by Aborn, A. L.
“It was cold, those first few months. The food was rationed, and I was always hungry. When the city began to thaw in the spring, people had taken to wearing cloth over their faces, to avoid the stench coming off that many unwashed bodies that had shit and pissed in what seemed like every square inch of the place.
“A fire started, in a camp near mine, and the people had nowhere to go. So many of them were trapped in the flames; you could hear their screams for blocks. I know I’m not the only one felt their stomach rumbling at the scent of burning flesh. We hadn’t had fresh meat in months. It made me gag to feel that way, but I couldn’t help it. I knew then that it was time to get out of there.”
This makes my stomach clench, but on a weird level… I get it.
“Where did you go?”
“My daughter was in college in northern New Hampshire. I thought I’d make my way to her, since I couldn’t find the others.”
I nod understandingly for a moment, turning her words over in my mind. I glance at Shay, but she avoids my eyes. The silence is heavy for a moment, so palpable that I feel like I can reach out and run my fingers through it.
The bottle makes its way around again. The smallest sip still gives me that warm blast, but I don’t want to get drunk and repeat my hangover. I’m a little buzzed, but the cool air is sharp against my cheeks, keeping me alert.
Turning my own story over in my head, I contemplate how much to share. It will be my turn eventually… I know it, and I don’t have it in me to lie.
Shay stands, holding her hands close to the flames. Her look is distant; just when I think she’ll stay silent, she begins. “My wife and I lived in an apartment in south Boston. My dad passed a few years ago, and my brother soon after. It was just her and I. When the power went out, we had candlelit dinners of canned spaghetti and just waited for it to come back on. We lived in a pretty big apartment complex, and we knew a handful of our neighbors. One of them worked for the city, and was called in to help with the lockdown, even though he normally just worked for the road crew. Every night, he told us how bad it was getting. He brought back rations when he could get them, and apologies when he couldn’t. There were so many stories floating around about what was happening, we couldn’t make heads or tails of them.
“After the first month was over, we started hearing gunshots on a regular basis. Just when we didn’t want to start going out, we were forced to; there wasn’t anything left to burn to stay warm and we were just about out of food. My wife stayed home while I went out to stand in line at the camps to see what I could get.
“While I was out, a riot broke out in the apartment complex. It started over food, someone taking more than their share and locking themselves in their apartment. Before anyone knew what was happening, mob mentality took over. By the time I made it home, gangs of people were breaking down doors and dragging people out and beating them to death. People were shouting that they were hiding food or wood or anything that had become valuable in the power outage. Some people lived through it… and some didn’t.”
Again, I’m struck by unspoken words.
How differently I see these women, only days after I had contemplated killing them. Their own stories and losses have changed them from threats to real people.
“After the riot, I joined the crowd moving north. I ended up in a camp outside of a hospital in Winster.”
Shock ripples through me. I had worked at the hospital in Winster, right up until the day that the power had gone out. “What happened there?” It comes out as a rough whisper.
“The whole hospital campus and surrounding area was gated off by the time that I got there. I heard that a group of doctors had brought their families in, right from the start, to keep the hospital running and to monitor supplies. It was cleaner than where I was in Boston, but harder. You aren’t allowed into the actual camp unless you need something medical, or you have medical skills.”
My eyes widen at her words. Is it possible that I know the doctors who have done this? Who, instead of running to their families, brought them? It makes sense in a lot of ways: there are backup generators, a well-stocked cafeteria, plenty of beds, units that can be locked down, medicine… It’s no longer just the whiskey that’s warming my belly. This may be the best news that I’ve heard in… well, ever, I guess.
She’s watching my face in the flickering orange light, cocking one eyebrow in question. “I used to work there.” I don’t volunteer anything else. Not yet, I’m not sure what to think of this news. Another question occurs to me: “Did anyone in Boston or Winster have any idea why the power went out?”
Shay shrugs her shoulders. “Kind of. There were a lot of rumors, but the one that we heard the most in Boston was some sort of coordinated attack on the major power stations.”
I can’t believe it, Brad was right!
My first instinct is to turn to Ally and Brad and share in his victory. It’s like I’m losing them all over again when reality crashes in. Mentally stumbling, attempting to hide my feelings, I scramble for something else to ask. “What was it like? On the road between Boston and Winster?”
Both of them shake their heads, like they’re shaking off a bad memory. Joann answers first. “Most of the road isn’t monitored by anyone, unless people have decided to monitor their own little stretches. There are a few groups that will steal from or kill other travelers. Luckily, I fell into a larger group with this one.” Gesturing to Shay with her chin, they both quiet again.
“Why did you leave Winster?”
“Too many people, not enough food. Joann wanted to head north, to her daughter’s school, so we did.”
“And your supplies? Guns?”
“A lot of people didn’t survive the winter,” Shay answers grimly. “Was easy enough to get what we needed, if you spend the time looking.”
“The first town that we came to after Winster that was relatively deserted, Shay holed us up in a house. She watched from the window for two days before she let us leave. After that, we just grabbed what we could and kept heading north. “We’ve had to hide out a few times, from bigger groups or walled off towns or gunshots. She found a decent map near the beginning, so we tried to stay off the roads as much as possible. Slower, but safer.”
I nod in agreement, considering my own choice to build this camp in the woods rather than travel the roads to find safety. They are clearly done with their telling, both watching me now. I take a deep breath and begin.
***
Omitting isn’t the same thing as lying. At least, I don’t think so in this instance.
It takes me a while to tell my story from the start. From leaving my house with Meekah, to being forced to abandon my car, and spending that first night in the snow in the woods. Finally getting to Ally and Brad’s house, settling in, making my journey to both my dad’s house and Ally’s parents, until that fateful evening when a group of men had come to take what we had.
I don’t tell them about Adam and his betrayal. It’s still too raw. They don’t need to know about my own betrayal either. Though I’ve made peace in my heart over telling Ally and Brad that my medical bag had been stolen before sending them away in the night, I don’t want to talk about it. Ever.
When the fire is down to the embers and only an inch or two remains in the whiskey bottle, Shay and I help Joann to my bed in the shelter. When she’s tucked in, we head back to the tent for the night. Though I’m still buzzed and physically tired, I can’t shut my brain off. Telling my story had stirred up all my emotions. The other women’s stories only add to my fear for the future.
From the sound of Shay’s breathing, I can tell it’s a long time for sleep to find her, too.
Chapter Fourteen
Comrades
The following morning, my head hardly hurts at all. Thank God.
After crawling from the tent to find Shay had beaten me to the fire once again, I smile. The smell of cooking meat is wafting toward me; the two shapes of what look to be squirrels are roasting on t
he grill insert over the flames. By the time I wash my face and water Meekah and Beau, Shay is helping Joann to sit by the fire.
Doling out the meat between the three of us, and two hard boiled eggs in a bowl for Meekah, we are quiet for a time. “So, what should we do today?” Joann interrupts with her upbeat voice.
“You aren’t doing anything, except resting,” I state plainly. She only sighs in response. Shay and I share a smile between chews, and I realize that I could definitely get used to this.
***
The next few days pass quite pleasantly. It seems strange at how easily the three of us have fallen into the rhythm of living together. Shay is usually up first, out checking her snares and getting the fire going before Joann and I wake up. During the day, she tends to leave the clearing, sometimes on foot and sometimes on Beau. She’s always back before it starts to get dark and, usually, with a prize in hand. Sometimes its fish or a bird of some sort, other times, its items she’s pilfered from God knows where.
Spending a fair amount of time at the house down the road, she brings back things that I had passed over and thought of as useless. I swear though, Shay can put anything to use.
Joann and I have been sticking close to camp, except when I ride out to harvest the tall grass from the fields for Beau’s winter feed. She’s quite crafty; the woven grass mat that I’d been dreaming of and failing at, comes together in her hands in a matter of hours.
All three of us take turns cooking, though Joann hates it the most. She’s limited in what she can do and where she can go because of her ankle, so she grudgingly accepts the task, I think out of a wish to be useful. Shay has set her up with a scavenged canvas camp chair and a stump to keep her leg up.
Before dusk, we’ve taken to sitting around the fire and talking. We tell stories of our past lives, some funny and some sad. Tales of our parents, siblings, school pranks, first loves… Joann is especially skilled in spinning stories. She and I giggle over her stories while Shay looks on with her amused smirk. I can see why Joann is a music teacher; she has a knack for relating to others.
A few times, I catch the two whispering together. My first instinct is to be suspicious. I can’t help it. But, ever so slowly, I’m learning to trust them. They were companions long before me and should be able to hold their own conversations. I pretend I don’t see, but my mental notes are tucked away.
***
The morning of September ninth is overcast and cold. I’m hoping that the weather turns, and we get another warm stretch before winter, but no sign of it yet. After breakfast and the morning chores completed, Shay asks if I want to accompany her when she leaves camp for the day. I shrug in agreement; it’s not like I have anything else going on.
Joann assures us that she’s fine to stay back alone, showing us the rifle strap around one shoulder and the handgun in a pouch hanging from her crutch. Shooing us away, she turns back toward the fire and her latest project.
Leaving Beau behind with Joann, Shay, Meekah, and I head out through the archway and onto the well-worn trail. As she moves through the trees ahead of me, I can’t help but notice how quietly and smoothly she moves through the woods. One by one, she shows me the snares that she has set at varying distances from the clearing. Kneeling, she shows me how she’s made each one. Some are made of a small-gauge wire, others with rope. I’ll need practice to perfect the knots that she shows me, but I’m confident I’ll get it with time.
Crossing a small creek bed, Shay leads me into a part of the forest that I haven’t spent much time in. As the waterbed widens, she points out different animal tracks in the soft earth. Eventually, the creek joins a wide, slow moving section of river. It’s the same river that I’ve been fishing all summer, but much further down than my typical spot.
It’s obvious that Shay has been here a few times already. Inside the bend of the meandering waterway, she’s been gathering rocks of all sizes. In a low voice, she explains her plans to build a fish trap. Basically, a wall of stones built in the water, and bait is placed. The fish are attracted to the bait and swim through a small space in the rocks. Once in, they usually can’t find their way out.
It’s slightly warmer in the sunlight here than it was back at camp earlier in the day, but I can’t say that I’m thrilled when Shay pulls two pairs of shorts from her bag. Before we change our clothes, we stow our bags and round up the rest of the rocks we need to complete the wall. When she says we have enough, we quickly pull our pants, socks, and boots off and pull on the knee-length athletic shorts. The frigid water takes my breath away as I walk in up to my knees.
As quickly as possible, we carry the rocks and place them in such a way that the section of water closest to the bank is enclosed in a rough, circular wall of stones. The openings between the stones are small, letting water flow in and out, but nothing bigger than a minnow can fit through. Shay and I work in near silence, besides her curt directions and my own complaining about my toes going numb.
Meekah has contented herself with lying on the riverbank chewing on a stick. Occasionally, she gets up to sniff around, but doesn’t alert us to any signs of danger. It’s amazing how much I’ve come to trust and rely on her cues.
Finally, the last stones are placed. The wall is stacked just barely higher than the water is deep. Moving up onto the cold packed sand, the air feels cooler than the water. We admire our handywork for a moment before Shay heads back into the water to adjust the opening in the rock that will act as the passageway for fish to get through.
As she rejoins me on the bank, we quickly shed our cold, wet shorts. Shay retrieves a tattered towel from her backpack for us to dry our legs and feet with. Rubbing some feeling back into my feet, I’m grateful to pull my pants and thick socks on. Once dressed, she again reaches into her bag and pulls out a small, sealed Tupperware. Removing the lid, I see that it contains what look like the innards of the squirrels that we ate for breakfast. Wrinkling my nose, I take a step back. Walking to the water’s edge, she spreads the guts the length of our trap, closer to the stone than the bank.
By this time, it’s moving toward late afternoon. Deeming the fish trap complete, the three of us turn from the water and head back to camp.
***
It’s almost dusk by the time we join Joann in the clearing. She’s strangely excited and sort of jumpy. I guess she was probably lonely all day with no one to talk to but Beau. On the grill rack over the fire, our largest pot is bubbling merrily. Lifting the lid, I peek inside to see what looks to be the last of the pheasant that Shay had gotten a few days prior, a weak broth, the last of the dandelion greens, and our depleting supply of seasonings all mixed up into a hot soup. All in all, it sounds delicious after our cold afternoon on the water.
We eat around the fire, describing our day’s work to Joann. As the last of the soup is eaten, I see Shay give Joann a look over the fire. The hackles on the back of my neck raise in alarm, but I bite my tongue. “Why don’t you go get it?” Joann asks Shay cryptically, nodding at her crutch.
“Get what?” I demand.
Shay stands and moves toward the shelter.
“Get what?” I repeat.
The sound of Shay fumbling around for a moment is audible over the popping of the fire.
My heart is pounding a little.
Seconds later, Shay comes out holding… something. A squarish container, balanced on one hand, while her other hand is cupped, protecting something that reflects against her face. I’m immediately reminded of a child’s birthday party, with the parents bringing out a cake with lit candles. Looking to Joann, she’s got a grin from ear to ear. Turning back to Shay, I’m further baffled by the sound of singing.
“Happy birthday to her… Happy birthday to her…” They sing in chorus, Joann’s loud and excited, Shay’s quieter and reserved.
As Shay draws closer to me, I interrupt mid-song, “Guys, what is this?”
“You mentioned the other night that your mom’s birthday is today! We thought you needed to cele
brate; we know how much you miss her.” Joann scratches Meek on the head while she tells me.
Shay bends down in front of me, showing me a blackened square cake pan. Some sort of thick, blue liquid is spread unevenly across what I assume to be cake. A small, white votive candle is flickering in the middle. My eyes are burning with emotion. This? This is what they were being so secret about? A pang of guilt shoots through me when I consider how suspicious I had been. A tear escapes and trickles down one cheek.
I don’t know what to say.
My mind whirling, I stand and rush into the shelter. Pawing through one shelf, I locate two candle sticks. They are the sort that my mother would put in candleholders on the table for special occasions. Returning to the fire, I light the ends and hand one each to my friends. Shay raises an eyebrow in question. “Not just for my mom, for every birthday we’ve missed this year. For all the ones who will never see another.”
The cake is placed on the stump that Joann normally rests her injured leg on. We gather around it in silence. Tears are reflected in the eyes of my companions. After our moment of silence, we each blow out our candle.
***
The cake is some sort of flour, sugar, and egg mixture that Joann has come up with. The icing: a can of condensed milk and blue food coloring. It was cooked over the fire, hence the soot-marked pan. The edges are almost burnt and the middle almost raw, but it’s the first sweet thing I’ve had in ages. Sharing a spoon, we take bites of the edges between the last shots of whiskey in the bottle. We laugh between tears and stories. Joann even sneaks Meekah a bite of icing-free cake.