Lev was a calm patient man, yet he seemed to get irritated with how slow I moved. I didn’t get it. He unpacked the radio stuff and brought it to the back bedroom.
“Starting tomorrow, I want to call out. Hourly. Try to reach someone. Helena, or Hal. Even if we stay here, we need to find out what is going on out in the world.”
What was going on with Lev?
Barking out orders, really planning ahead. Wanting me to try to reach the camps of Helena and Hal, when we hadn’t heard from them in weeks.
Something was off. I stopped asking questions and just did what he requested. A part of me thought maybe he just wanted to get settled and get back into the swing of things.
Before we left the cabin, before we left to seek out ‘The Green Areas’ and life off that mountain, we had been resolved.
As resolved as we could be with what we knew.
We arrived at my father’s cabin, six of us. My husband was the first to die. He was bitten and by the time we got to safety, he was already infected. It was hard to believe that over the course of nearly four months, fifteen people sought sanctuary on my father’s property.
And one by one … we became just a few.
Behind the shed were eight graves.
My husband, daughter Addy, father, my stepmother Lisa, Bobby, a little girl named Hannah, Manny Reis and our friend, Brian Cade.
There were a father and son from Big Bear Camp that had stayed with us. Bill and Bill Junior. They left to find family and other people. I wondered if they did, or if they fell victim to the world.
Dozens of healthy people fled Big Bear near the end.
Where were they?
My father was the last to pass away.
After his death, a few of the infected made their way to our fence. Mainly it was quiet.
We were settled. In Lev, Edi and even Katie’s eyes the cabin was home, and for the long haul. Not me, I needed to see what was beyond our fence. Maybe there was a world out there and we were missing it. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I held hopes that we were just a small pocket of civilization affected by the virus.
We had heard that Canada wasn’t even hit.
How would we ever know for sure if we never left our secure, fenced in property?
After dinner and not long after dark, Lev finished unpacking and worked on checking the fences.
I cleaned up, tucked Katie into bed, then grabbed my folders to work on my project.
Some would call it silly, but I believed my project was important because it was the history of the end. My cell phone, a piece of technology many believed useless was my tool. I couldn’t make calls, but I took pictures. The more time passed, the more pictures I took.
The cabin, Big Bear, my garden, people … infected.
I loaded them on my laptop and after things settled, Lev grabbed the printer and paper from Big Bear and we printed them.
Not all. We ran out of ink and paper. There were enough printed for me to work on the project though. I placed them in a folder. The photos were part one. Part two was writing down information about each picture and as much as I could recall about them.
In my mind, someone, somewhere in the future would view them as pages in a history book. I know if I were living in the future, I would want to know as much as I could about what nearly wiped us out.
Perhaps it already wiped us out.
We just didn’t know.
The hot day had cooled some and I took the folder and some bourbon out to the porch to work by the light of a lantern. The bourbon was courtesy of my stepmother Lisa, a functioning alcoholic who brought enough booze for years.
I needed a drink, it had been a long day. I brought two glasses in case Lev ever stopped working.
The porch was peaceful. It had been my entire life.
My father had built a huge porch for the cabin. My whole life I had been a porch sitter, no matter where I was. I always loved sitting on the steps and not the gliders and chairs. The cabin porch had lots of great memories and now sadly, horrible ones as well.
I shot my own brother on that porch after he viciously attacked Cade.
Cade had been an accidental addition to our cabin family. He was smart, medically knowledgeable and a friend. He bled out in Lev’s arms. His blood still stained the porch.
Every time I stepped on that porch, I saw the blood stain. Ironically, when I opened my folder, Cade’s picture was right on top. It made me smile. It was taken in Evans City when he and I were trapped in the car. Infected surrounded us, Cade had been bit and we thought he was going to die. His remarkably good spirits were the result of not only a ton of medical marijuana but the fact, as we found out later, he wasn’t infected.
He took a selfie of us, called it the first and last picture ever. It wasn’t.
I grabbed my pen and started writing under the printed picture. I wrote the date, why the picture was taken and the events before and after.
“Good to see you working on that,” Lev said.
I peered up. “You speak.”
“I have since I was three.” He sat down next to me. “Soon I’ll go to the Cranberry Walmart and see if I can get another cartridge for the printer so you can finish printing.”
“I’m still taking pictures.”
“I know.”
“You’re mad.”
“No, I’m not mad. Busy. We should have never left in the first place. There was a lot to unpack.”
“So why unpack in one day?”
“I wanted to get settled. I just wanted to know for sure we had stopped.”
I placed my folder to the side, grabbed the bourbon pouring him some. “Mad. You’re pissed about leaving.” I handed him the glass. “You didn’t eat dinner. By the way, Edi is upset about that. You mope, you want to say, ‘I told you so’ to me, you checked the fences ten times. Usually you are polite. You aren’t today. Something snapped. You haven’t been this annoyed with me since that fateful night when you fought with me about driving when drinking.”
Lev’s mouth dropped open. “Where is all this coming from?”
“The fact that you barely spoke to me after we left Lancaster. Only to bark out orders. Obviously you’re mad.”
“Not mad.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I know you are. When you’re mad, or emotional, your dialect slips through.”
“My … dialect?” he asked.
“Yeah, you know that hint of Russian sound.”
“That’s accent. Not dialect.”
“Same thing.”
“No. It’s not. Dialect is words, Accent is sound. Then again, you said Russian, I am Serbian. And don’t say same difference.” He sipped his drink. Besides, I don’t have an accent.”
“Lev,” I laughed his name. “You do. Evident by the fact that you don’t use contractions when you’re emotional or mad. Which brings out your ….” I raised my eyebrow. “Accent.”
Lev sighed out heavily and loudly, rolling his glass between his hands. “You’re right.”
“Ah! You said, ‘you’re’, and not, ‘you are’. So that means you’re not mad anymore.”
“I was never mad.”
“Okay, then what is it? It’s something.”
“It’s not anger. I was staying focused because I was … concerned. Felt guilty maybe. Yeah ... guilty. That’s it.”
“Guilty? Lev, why on earth do you feel guilty?”
He stared out at the fence, sipped his drink again. “Let’s play a word association game.”
I cocked back.
Did he just switch the subject?
“Word association?”
He nodded.
I sighed. “Fine. Okay, you don’t want to talk about it. I get it. Go on.”
“Maybe some things are hard to come out and say. Word association.”
“Shoot,” I said.
“Was that a word for me?” Lev asked. “Because I was going to give you words.”
“Lev, really, I was just saying that for you to go on.”
> “You don’t remember, do you?” he asked. “Word association?”
It took a second and then I did. When he and I were kids, and his English was really bad, we communicated with word association. As we got older it was our way to talk about things without talking about them. “Oh, wow, yeah. Go on. Give me words.”
“Camp,” he said.
“Tent.”
“Hide.”
“Seek.”
He looked at me as if he didn’t approve of my response. “Infected.”
“Corkers.”
Lev nodded. “Station Wagon.”
“Family.”
Silence. He stared out, but I could see something was going on behind his eyes...
“So … let me see if I can connect the dots. When we arrived at the Green Area. When we were by the fence you saw infected.”
“It was after you said we would come back here. You hugged me. I saw them. I hid that from you.”
“That’s fine,” I shook my head. “I’m glad you didn’t tell me. I don’t want to hear about them.”
“The infected are still out there,” Lev said.
“I didn’t think they wouldn’t be. I mean just because we didn’t see any on the way didn’t mean they were gone. Bobby said, smaller areas would be the last to die out. Honestly, I don’t get why this caused such a mood, or why it made you feel guilty.”
“You are missing a word,” Lev said.
I thought about it. “Station Wagon. You mean two words.”
“Yes.”
“I figured it was us.”
Lev shook his head. “No. When we were getting back in the truck, that was when I saw this man, he was making a mad dash to close the back door of a Station Wagon. I could see as we pulled away, he was waving for us to stop.” His head lowered. “I didn’t.”
“Station Wagon. You think he had a family?”
“I think he went there like us and … I kept going.”
“Why do you feel guilty?”
“For not saying anything, but mainly for leaving. What if he needed help?”
“Would it help if I told you that honestly, you’re not the big humanitarian outside of the people you care about? I mean, I remember one time you saying just that.”
“I know.”
“So why the guilt?”
“You wanted to find life.”
“I did. I’m a little upset that you didn’t mention it. I can also see that you knew I’d make you turn around.”
“Turning around would have put you, Edi and Katie in danger. I saw the infected.”
I nodded. “Then I understand. Is that why you kept looking in the rearview mirror? You were watching for infected?”
“No,” he said. “I was hoping the Station Wagon followed us.”
Hearing him say that shocked me. I refreshed my drink. “Wow. I did not expect that you were hoping they followed us, fearful they might have followed us ... maybe, but not hoping.” I saw his head lower. “Lev, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Alright, then what can we do about it? What do you want to do about it?’
“A part of me just wants to head back and look.”
“Then do it.”
He turned his head toward me. I could see the seriousness and pain in his eyes. He was really affected by that split second decision to leave and say nothing.
“Do it. We’ll be fine here. You’ll be fine out there. Take enough gas and just go. You shouldn’t be gone that long.”
Lev just stared at me. He didn’t say what he would, or wouldn’t do. I was sincere with my suggestion. I knew my friend. He was having a hard time with the choice he made, he needed to make it right. I also knew whatever he decided to do, he needed to know I stood by him and his decision.
THREE – COOP
July 29
In the morning, just after breakfast, Lev told me he needed to go look. I understood that. Although for a man who had stood his ground about not leaving, he was torn. Knowing him as I did, I imagined his guilt was getting the best of him. Just like it did with his friend in New York when the outbreak first occurred. He said he made a lot of self promises after leaving his infected friend. Lev never told me what all those promises were.
I knew Lev. He probably mulled over that Station Wagon all night. Thinking about those who were inside, a family maybe.
He was a do gooder, he helped people and he had to try to right a wrong. Whether it would work, remained to be seen. At least part of his conscience would be clear … only part. If he found out he could have prevented something horrible by just turning around, it was something he’d carry the rest of his life.
He didn’t have it in him to let it go, or not feel anything about it.
Good people with good hearts don’t turn just flip a page in the cold hearted book of life..
I bid him farewell with an embrace and a wish of good luck. Edi prayed for him. I suppose that would help more than my wishing him well.
He packed up some gas and took the small generator and hose with him. He’d replenish those cans, he said. That wasn’t important. Him having enough gas to get back was.
He had supplies and was armed. I was positive Lev would be fine. He’d be back eventually. I doubted it was going to be in ten hours like he predicted when he left, especially when he said he wanted to check a lot of places around us.
I appreciated his confidence in my ability to keep the camp safe. Other than my being a better shot, we had those fences. They were strong, reinforced, topped off with barbed wire and decorated with those spikes my father wanted.
The infected whether they were in their strong or weak phase, weren’t getting in. Unless hundreds showed up, I felt safe.
Since the onset I waited and worried about a hoard of them blasting our fence.
They didn’t come … yet. With my luck, they’d show up when Lev was gone. The plan if we were surrounded was to blast through the back fence and take Rutgers Four Wheel Trail down to the main road. But Lev was taking the truck so that option wasn’t there. We couldn’t very well blast out of here in the pop up camper.
So I told him if a massive amount ascended on the fence and encircled us while he was gone, we’d retreat to the storage under the cabin and he’d just have to figure out a way to get us.
After he left, I stood at the gate until I couldn’t see the truck any longer. I secured the locks and headed back into the cabin to clean up.
I wanted to do it, but Edi insisted, so I just helped her.
Katie was back to working on the mural, a pictorial history of events. My oldest, Addy had drawn on that mural many times. It saddened me to see her images all torn. I missed her terribly and I still blamed myself for her infection. I wasn’t thinking. I knew better. I knew an infected didn’t always show symptoms right away. Yet, when I saw little Hannah, I didn’t see a sick girl. I saw a child who needed help. I brought her into our family fold, and she in turn infected my daughter.
Even though all that was in the past, the pain would never be past. It would remain with me and hurt with every breath I took and every time I thought of my child.
Maybe down the road the pain would lessen, more than likely I would just get used to it.
We didn’t speak much following Lev’s departure. Edi was a little upset that Lev had left. She didn’t say anything, but I sensed it.
After doing the breakfast dishes, she told Katie, “Finish up. You can help me feed the chickens.”
“You don’t need to occupy her,” I said.
“I need the help,” Edi replied. “You should rest. You haven’t slept.”
“Maybe I’ll take a nap.”
“Good.” She held her hand down to Katie. “Let’s go feed the chickens.”
Those chickens.
I remember when Cade heard about them. He poked fun at the ridiculous notion that two eighty year old people were running around with chickens in their pop up camper. I had to tell him that it was only to br
ing them from Big Bear to our camp. The Reis couple took great care of their chickens. The camper stayed up at Big Bear with a coop built by Manny. They transported the chickens in cages in the back of their truck every season. I swear those chickens were like their children.
Manny and Edi always had chickens for as long as I could remember. Last I knew they had eight. I wondered what happened to them. I never asked. The two chickens on my property now gave us eggs, which I was grateful for.
Lev built a small hen house for them. It wasn’t much, but it worked.
Lev.
He had only been gone an hour and I couldn’t get him off my mind. Despite my friend’s survivability, I was worried about him. He was out there alone, no one had his back.
Every chance I had during the day, I looked around for him.
Before and after my nap, I peered out the window. Then I sat on the porch worked on my project, walked to the gate to look.
Ate lunch … walked to the gate, again.
Played around with the radios … checked the gate, no Lev.
The hours flew by and when night came and Lev didn’t, I was worried even more. Lev gave me a time frame of ten hours. Although I wanted him back in the time frame he gave, truth was, I always knew he wouldn’t be. So it was no surprise when it was bedtime and he wasn’t there. That didn’t stop my concern.
He’d be back, I knew that, most of all I felt it in my gut… I just didn’t know when.
FROM LEV’S SIDE
With the exception of a couple teenage years, Nila spent most of her entire life erring on the side of caution. It surprised me when she wanted to leave the cabin to look for survivors. From childhood on, she was always taking the path of least resistance. Although I had not spoken to her in adulthood, I knew what was going on with her life through uninvited commentary from my father.
“I saw Nila today.”
“That’s good.”
“She was wearing an engagement ring. Think she’s gonna marry that Paul guy, you know the one who works at Granger Market?”
“Why are you telling me this?” I’d ask.
“I thought you’d want to know.”
My Dead World 2 Page 2
