope.
“I thought, hoped, maybe you might consider sticking around. I know Sarah would really appreciate it. I would as well and Ricky already thinks so highly of you. We wouldn’t be trouble; we’ll share what we have. I know it’s not much but...” Horrified, Ethan realized he was close to begging, he’d never begged another person for anything in his life, except the time he asked Sarah to marry him he’d come awfully close.
Looking around and nodding, his feet shuffling, Aidan was so grateful he could hardly speak.
“Sure, I’ll stay,” Aidan’s voice was a choked whisper; he didn’t trust himself to say more. He could stay. He had a family, friends, no more unbearable loneliness. No more walking through a sea of dead bodies bewildered.
Smiling with relief, Ethan draped a hand over Aidan’s shoulder. “So, are you cooking again tomorrow?”
Aidan laughed; then, filled with relieved happiness he roared with laughter, and the two of them continued home.
Chapter 6
Making a decision, Clint lowered the sleeping child back into her mother’s waiting arms. Tansy clutched Michaela to her chest.
“You’re jist gonna have to trust I won’t hurt you none.”
He walked with hesitance back to his friends and sat down, still keeping his eyes trained on Tansy and Michaela.
Both camps slept in turns the remainder of the night. When daylight came, the winter storm still raged, gusts of determined wind slipped down the stairs to chill them to the bone, their pile of broken wooden chairs was running low. Clint approached their fire and offered more venison for breakfast. Tansy accepted it warily. She felt like an animal being bated for entrapment, but they needed to eat and the meat was welcome, something to help ease their hunger and warm their bellies. The only tense moment came when Michaela coughed. Clint sprung to his feet, followed by everyone else. All weapons were raised in agitation. Thankfully the child’s coughing subsided and Clint sat down again, his eyes never straying from their side of the room.
“Does he have to keep watching us like that?” Chris hissed between clenched teeth, he maintained a death grip on the rifle, refusing to part with it.
“Oh, darling, he’s just concerned,” Marge began. “I think maybe your nose is a little out of joint at not being the only male here.”
The fury in Chris’ face told otherwise, yet Tansy couldn’t help but wonder if maybe it wasn’t a little true; it had been only them for some time.
“As soon as the storm subsides we’ll pack up and head out,” Tansy reassured him.
“What’s to keep them from following us? They obviously can cover more terrain, and I’ll bet they’re good at it,” Chris grouched.
“Maybe we should be grateful they’re here,” Marge said.
“Grateful,” Chris spluttered. “Are you insane? There’s only one thing they want from you women and when they get it, they’ll take off.”
“Do not be rude to me, young man,” his mother snapped, turning crimson.
Tansy watched the byplay between the two; she could see their points. Her mind was sidetracked by Michaela wanting a drink of water. Tansy realized there was no water left to give her.
“I’m sorry baby, but I don’t have...”
“Got a pot?” a deep voice called from across the room.
“Yes of course.”
“Go fill it with snow,” Cord said, he then went back to sharpening the long steel hunting knife he was working on.
Feeling stupid, Tansy almost smacked her forehead. It had snowed last night. They could melt some and they’d have lots of water. Maybe enough to wash up a bit. Tansy pulled out the cast iron pot, but was stopped by a shaky hand to her wrist.
“What about,” Emmy began, casting a sideways glance at the other fire, “them?” Tansy noticed how Emmy’s fearful gaze hypnotically watched Cord’s large hand slide up and down the long steel glinting knife.
“You’ll be fine. Chris has the rifle. Shanie can swing her bola and you have the slingshot. We all can’t go; it’s blowing too bad and Mike would freeze. I need you and Shanie to stay with her,” Tansy answered.
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Tansy was concerned about being followed, but there wasn’t any way around it. She couldn’t send the girls, and she had noted the way Cord looked at Chris, as if he was tempted to take a swing at him. Chris was still more child than man, he wouldn’t stand a chance against any of them. Not that she would, even Chris was bigger than her, but Tansy doubted the men wanted to beat her up. Grimacing, Tansy knew what they wanted.
Tansy made her trek to the stairs holding the only cooking pot they owned. It was the only cast iron pot in the whole house; she had grabbed it off her knick-knack shelf along with the lanterns, thinking it more resilient than the other pans that burned, scorched or melted over the intense open flames.
Tansy made her way down the freezing halls, clutching her coat to her as wind whipped in from shattered windows. The howls and shriek’s accompanying the wind sounded eerie. Tansy couldn’t help but think they were lost souls haunting the building, looking for a chance to inhabit her body.
Enough of that.
Tansy reached the stairs to the door of the building. Although it was close to midmorning it was dark, just enough light permeated to help with her direction and Tansy reached for the door. Grasping the handle she turned the knob, but was knocked backwards off her feet; the iron pot went flying, rolling before it finally clattered to a halt. With the breath knocked out of her, Tansy struggled to her feet rubbing her hip; she reached for the pot. She’d have to be more careful, the force of the wind could’ve sent her farther back; she could’ve cracked her head on the stairs. Then what would she do? She’d be useless or dead. Where would that leave her girls?
Tansy reached for the doorknob, bracing herself. The force at which the door swung inwards had sent it crashing back to closed. With two hands this time, after setting the pot down beside her feet she pulled while also shoving her shoulder to the door. The wind was fierce. It whipped her hair around her face into her eyes. The snow was mixed with freezing rain and it struck her face with the effect of pins and needles. She made a fast grab for the pot, not wanting to prolong her exposure. She cringed in pain, thankful the children hadn’t come.
Tansy went far enough to a steel banister, bent down and scooped the heavy snow into her pot to reach the top. Visibility was zero beyond a foot; the wet snow fell in thick sheets, straight down like a waterfall. She didn’t relish the thought of doing this very often. Washing would be out of the question until the storm subsided.
With her pot filled, Tansy pushed at the closed door, it wouldn’t budge. Cradling the pot with one hand up against her upper chest she turned the knob, again no success. Beginning to panic, Tansy placed the pot of snow down beside her, grasped the handle with both hands and threw her shoulder into it. When this met with no success Tansy began kicking at the hard door. She was frozen. The storm beat down on her covering her hair and jacket, soaking her through to the bone; she berated herself for not even sticking a hat on her head or mittens on her hands. She’d been too concerned with returning. She wouldn’t last long in this weather.
Tansy continued to beat at the door, knowing if no one came soon she’d freeze to death. But no one would come, they couldn’t risk her daughters coming to help her, they couldn’t, please God
wouldn’t. Tansy’s breath came in labored gasps at the terrifying thoughts of one or both of her daughters coming to look for her, the men going after them, hurting them, her dying and unable to help. What would become of them and Michaela if she wasn’t around to protect them?
Tansy screamed in raw fury, as the images bombarded her assaulted mind. She kicked at the door, battering it with frozen fists, howling along with the storm. Pushing, shoving, clawing, hurling her slight body at it while her flesh and bones complained at the agony she was inflicting. Finally the door flew open. Tansy went sailing inside, crashing against a brick wall that groaned with the force of the collision. She was caught up in a powerful embrace and began her assault anew. Kicking and flailing her arms, Tansy beat at a rock hard chest, arms only clasped her tighter until she sagged against the man and whimpered in defeat.
Tansy felt a hand cup her chin and she was forced to look up into brilliant blue eyes. Clint held her with one arm to his chest, or they both knew she would collapse to the hard tiled floor.
“What the hell happened?”
“I couldn’t—open—the—door,” Tansy stammered, trying to catch her breath, her lungs freezing, paining, she was shaking, her judgment clouded.
Assessing the situation Clint realized she’d been terrified. She must have been hitting at the door in terror, and her frustration had turned to him when he caught her.
“It’s okay, honey, you’re safe now; I’m here.”
Clint had never considered himself a bright man; he knew more about living off the land than he did about reading or writing. He was hopeless at math and had thought for the longest time ‘algebra’ was a girl’s name. But what he did know was the woman he was holding felt frozen and she needed warmth, now. Clint began to undue his jacket and to his surprise Tansy took up her pitiful assault on him, pummeling weakened fists against his chest, trying to pull free from his grasp.
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