“Come on, Brains, time for you to stretch those orange legs.” He’d stopped hissing, but his ears remained flattened during the entire drive. He responded with a plaintive meow as he ambled out of the open crate she’d placed on the ground next to the Land Rover.
This was the moment of truth. Would her furry companion come back? Cats weren’t obedient like dogs, and even though they’d enjoyed an equitable partnership back at Stanford, she had no idea what to expect now. She didn’t have a choice though — he needed to relieve himself. The can of salmon she planned to give him later should lure him back.
She pulled out a bin which contained some MREs and other provisions. She bypassed the waterproof matches and magnesium fire-starter kit, opting for a long-reach disposable lighter and one of the Zippo fire starters, which was nothing more than compressed saw dust and wax. Steven called these ‘little pucks of happiness,’ saying they would ignite even when damp. It was going to be a lovely evening without any clouds to obstruct the stars that were just beginning to flicker in the darkening sky.
Julia breathed deeply, taking in the fresh, fragrant air and expelling much of the anxiety from the day’s adventure. She’d left her sanctuary and she’d covered two hundred miles today. She was alive, safe for the moment, and on her way to family and a better life than the one she’d been living this past year. She had food and water to last several weeks, even though the trip should take less time than that. And she had company, which provided an additional layer of safety on the journey. She was feeling quite pleased with herself at the moment gunfire exploded from the forest.
Then silence.
“Logan!” she yelled, her voice piercing the solitude and echoing off the enormous trees. “Logan! Are you okay?”
What should she do? Should she go after him and perhaps expose herself to whatever danger he was facing now? She’d just met the young man and already done more for him than most people would have. How far did her personal ethics require she go?
“Damn it,” she muttered. “Logan! Please answer if you can hear me!”
Still no sound came from the trees except the reverberation of her own voice.
She made a decision.
She walked back to the SUV, opened the driver’s side door, and removed the Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum revolver from the center console. There were six rounds in the cylinder and two more boxes of bullets stored below. The weapon felt baleful and heavy in her hand.
She grabbed a flashlight out of the glove box and headed for the forest. She was ten yards from the tree line when he finally answered.
“I’m okay, Julia! I’m okay!”
He emerged from the shadows with an armful of wood and a wide grin on his face. Relief washed over her as they walked back to the Land Rover.
“Young man, you scared me to death. What were you shooting at?”
“There was something growling in the woods. I was trying to go to the bathroom like you told me, and I heard a crunching sound and then a growl. I thought maybe I should scare off whatever it was so I could finish doing-my-business.”
“Well, I was worried. You did the right thing though,” she said, realizing her distress was causing him to squirm in discomfort.
“Please don’t be mad at me, Julia. I was just doing what you said, and I’m very good with my guns. I can take care of myself pretty good.”
She registered the gentle admonishment.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have been worried. I know you can take care of yourself. You’ve done a great job up until now, haven’t you?”
“Yes! I’ve done a great job.” His grin was back. “What are we having for supper?”
“Let’s see,” she said digging through the food bin. “You have your choice of chicken with black beans or beef stew with vegetables. Which sounds best to you?”
He pondered the question with the gravity of a child forced to select between two favorite toys. His attention shifted from the foil packages to her and a sly expression crossed his features.
“I think ladies get to pick first. I bet that was a test, wasn’t it?”
“No, it wasn’t a test. I just thought one might sound better to you than the other, but if you want me to choose, I’ll take the chicken.”
“I wanted the beef-stew-with-vegetables anyway. Ha!”
She didn’t know what the game was, but decided she was too tired to play.
“Do we just tear them open?”
“Not unless you want cold food. We use the self-heating device and then we wait ten minutes. We just add a little water to the flameless heater, stick the MRE back in the box, and let it do its magic. Easy peasy.”
“You put in water to make fire? Yes, that’s definitely magic.”
“No, just basic chemistry. Did you take chemistry in school?”
He shook his head. She wondered how far he’d gotten in school and if he’d had access to a decent special education program.
“When metal turns to rust, the oxidation process generates heat. Do you know what causes metal to rust?”
He glanced up at the darkening sky.
“Water!”
“That’s right! We add water to this little packet which contains salt and metal dust and it will begin to oxidize quickly, creating heat which makes the water boil. Then when we put the food package back in the box, it’s like putting a pot of soup on a hot stove. Does that make sense?”
He nodded, but the knowing smile returned. “It does make sense, especially if you mix in a little magic.”
She laughed. “Maybe just a little magic.” What harm was there in indulging his obsession? Besides, she wanted to get the fire going, eat their dinner, and get some sleep.
She suddenly remembered her itinerant pet.
“Brains! Here kitty-kitty-kitty!” she called, locating the salmon she’d set aside and pulling the lift tab. The fishy aroma was sudden and profound; the perfect cat bait.
“Oh, god, I hope he isn’t getting eaten by a bear, or whatever predators live around here.”
“I bet he’s just out hunting for mice. He’ll be fine. Just like I was.”
Logan busied himself placing large rocks around the pile of branches and twigs he’d gathered. “I saw this once on TV. This is the safe way to do it, right?”
“Yes, that looks good,” she replied, distracted. “Here’s the fire starter. Just put it in the middle, then place a few small sticks on top and light it.” She handed him the disk and the lighter. “I’ll get our dinners started and then I’m going to look for Brains. And, uh, also do my business. Will you keep an eye on it? We don’t want to burn down Yosemite.”
“Yes. I’ll make sure it stays in the rock circle. No problem. Easy peasy.”
For the next twenty minutes she wandered through the Ponderosa pines and enormous sequoias which became dense and oppressive the deeper she went into the woods. She was careful to keep the campfire in sight — getting lost in the wilderness looking for a cat would be unforgivably irresponsible. If Steven could see her now, he’d be wearing that disapproving frown that transformed him from cute nerd to curmudgeon.
Finally she gave up. Her food was probably cold by now and dusk was transitioning to night. As she trudged back to the fire holding the fish she’d brought for enticement, Logan watched her approach. He’d waited for her to return before eating.
“Don’t wait on me. Go ahead and eat.”
“Okay. You didn’t find your cat?” he asked, absorbed in the task of opening his dinner packet.
“No. I’ll leave the salmon sitting out here by the fire. Maybe he’ll show up later. He’s used to being out all night but he sure isn’t prepared to deal with the wildlife that’s around here.” She sighed. Stupid furball.
“What if something else smells it? Something bigger than Brains?”
Oh, shit. Why didn’t I think of that?
“That is an excellent point. If he doesn’t come back before we go to bed, we’ll put it in a Ziploc bag. Good thinking.�
��
The young man beamed with pride.
The MREs were tasty, but calorie-laden and lacking in fiber. She suspected a steady diet of them would prove challenging to her colon, but there were more pressing concerns at the moment than a backed-up lower intestine.
“I want to get an early start in the morning, okay?” she said, as a wave of exhaustion washed over her.
The fire crackled and popped. Logan had done a superb job of keeping it tended, and her middle-aged bones appreciated the warmth. Surely the stars at home had never sparkled so brightly as the ones she looked at now; but then how often had she taken the time to gaze up at them? There’d always been more important things to do.
She felt herself relaxing for the first time in several days. How did the saying go? The hardest part of a journey is the first step? That was true in this case. The dread with which she’d anticipated the long road trip to Steven’s house had been draining. Now that she’d begun — and so far it was less terrible than she’d expected — a modicum of relief began to edge out the anxiety.
She just might make it to Kansas.
“I’ll be ready whenever you say, Julia. I can’t wait to drive through the mountains.”
He had consumed all of his food and a bottle of water before she’d made it halfway through hers. It seemed that he might lick the inside of the container, but after a covert glance in her direction, he stuffed it back in the empty box. The protein bars they’d snacked on earlier in the car had diminished much of her hunger. Worrying about the stupid cat had affected her appetite as well.
“Do you want the rest of mine, Logan? I’m pretty full.”
He gave an enthusiastic nod, then gobbled down her leftovers.
“Where are we going to sleep?” he asked
“We’ll have to camp out here by the fire. There isn’t room in the car unless you want to sleep sitting up. I wonder if we should take turns keeping watch. I’ve never been camping before, so this will be my first time sleeping under the stars.”
“I’ve done it lots of times since everybody died.”
She marveled again at how well he’d managed in the aftermath of the plague. From her research, she’d learned that the survivors would all would have at least two characteristics in common: the first being that the Lixi molecule never actuated, which meant there’d been no directive from their genetic code to initiate the process of necrotizing the vascular system of the host, and secondly, those who survived would be highly intelligent. But not all would be Einsteins. Some would be like her and Steven, generally well-adjusted, normal people who just happened to be exceptionally smart. The intellect of others would be in the savant spectrum, like Dustin Hoffman in Rainman — gifted but only in a particular, specialized way.
The kicker was the last piece of the puzzle she’d discovered before leaving her lab. Approximately half of the survivor samples showed increased levels of anxiety, neuroticism, and even psychosis. Simply put, fifty percent of the current global population would suffer from depression and panic attacks, have obsessive tendencies, struggle in stressful situations, and exhibit all the classic symptoms of neurotic behavior. This in itself wasn’t alarming — one or two out of every ten Americans had been taking some kind of anti-depressant or anti-anxiety medication before Chicxulub. The scary part was where the serotonin levels indicated psychosis. Meaning of the fifty percent with neurosis, some of those would likely be bipolar or schizophrenic. She didn’t know what that number was, but even erring on the low side, she estimated about one survivor in ten would have cognitive difficulties and thought disorders...they might have trouble separating reality from fantasy. In some of the worst cases, they would experience paranoid delusions and hallucinations.
Julia just hoped the imagined voices heard by the afflicted didn’t tell them to kill everyone on the planet.
She studied her companion in the firelight. His facial features were quite pleasing, despite the strangeness of the golden eyes. His nose was finely shaped and his mouth was full and quick to smile when he knew he’d done well. The aroma of the blond, shoulder-length hair suggested some of the debris entwined there was fecal in nature. Perhaps she could find a delicate way to suggest he clean up a bit before they headed out in the morning. The smell in the Land Rover today would have bothered her more if she hadn’t been so focused on the driving conditions getting out of Palo Alto.
“I’m going to pull out my sleeping bag, and I have a blanket under Brains’ crate you can use if you don’t have one,” she said, stretching as she stood by the fire.
“I have my own. I’ve had it since I was little.” He fished a grimy piece of fabric out of his backpack. It was so soiled and ragged she had no idea what it might have originally looked like, and it was woefully inadequate for a night with temperatures in the fifties.
“How about you use both of them? I think it might get a little chilly tonight.” She retrieved the sumptuous fleece from the car. The soft, familiar weight of it evoked a pang of sorrow; during the winter months, it had covered the bed she shared with her husband.
“That looks fancy. Are you sure you want me to use it? I’m kind of smelly, I think. I don’t want to get your blanket all dirty.”
His anxious, troubled expression made her feel petty for having those exact thoughts.
“Don’t be silly. You’ll need something heavier than the one you have. But now that you mention it, maybe tomorrow morning before we leave, we could both do a little washing up. Plus we need to change the dressing on your shoulder.”
“Okay. I don’t mind a little washing up. Good night, Julia. Thank you for the blanket.”
The young man was asleep a few moments after his head touched the ground.
Sleep was more elusive for her. She contemplated the ramifications of accepting his companionship. To fit the survivor profile, he must fall into the savant category since he certainly didn’t possess a high IQ. That meant that if he was as good with firearms as he and his buddies claimed, he must be quite good indeed. As for neurosis or psychosis, she hadn’t seen evidence of either thus far, other than his fixation on magic; and that could be explained by the childlike intelligence.
Yes, she was glad she’d brought him with her. It had been the right thing to do under the circumstances. Now if Brains would come back in the morning, she’d be feeling cautiously optimistic when they hit the road into Yosemite.
Chapter 26
Liberty, Kansas
Six people sat at the kitchen table. Two of those were Steven and his son. The remaining four consisted of Natalie — who had saved him from getting shot by an angry mob minutes earlier — Chuck, the supermarket manager whose hostility was barely held in check, Liberty’s former librarian Marilyn who wore a carefully neutral expression, and Ed the Scarecrow, as Steven had come to think of him. Ed had coached Jeffrey’s Little League team two years ago, but he couldn’t remember what the man had done for a living before the plague.
“I’d offer you all some coffee and Danish, but I’m fresh out.”
He couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice. He still seethed at being forced to give away his food. He did have coffee — at least a dozen large cans of French roast beans were stashed in his cellar — but he wasn’t going to share them with anyone. When the coffee was gone, it couldn’t be replaced. The plants required volcanic soil, and while there were plenty of tornadoes and blizzards in Kansas, there was a marked shortage of volcanos. Besides, coffee was a luxury not a necessity.
Natalie had taken on the role of mediator, which suited her well. She’d managed to defuse the near-explosive showdown at the gate, and so far no bullets had been fired nor punches thrown. Steven wondered how long she could keep up the streak.
She ignored his remark and said, “Let’s just all agree to speak at a normal decibel level and keep the personal attacks to a minimum, and perhaps we can come to an equitable solution. Please remember, as in any negotiation, both sides must be willing to compromise.”
We’ll see about that.
He noticed Chuck scrutinizing the tubs of kale and cauliflower placed next to the stacks of mason jars.
“The fruits of our labor. That’s what you’re looking at. A hell of a lot of work. Right, Jeff?” His son nodded, pleased to have been included in the grownup discussion. He had more right to sit at that table than any of the townspeople.
“Do you think I’m an idiot, Steven? Of course this isn’t all you have. I’d bet you’ve got a stash in that bunker in your backyard. A man who has the foresight to install a fucking bunker probably thought to fill it up with food. That’s my guess.”
Chuck knew about the bunker, which would have necessitated willful surveillance of his property; it was only half-buried, but was not visible from the street. The thought of people spying on his property infuriated him.
“I’m also guessing that a man who thought to put in a windmill anticipated there might be a power outage in the foreseeable future. Again, that smacks of the type of man who plans ahead. You see where I’m going with this, Steven? I know you’re one of those doomsday prepper types, like on the TV show. The question is, how good of a prepper are you? How much food do you have? Because a lot of really hungry people want to know. Hungry people who have guns.” The man’s voice never rose and never wavered. His intellect was keener than Steven had originally assumed, a rush to judgment he’d made more than once in his life. Perhaps he had been one of those pedantic jerks.
Hell, maybe he still was.
The man continued. “I’m assuming that a person who has an electrified fence probably has a lot more to protect than just his own ass. What else did you squirrel away besides food? Medicine? Do you know a child in town died last week from pneumonia? A round of antibiotics would have saved her life. Fucking antibiotics that were easy as hell to get before, and now are nowhere to be found within a twenty mile radius. We searched every pharmacy from Salina to Garden City...nothing. So that’s the million dollar question: what all are you hoarding that could save the lives of children?”
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