by Lisa Acerbo
“Maybe you should just rest too. Quiet like Caleb.”
“Definitely attitude. Perhaps I will remove my stimulating conversation since you cherish it so much. Will you be all right behind the wheel? You haven’t had a lot of sleep.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
Emma gave Jenna a quick kiss on the cheek before closing her eyes. The hum of the car’s engine and the textures of the night washed over her. For a moment it was peaceful but then Eric’s face surfaced.
She let him fight, which made her responsible for his death. She should have said something and forced him back into the small theater and away from the fight.
The back seat had gone silent. She glanced in the rearview mirror to ensure the patient was still alive.
“Thank you.” His gaze trapped hers for a second. “For everything. I owe you so much for today.”
“I didn’t do anything. You had plenty of volunteers offering to nurse you back to health. You’re popular that way.”
“Thank you anyway.” He closed his eyes.
She’d bet her life on the fact he wasn’t going back to sleep.
12
Jenna woke. Early morning sun drifted through the curtains. She sat, alert and then yawned and stretched. She’d slept on a real bed with sheets, pillows, and blankets.
True, the blankets had moth holes and the pillows had mouse droppings on them when they arrived a few weeks ago but making it to High Point Inn had changed everything. She wasn’t afraid to face the day and hadn’t had a nightmare in weeks. But it hadn’t all turned out good.
A five-minute hot shower waited, one of the new luxuries she was both excited and thankful for. Hot water came via the generator at the inn but plans for a better system were under discussion. With ingenuity, heat and electricity would never be lacking.
Jenna could only describe John as a post-pandemic hipster. But no matter his fashion sense, he’d turned out to be exceedingly knowledgeable about so many useful things.
An engineer in his former life, he fashioned a gasifier, a gas generator, which turned wood into energy. The group ran appliances like the stove with it, heated the water for the showers, and powered the cars without gasoline. Making additional units took time, which meant everyone cut and hauled lumber daily to get them through the winter with heat and power.
She twirled, enjoying the luxury resort room she’d claimed. The top floor, corner room held a gorgeous view of the lake and a sense of security. A faded oriental rug rested under a huge bed. The walls were a rich, warm, taupe brown, accented by heavy drapes.
The goal today—clean the grimy window coverings.
They needed a good thrashing. She dragged them off the rods, choking on the plumes of dust smog filling the air.
She’d beat the drapes using a broom—to within an inch of their lives if she must. She’d have to borrow a broom from the supply closet.
This simple task reminded her so much of former times. When the drapes were dust-free they’d hang again and should keep the room shaded in the early morning and insulated when winter arrived. A mundane task, something deplorable in her previous life, brought joy and a little nostalgia.
Her room. A space to find solitude.
There were two large chairs. While Jenna had never been a person happy to remain idle for long periods, she hoped to start her journal again and record what went on at the inn. The chairs and the small center table between them, would be the perfect place for her to write.
She meandered into the hallway in a pair of ratty pajamas the group scavenged from some of the nearest homes though they were few and far between. The pajamas were bright purple plaid, not what the fashionista inside her would have chosen, but the soft flannel was comfortable and reassuring. Jenna came to an unexpected halt. “Caleb.”
He stood at the door to his room, avoiding the milky lights filtering through the windows. “Hi.” His greeting fell flat.
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Need anything.”
“No.” He turned away.
Since arriving at the inn, Caleb had been silent and moody, if not downright rude. And she had no idea why. Could Eric’s death have devastated him? Caleb avoided her. When chance brought them together, conversations were brief and strained. Exactly like this one.
“Sorry for interrupting the important business of heading into your room.” The words lashed the air. “Go get some sleep and forget I ever said anything. Just forget I exist.”
“Fine.” He turned the knob to open his door.
“You are so frustrating.” Tears threatened. “Is it strange I care about how you are doing?”
Jenna stalked outside, banging the front door shut and sprinted from the porch of the inn through the meadow, running from the rage within. Since settling into the High Point Inn, she had the luxury of getting mad at the living rather than the dead. With over 350 acres of forests and the natural boundaries, the inn was perfect for defending against Streakers. Dense woods on one side and the reservoir on the other, provided protection from roaming undead. The inn only had one, twisty main road and the closest town was nearly twenty miles away. The group, since their arrival, had also fortified most of the inn’s boundaries with fences.
Winded, Jenna huffed, slowing to a walk, ambling around the grounds. The morning sun warmed her shoulders, but the air remained crisp.
She’d put the incident behind her. Put Caleb behind her for good and start fresh in the garden. Inside chores be damned. While everyone cooked, did laundry and kept public areas clean in collaboration, some chores were like Streakers guts. Disgusting.
Human or New Race, the common area men’s bathrooms were disgusting, and that was the duty awaiting today. Sure, there were private bathrooms in each room, but people often used the common bathrooms to conserve water.
A good soldier, she never complained outright, but wished for more time to spend on personal projects.
While there was so much to like at the inn, George’s words about sticking to the kitchen had enjoyed some truth. She no longer had to kill Streakers and thanks to the landscape and solid fences erected, patrols were irregular. As much as she hated it, men banded together for labor intensive jobs like cutting and hauling wood and special projects like the gasifier. She cooked and cleaned, completing mundane chores.
She’d save chores until later out of consideration to New Racers who tended to live nocturnally and sleep through the afternoon.
A lame excuse, but justification for her actions.
After spending so many months living in close proximity to everyone, wasting an amazing day was an impossible idea. It didn’t even matter she ran outside in pajamas.
One thing about living through the apocalypse, no one cared if you were eccentric, as long as a beating heart confirmed you were of the living.
Jenna put a hand to shade her eyes so she could see the tilled plot of land that would become a garden. A frown formed.
What was there?
Bursting into another sprint, this time her shouting was for an entirely different reason. Rabbits and deer in her garden, sure, but this.
“Get away,” Jenna yelled at the big white horses whose heads hung over the chicken wire fence she had erected. “Move, move!”
The horses failed to comply.
“Really?”
The horses looked at her with skepticism.
Out of breath once again, she approached the large, rather filthy, animals.
“How did you make it so long, out here alone?”
The horses looked at her perplexed and wary but did not shy away. They’d stopped munching the tops of the carrots which had only begun to sprout. At least they had left the beets, kale, and turnips untouched.
Jenna had started her garden the first weeks after the group arrived, finding the work soothing, but a lack of knowledge frustrating. It wasn’t like she could jump on a computer and Google what crops to plant in late summer and early fall.
&nbs
p; She was nothing if not persistent and planted, watered, and watched carrots, turnips, radishes, cucumbers, beets, and Swiss chard emerge from seed.
Proud. Heck yes but not alone in the venture.
There were mornings she’d come out to the garden and find the entire area watered and weeded. No one admitted to being her garden elf. She wished she could thank the person or people helping, and soon, the garden would be too big of a job for a single soul. Many hands would need to pitch in when the plants made the trip to the greenhouse.
What to do with the plants in the winter would be another challenge. Weeds triumphed daily and the greenhouse required serious rehabilitation. Broken windows needed replacement and the tables for potting the plants, repaired. She put time in at the greenhouse every day, but it was slow going.
What about the problem in front of her?
The horse’s mane reminded her of her former best friend’s long hair. Holding tight, she led the beast away. Large hooves clomped next to her boots. It followed willingly, bobbing its head against the flies. The second one fell in line.
I guess even summer horsemanship camp becomes useful during the ends of time.
The drafts plodded along side to a nearby field where they grazed. Hoping the horses wouldn’t bolt, Jenna trekked across the field to a barn for rope. Quentin was inside, welding a broken pipe from one of the bathroom sinks. His bare, rugged arms filled out a T-shirt stained from sweat and hard work. Recently cropped sandy brown hair stood straight and spiked.
“Hey stranger.” A gap-tooth smile beamed.
While Caleb had become a ghost, she’d seen a lot of Quentin.
They managed to turn up in the same place or work on the same project. The more close and comfortable they became, the farther Caleb slipped away. She hated the stilted conversation when they should be mourning Eric’s death together. Every attempt to approach him and offer comfort met resistance and, at times, hostility.
“How are you today?” Quentin asked.
“Two horses have invaded my garden. Do you have something to tie them with in here?”
“Horses? Can I see?” His eyes lit with excitement.
Her heart fluttered. Maybe. A little.
“Sure. The more the merrier when wrangling horses.”
“They used to have an equine program here. Everything you need should be around somewhere.” Moving toward the other side of the barn, he pointed to the wall. “There’s lead ropes and halters. A ton of stuff. I’m not sure what half of it is for, and I used to ride.”
“Me too. I took lessons when I was younger, and I went to camp. I wonder if the two outside are ridable?”
“We could go out on a trail ride together if they are. Do they look okay?”
“A little skinny and very dirty, but we can add some weight to them in the next few weeks if they come in the barn and learn to trust us.”
“You plan on keeping them here?”
“Why not. I love a new challenge. First a cat and now this.” She grabbed two halters and lead lines.
“Don’t forget the chickens Ford brought back last week. You’re becoming the official animal whisperer.”
“How’d I forget the chickens? I hope we get some eggs soon.”
“We’ll need to start considering what to feed all the barn yard critters, especially when winter comes.”
“You are such the planner. Let’s go.”
“Happy to help.”
She handed him a lead line. “Thanks. You handle the bigger one.”
“Not a problem.” Quentin quirked a brow. “For you, anything.”
The blush spreading across her cheeks kept her lips sealed.
The horses were docile, obviously someone’s mount at one time or another. Neither draft complained when halters went over their noses and the couple tied them on a long line to graze.
“I’ll be done soon. Do you want an extra hand with those two ragged beasts?” he asked.
“I’d love help.”
“I have to finish with the pipe in Emma’s room. I promised myself I’d clean out the loft in the barn. You could help with cleaning, and then we could groom the horses. There might be tack and supplies there.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“You’ll probably want to check their feet too. I don’t know how rough the weather and ground has been on them.”
“Don’t we need a hoof pick? Not sure I remember how to do it the right way. I don’t want to get kicked.”
“Give me some time to finish this project,” Quentin said. “Come back to the barn in a little bit and we’ll figure it out.”
She sent him a wave and returned to the garden. As she plucked weeds, Cat emerged from the woods to pay a visit. He rather liked his new home but preferred to be outside most of the time. There was the occasional gift of a dead mouse on her bed, but otherwise, he failed to show her much love or attention.
He’s still miffed at the fact she’d shoved him in a duffel bag when escaping the Streakers in Pittsfield.
He sniffed at her plants and twined between her ankles before heading off to the barn. Cat loved Quentin and would happily perch in the barn, watching him work.
Watching Quentin work might not be so bad.
Her gaze returned to the horses. Jenna loved the relaxation of the garden, but time dragged today. She weeded a row and then another.
Twenty minutes, maybe. What she wouldn’t give for a cell phone to tell time right now. One more row and then back to the barn.
A few minutes later Quentin left with the piece of pipe and return not long after. In the barn, they climbed the creaky steps to the loft. One door lay on the ground, off its hinges. Quentin swung the other back. The weathered, antique floorboards protested loudly under his 180 pounds. The dust had settled heavily amid a jumble of objects. While there was a large, cleared space in the center of the loft, antique farm equipment and non-essential items from the inn invaded most of the area.
“How do you want to do this?” Jenna asked.
“I don’t know, but it’s really stuffy.” Quentin drew his T-shirt over his head, exposing tight abdominal muscles and ropey arm muscles. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not so much.” She focused on the daunting task before her. “Why don’t we carry anything useful downstairs and clean it up? We’ll deal with the rest of it some other day.”
“It’s a plan.” He moved to one of the many piles scattered around the room.
After hauling, pushing, and carrying, Jenna’s back was sore, and her arms hurt. Her throat was parched thanks to all the dust, but she had it easy. Quentin had dragged heavy items from the loft for her to organize. Piles of usable clothes, tools, and supplies filled the space.
His footsteps battered the stairs.
“Not another pile. Let’s call it quits. We’ve been at this forever.” She sank next to her collections of books, clothes, tools, junk, and horse tack.
“You got a lot done. We’ll call it a day.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll haul the books and clothes to the inn. You find a space for the tools and tack and then bring the horses in. I’ll bring back some water.”
“You read my mind.”
“The room upstairs would be a great place to store all the horse tack once we get it organized, but for now it might be better here. Thoughts?”
“I like whatever you suggest if it means you’ll bring me a drink. Dying of thirst.”
He saluted and left.
She finished organizing the last of the boxes before Quentin returned.
“Feast your eyes.” She gulped the water he brought.
The horse tack lay organized and clean. While there had been a variety of bridles, saddles, saddle pads, and tools, Jenna had picked out two western saddles, two fluffy saddle pads, and bridles she hoped would fit the drafts. An open tack box displayed brushes and other paraphernalia.
He surveyed her work and whistled in appreciation. “Impressive.”
&n
bsp; Grabbing a tack box, they ventured outside. The horses stood munching contently in the field unconcerned at the couple’s arrival.
“Let’s peek at these big guys.” His hand ran over the draft’s flank. “What breed are they?”
The dark brown horses were large and stocky with hooves the size of dinner plates.
“Not sure, but they’re pretty sturdy. Maybe Clydesdale like in the famous commercials. Remember those? Whatever they are they’re solid fellas, aren’t they? They don’t appear worse for wear after being on their own.”
“Adds to the adventure. Who wants to ride a small pony? I’ll grab some brushes out of the tack box.”
“Anything else we need?”
“Did you see anything like an ice pick? It’s to clean their hooves.”
“I’ll go with you and we’ll see.”
“Stay and pet them. They like you. I’ll search the box.”
On his return, he handed off a brush and they groomed and inspected the horses. Mud and debris caked their backs and manes. One had a nasty scar, now healed, on its left shoulder. She picked leaves and twigs out of their manes and tails. The two worked in companionable silence, brushing the horses who relished the attention, leaning into the strokes, heads bobbing. One let out a giant yawn.
“Let me show you how to pick their feet.”
“I remember.” She reached for the draft’s hoof.
“Don’t ruin my fun.” He moved behind, pressing close, his hand warm on hers. “Start at the bottom of his leg above the hoof and slide your hand.” He angled her hand over the lower part of the horse’s leg.
With a squeeze, the horse lifted its hoof. She checked for stones lodged in the frog, the soft portion of the bottom. “Their feet aren’t horrible for being alone all this time.”
“Could use a trim.”
“I’ll leave trimming to you.” Her body heated with the close contact. “We better find a way to fatten them up soon.”
“Isn’t there a fenced in pasture behind the barn full of grass gone wild. I bet these two will mow it down in no time.”
“Grab a pony. We’ll bring them there. I’ll figure out how to bale hay for the winter, but I’ll need your help. Lots of help.” He stepped back. “Let’s get moving. I need to fix something for Jackie. Don’t want her mad at me.”
