by Alice Sabo
History of a Changed World - Angus T. Moss
TILLY SAT IN HER OFFICE, papers spread across the desk, carefully staring at nothing. She’d been in the back storage lockers doing inventory when William ran in with the news that Angus had fallen. It had taken him precious minutes to find her. Even Nick had preceded her to Angus’s bedside, and he’d been out in the fields. Her hands were still trembling. But Angus would be all right. A break was serious but not life threatening. He was grouchy and demanding and the worst patient on the planet. She sucked in an unsteady breath and blew it out slowly. Angus was fine.
She gazed back down at the papers but couldn’t focus. She and Angus had discussed the protocol should one of them become unable to do their duties, a euphemism for succumbing to the flu. They had never considered a different death, an accident, how ridiculous that would be. But Angus was often preoccupied. He had probably been reading something as he went down the stairs. Not paying proper attention. She wanted to give him a good scolding, but Ruth had given him a sedative to make him rest. She knew that death was around the corner for all of them, but she hadn’t considered what it would feel like to be the one left behind.
“Tilly?”
A soft knock brought her out of her musings. She knew without looking that it would be Wisp. She didn’t doubt that he could sense that she wasn’t mentally present. She went out into the hallway. Wisp, a slight smile warming his face, had a box in his arms.
“More foragings?” she asked. He brought in all sorts of things from the woods. She was always grateful for his gifts of mushrooms, wild onions and nuts.
Without a word he knelt, setting the box gently on the floor. His long white braid slipped over one shoulder. “Angus’s cats.”
“Kittens!” Tilly squeaked. She couldn’t stop herself from reaching for the soft fluff balls. There were three pudgy tabbies and a pure white runt. Two tabbies were gray and black, but the third was orange with a white belly. She stroked a finger through soft fur. “Where’s their mother?”
“Gone. Fox got her, I think, from the bite marks. She came back to the kittens, but she’d been hurt too badly. Dead at least a day. The little ones were wandering. Looking for food.”
“Then we need to give them some food,” Tilly returned her kitten. Wisp picked up the box and followed her into the kitchen. Tilly dug out the scraps from last night’s rabbit stew. If they were hungry enough, they wouldn’t mind the herbs and onions. She tore the meat into shreds and placed them in a dish. “Think they’re old enough for this?”
“I saw small bones in the nest, birds, rodents,” Wisp reported. “The mother ate there, probably sharing.”
Tilly put the dish in the box. All four kittens went to sniff it. “I didn’t think there were any cats left.”
“There are always more feral cats than people realize,” Wisp said. “Their numbers were decimated by the cat flu, but they weren’t completely eradicated.”
“Thank you,” Tilly said. Purring emanated from the box, punctuated by tiny growls as each kitten tried to gobble all the meat.
Wisp bowed his head respectfully, turned on his heel and departed.
She lingered, watching the kittens eat. Then she filled a bowl with water for them, wishing she had a little cream to spare. Her family had always had cats, so she knew they would most likely be climbing out of the box by the end of the day. She needed to get them acclimated to people fast, or they would vanish into the woods as soon as they got loose.
Sara, one of the regular kitchen crew arrived to start work on lunch. “What’ve you got, Tilly?”
“Come see,” Tilly said.
“Aww.” Sara ran a gentle finger down the back of the orange tabby. Then she gave Tilly a worried look. “Four more mouths to feed.”
Chapter 4
We thought we were ready for flu season in Year Three. People stockpiled food preparing to stay put until the disease ran its course. The National Guard deployed to hospitals, and triage centers were set up before a single person fell ill. The general feeling was that we had prepared adequately for the coming disaster. Rumors had been started about the disease losing its virulence. Year One we lost half the people of Zero Year, we foolishly assured ourselves that the death rate would decline again.
History of a Changed World - Angus T. Moss
TILLY WENT ONTO THE front terrace where she could see out over the fields. The setting sun threw a few long bars of light through the thick blanket of clouds. An unseasonably cool breeze raised goose bumps along her arms. A harbinger of winter. She knew they weren’t ready, but if the weather cooperated, they should have plenty of time to bring in enough food to get them through.
The door behind her clanged opened. She recognized his footsteps as he came up beside her.
“Problem?” Martin asked.
“Where are they?”
“Who?”
“The refugees. We put out the flyers. People should be arriving.” Tilly turned her gaze to the long driveway.
“Just because we invited them doesn’t mean they want to come.”
“Were we too vague?” Tilly asked. They had wrestled with the wording. If they said they had food to share, it would only invite trouble. Couldn’t sound too eager or too friendly. They wanted people to know that High Meadow was a safe place, but they didn’t want to open themselves to attack.
“The men are still posting them. Too soon to know.”
At Angus’s urging, Martin had sent a team of men out, in one of the newly acquired black vans, to post flyers at the closed train stations. They were also to keep eyes out for open stations and extra supplies.
“Any word from Creamery?”
Martin grunted a negative.
“Should we worry?”
Martin huffed out an ambiguous chuckled. “You will always worry, Tilly. Should you worry about the men? Not yet. I’ll let you know.”
“Very well,” she said with resignation. Martin had no answers for her, but he didn’t have any new problems either. She should be content with that.
“Have you named the kittens yet?”
A smile tugged at Tilly’s mouth. She had forgotten what a blessing pets could be, especially babies. The children were delighted by the kittens. They were a lovely distraction while the adults worried themselves over the harder things, like surviving the winter. Several names had come up immediately, and it had almost come to blows over who won. “Pumpkin for the orange one. I suggested Marmalade, but none of the children knew what that was.” Tilly bit her lip, forcing down the ever-hovering grief for her lost world. “Um, then Stripy, Shadow and Snowball.”
“How unique,” Martin mumbled.
“There was quite a brawl,” she said with a chuckle. “I almost called you in for back up.”
“If that’s the worst danger in a day, I’d be happy with it.”
The words struck Tilly silent. Martin hadn’t meant to be cruel, but he had reminded her of how precarious things were in this world. They could be attacked by raiders at any time. A storm could destroy the crops or kill the chickens. Every normal day was a gift, and they shouldn’t look beyond the present. Life was difficult when you forced yourself to drink in short sips, but she didn’t have the luxury of only living for today. She had to plan their winter with no solid numbers. Regardless of her lists and preparations, refugees would arrive when they would. She couldn’t make them come any sooner.
“You’re shivering. Looks like a storm coming in.”
Martin put a warm hand on her shoulder making her realize how chilled she’d gotten. “We had no warning. I hope that means that it won’t be a bad one.”
Martin raised his eyes to the sullen gray sky. Darker clouds sat on the horizon. “Won’t be here for awhile.”
Tilly heard Harlan calling to the horses in the new pasture. They came when he whistled like obedient dogs. “They must know they need shelter at night,” she said aloud.
“The horses? They’re smart. They know where they’re saf
e.”
“Chickens and horses and now cats,” Tilly said hoping Martin didn’t hear the longing in her voice. “It’s almost like the world is sorting itself out, finally.”
“Don’t.” Martin said in a harsh voice.
Tilly turned, finding a dark look on his face, his brown eyes narrow with anger. “What?”
“Don’t fall into that trap. Nothing will ever be normal again. The minute you let your guard down, we’ll all be dead.” He turned abruptly, marching into the building.
She looked back to the sky, seeking a glimpse of the fading light, but it had all gone.
Chapter 5
There was a time of great shifting. The government estimated that we’d lost 40% of the population in Zero Year. In a matter of days, the country’s population had been cut by close to half. People were promoted to replace those lost. Companies downsized. We prepared to go on with what we had, but the losses hadn’t been uniform. Some towns were devastated while others lost only a few. An entire police station went empty while the fire house next door only lost five men. Neighborhoods were empty, or half-populated or full, with no apparent pattern.
History of a Changed World - Angus T. Moss
TED WALKED DOWN THE rows of sleeping children counting heads. Seventeen tonight. They’d picked up two more somewhere along the way. Nixie caught his eye, from the other end of the room. He reluctantly headed over to her. She was going to give him bad news. That was her job. Barely more than a child herself, at fifteen, she was stronger than her slender frame suggested. Long black hair fell in a mass of tangled ringlets down her back. Her brown eyes were sharp and watchful. Ted thought that she would have been considered a beauty, but for the scar that ran down her face from brow to chin. It sliced through her nose and both lips, forcing them askew. It had been a raw new wound when he’d found her abandoned and dying five years ago.
“We need more Stew-goo for tomorrow if we’re staying here,” she whispered.
Ted saw a few small heads move among the blanket-covered lumps. He gestured for Nixie to step out of the room into the hallway. He valued Nixie’s skill at scouting out a safe place for the night. Possibly a church at one point, this building had been used many times by different groups, each leaving their mark on it. They settled the children in the basement, resting on their journey. Ted shut the door to the big common room, joining Nixie in the drafty hallway. A storm rumbled above them. They were safe and dry for the moment.
“I checked the train station. Another one closed,” he reported in a low voice. While Nixie had wrangled the children, Ted had done a quick sweep of the area. No houses or shops still intact for foraging in the vicinity. They had passed near a train station earlier in the day. He counted on them for Stew-goo and Crunch. This was the second one that he found with the entrance barred.
Nixie looked away, but he saw the anger simmering in her eyes. “They want us dead.”
“I don’t know why all the stations are closed,” Ted said, choosing his words with care. “But I don’t think they even know about us.”
“They know we’re out here, and they hate us,” she said with a gesture toward the room where the children slept.
“No. You are the next generation. You are precious.” Ted restrained himself from reaching out to her. Nixie didn’t like to be touched, although sometimes, when she was fearful, she would let him hold her hand. He waited for her anger to abate.
She walked away. He didn’t try to stop her. She had more than physical scars to heal. Toad passed her in the hall. Another lost child, Toad was a puzzle. He came and went as he pleased, often disappearing for days at a time. Sometimes he scouted, and sometimes he foraged, but eventually he always came back. Ted wasn’t sure how old Toad might be, his broad shoulders and height said he might be a man, but his behavior, and lack of a beard, suggested a youth. Although, if he was a biobot, none of that would necessarily hold true. Ted scratched at his own thick beard. Biologically, he was only fifteen years old, yet he’d been designed and awakened as an adult. His brother Tau had very different genes and never needed to shave. Ted wondered if the designers planned it, or maybe it was a side effect of other combinations, like his white hair and pale turquoise eyes.
Toad lumbered over, his worn shoes squelching.
“What have you seen?” Ted asked. Simple questions were a necessity when dealing with the boy. Toad was soaking wet, yet didn’t acknowledge his sodden clothes and dripping hair. Ted wondered if it was the only time that Toad had anything like a bath. He was a bit more feral than most of Ted’s charges. His brown eyes had a wild glint to them, and his long chestnut brown hair always needed a comb.
“Road’s clear to the river, but the bridge fell down.” Toad stared down the hall to where Nixie had gone.
“Then we’ll need to find another bridge.”
Toad shrugged, slabs of muscle shifted under his clinging shirt. His eyes tracked in constant scrutiny of his surroundings.
Ted wondered what dangers he had fled to make him so hyperaware, but that was a puzzle for another day. “Have you heard of any other bridges?” Ted asked.
“Bridges,” Toad repeated.
At a glance, he was easy to underestimate. His flat face and wary eyes made him look like a simple savage. Ted knew that a lot more went on in his head. He never shared his thoughts, but his actions spoke of a clever mind. Because he spoke in short bursts of information, Ted had never had a chance to determine whether Toad was a sociopath or just burdened with a troubled past. He hoped for the latter, because Toad was taller and stronger and would surely win any physical confrontation with Ted.
“Will you look for another bridge? Or a way across the river?”
“Raining, now.”
“Not now. It’s dark out. In the morning?”
Toad shrugged again, avoiding Ted’s eyes.
“Nixie will give you food,” Ted said, releasing him. Toad trotted down the hallway toward where they’d stored their baggage. It got lighter every day. If they didn’t find an open train station to restock their supplies, they were going to be in trouble.
Ted sighed. This wasn’t what he’d been designed for. Certainly not what he was good at, but someone must take care of the abandoned children. The fact that it had come down to him, a biobot without a keeper, worried him. He didn’t know who took the adults, but children came to him on a regular basis now.
His journey had started years ago, but he hadn’t been gathering the children then. The settlement where he’d been living had been attacked. That time it had been raiders. Ted ran into the woods with a handful of people. They scattered with no plan, escaping by running and hiding. The raiders took the supplies and burned what they couldn’t steal. The next settlement Ted went to, he asked them if they had a plan. They laughed at him. Ted moved on. He didn’t want to be in a situation like that again. He’d been moving northward, trying to find a safe place to live when he finally found Missawaug.
A village with farms on the periphery, it worked for awhile. He and Nixie had a small cottage with a big garden. But that year the dust storms got worse, and summer was brutally hot. The wells started failing. Missawaug had barely been hanging on when the men with guns came through the village. They took everyone over the age of fifteen, leaving just the young behind. Ted had taken Nixie to hide when he’d seen the guns. He wasn’t trained to fight. After they left, he’d gotten ready to move on. Then the children started arriving. He’d left there with nine. And today, he had seventeen. He knew they needed to find a safe place to winter but doubted any settlement would be willing to take in so many hungry mouths.
Nixie stomped back down the hallway, disturbing him out of his musings. “I gave Toad the last of the Stew-goo.”
“What do we have for tomorrow?” Ted asked, feeling weary from more than just the long day’s walk. This responsibility pressed on him.
“Maybe enough Crunch if we use up the rest of the dried apples.”
“Good plan. You should sleep.”<
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Nixie scowled at him. “Toad is all wet. I told him to get dry clothes, but he won’t. He went off somewhere.”
Ted hadn’t figured out the relationship between Nixie and Toad. He didn’t think that Toad was capable of any intimacy, but he might feel territorial. Nixie considered herself in charge of all the children. Ted was pretty sure that Toad was older than Nixie, but that didn’t stop her from giving him orders. Sometimes he listened to her, but he was mostly unpredictable.
The door to the big room opened partway and a small blonde head peeked out. “Unka Ted?”
“Yes, Missy?”
“Is this the Good Place?” she asked.
“No sweetheart. We’re not there, yet.” It was the same answer Ted gave all the children. Somewhere along the journey the children had become convinced that he was headed for a specific destination. Sadly, he had no idea where he could find a safe place for all of them, and yet he would still strive to find it.
“So we have to walk some more tomorrow?”
“Yes.” They were going to have to do some foraging along the way or the children would go hungry tomorrow night.
Chapter 6
Year One saw another cut in the population. Estimates put it at 20%. A lower death rate, but there were so fewer to deal with it. Like a horrible nightmare returning to haunt us, when summer came, bodies lay in the streets by hospitals and clinics. The very beginning of the diaspora started that year. People packed up their remaining family members and fled. That may have inadvertently increased the spread of the disease.