EMP Antediluvian Fear

by S A Ison

  It had certainly been a long day but it had ended on an up note. She shook her grizzled head, thinking about the audacity of the nasty young man that had walked into her home earlier that day. The brutal little bastard had cold cocked her, right on her jaw. She moved her jaw experimentally and winced. He’d busted her nose as well, but she was satisfied that it wasn’t broken as she flexed and flared her nostrils. Her ability to smell was a little off, but once the swelling went down, she’d be right as rain.

  She narrowed her faded green eyes and took another bite of soup. The comfortable rocker-recliner was situated in the basement, which had been built by her late husband, Claud, to her exacting specifications. The useless man had done a good job, but only because she’d kept at him. Many times, in the heat of summer, she’d come down to cook her meals, the kitchen seemed to stay hot. And now, it didn’t work at all. The cool basement had now become her She-shed.

  She lifted her head when she heard a moan, the young man was starting to rouse, a soft smile creased her wrinkled lips. The little peckerwood had toppled her fine oak hutch, breaking many of her prized plates. Her eyes narrowed again in annoyance. It had taken her years to collect those plates. Dirty little worm.

  When she’d come to, she’d found most of her precious plates shattered, and the heavy hutch overturned, the greasy man unconscious beneath it. She’d been stymie for a way to remove the jackass from beneath the hutch, and then a spark of brilliance hit her.

  She had gone into the garage and found a car jack and she had then placed the jack under the hutch, and lifted the hutch up enough to place supports beneath the heavy furniture. This way, she was able to attach a rope around the noisome man’s wrists. He’d been close enough to the basement door to run the rope through the pulley system that Claud had installed many years ago.

  Nearly forty-five years ago, she had insisted on having pulleys put into the basement ceiling and on several walls. She had Claud also attach a crank and winch system. She wanted the ability to move things in and out of the basement that were too bulky or too heavy for her. She appreciated the independent ability to do things by herself, the pulley and winch system gave her that freedom.

  He had complained throughout the whole process, but she had badgered and nagged him until she had what she wanted, just how she’d wanted it. Bella May always got what she wanted once she put her mind to it. Her husband was no match for her stubborn streak, which was one of the reasons she’d married him.

  Using the rope, pulleys and the crank, she got the unconscious man’s body down to the cool basement. Once she had him there, Bella May had stripped him of his grimy clothes and had thoroughly washed him clean. The man stank like a sewer, and it had been all she could do to keep her gorge down. She’d tossed his filthy clothes out back, into the refuse pile, to be burned later. From upstairs, she got one of her heavy oak chairs, and her jig saw and a drill bit.

  Taking the chair below, she proceeded to use the drill to cut a hole in the chair’s seat. She then took the jig saw and cut a bigger hole. She was glad she had several batteries that still had their charge. She then used the rope through another pulley and winch system to lever the man onto chair.

  She then placed chair where she wanted it and had chained it to a large vertical steel beam, which supported the upper floor. She had then chained the man around his waist and around his upper chest and under his armpits. There was little wiggle room, she made sure. She had then secured his legs to the heavy chair, above and below the knees. She used heavy duct tape along with smaller chains.

  Then she had bound his arms to the chair’s heavy arms and the steel beam behind the chair. The man was effectively immobilized, she was confident that he was going nowhere fast.

  Bella May was nearly finished with her soup when she noticed the man’s eyes were blinking open. She sat forward in her recliner and smiled. Her bowl was poised in her lap, her hands cupping it gently.

  “Well, hello sunshine.” She said, grinning, her cheeks very pink.

  The man groaned and blinked rapidly and tried to shift. It took a few moments, she waited patiently, but she saw that he was finally beginning to realize he was secured in place.

  “What? What, where, what?” he asked in confusion, his eyes trying to focus themselves. He’d had a cut over his brow, which she had kindly stitched up. She’d been a nurse long ago, and still had some of the tools of her previous trade. She always thought of herself as ready for anything. She didn’t always succeed, but she did try.

  “You’re in my nice basement young man. Do you remember? You broke into my home and you hit me.” Bella May prompted, her head nodding.

  The man’s eyes focused in on her and she could see the brief and fleeting recognition flash through his bloodshot eyes. He turned his eyes around the basement and then back to her. His eyes looked down and then widened with shock.

  “Why you’uns got me all trussed up?” the man asked, anger pushing the confusion aside.

  “Why son, you broke into my home. My own home. The place where I live, my home.” She said angrily, her face becoming blotchy red, her wrinkled lips trembling with indignant rage.

  “You assaulted me young man, in my own home. Without any provocation what so ever, and you broke my precious plates. Why on god’s green earth wouldn’t I truss you up?” she spat at him, her eyes bulging with resentment and remembered fury. Her wrinkled lips were pulled back into a snarl.

  “Your’un plates?” the man said stupidly, but then his eyes went down to his hands. He screamed, loud and shrill which bounced around the cool basement walls.

  Bella May knew it was coming but winced all the same. She really should have put ear plugs in. His agonized screams went a long way in cooling her temper, and brought another smile to her face.

  “My hand, my fuckin hand. It’s gone. What happin ta my hand? An I’s neked, why am I’s neked?” the man cried, realizing for the first time that he’d been stripped of his clothes.

  “Well young man, I told you, you broke into my home. You really shouldn’t have done that. Now you can’t leave.” She said, with a sweet smile and her old eyes glittered.

  “You’uns is gonna keep me prisoner? My arm hurts. You’uns got to let me go.” The man cried, his face creased with pain and fear.

  “Oh, don’t worry young man, your arm is fine. I stitched it up after I cut your hand off. It is clean and you won’t get an infection. What’s your name by the way?” she asked, her head cocking to the side, her faded brows raised, her green eyes bead bright.

  “You’uns cut off my hand?” he screamed, his mouth hanging open and his inflamed eyes bulged out. The color fled from his face and he was a ghostly white.

  “Yes, I just said I did, didn’t I and I also cleaned the wound and sewed it up. What is your name young man.” Bella May asked again, thinking this man was clearly a simpleton. She’d seen his teeth and suspected he used drugs, which clearly ate his brain.

  “Name’s Hobo an why’d you’uns cut off my hand?” Hobo asked, tears now coursing down his cheeks. She could now see the fear in his eyes clearly as they rolled around like a cow waiting for slaughter.

  “Hobo, what a name you have.” She laughed hard and started coughing, and she smacked her knee, rocking back and forth, tears falling down her face.

  “It’s short fir Hobart. Why, why would you’uns cut off my hand?” Hobo cried.

  “Well Hobo, it needed being done. See, I need a lot of protein, I always have. And when the electricity stopped, well, all the meat in my freezer went bad.” She said, taking another bite of her soup.

  “What? Whadda ya mean?” Hobo asked, looking at her and then his stump.

  Bella May smiled once more, this poor boy is just stupid, she thought. She shook her head and laughed to herself.

  “I’m getting on in years, I’m not as young and strong as I once was. I’d did all my own hunting years ago, but now, I can only catch the occasional prey. It’s become harder now, and less frequent, but I�
�d set aside meat in my freezer, but with no power, it has become nearly impossible. You came where you shouldn’t have come.” She explained.

  “Lady, what the hell is you’uns a talkin bout?” Hobo screamed, and she winced again.

  Sighing heavily, she got up from her lounger and went over to a long table. The table held a single burner portable propane stove. On the stove was a large pot, steam curling out into the cool air. She took the long ladle that rested within the pot and poured more of the chunky soup in her bowl.

  She inhaled beatifically and smiled, then walked over to the chained man. Looking down at him she showed him her bowl of soup. He looked down in the bowl and his stomach growled loudly.

  She laughed, “hungry, are we? I make a mean soup, put lots of veggies in it and spice it up a bit. The secret is adding smoked paprika. Sadly, the meat is a little gamey, but we can fix that.”

  Hobo looked into her eyes, and she waited, but he still wasn’t getting it. She shook her head; this man really was a dullard.

  “Hobo dear, I don’t mean to be cruel, but you weren’t the brightest bulb in the pack, in school, were you? Dear, you’re my protein, and this wonderful soup is courtesy of your hand.” She said, her eyes bright now, with an inner glow.

  Hobo screamed and screamed, horror written all over his face, and she winced, but was smiling broadly now, the dawning realization washed over the man’s face like an awful incoming tide.

  “Who are you’uns?” he screamed, tears cascading down his contorted face.

  “You don’t recognize me Hobo? Why I’m Karma.” She laughed loudly, filling the basement.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Harry arrived back at the house with several bags of Angela’s thing. He’d also packed Clay’s suitcase, he’d found in a closet, with clothing and shoes, toiletry items. The apartment had been ransacked, and much of the food stores were gone. Thankfully, most of Clay’s personal items had been left unmolested. He’d gone through closets and drawers, looking for anything he thought Clay would want.

  He also got Clay’s photo albums and a few personal effects that would mean a lot to the man. He found a few books and brought those as well. He would make another run and pick up more. He was afraid to take Clay, since he would be a target for murder. Harry wouldn’t take that chance for material things.

  He’d gotten all of the baby’s things and he was glad. Harry wanted the child to know that she’d been loved before her parents were murdered. She’d grow out of the clothes, but she’d always have the photos and they’d make sure to keep some of the toys for her.

  Willene was in the kitchen, she said that Clay and Boggy had taken shovels and gone out back, by their grandfather’s grave.

  “They are diggin a single large hole. It has been slow going, since Clay is still recovering. Boggy, Marilyn and Katie are working with him. How did it go with everything?” she asked, holding the baby, who was asleep in her arms. Her body swayed from side to side and she kissed the top of the child’s head. Monroe was at the table eating dinner.

  “Well as can be expected. I just stopped to drop off Angela’s things and also Clay’s. I’m going to take the truck around back, Earl’s out there waiting for me. The bodies will have to be cleaned Willy. It was really bad.” He said, looking over at the small boy, who was eating some kind of macaroni dish. There were several candles and lanterns lit in the kitchen, the soft flickering light moved around the room.

  “I can’t even imagine Harry, I’m sorry for all of us, to have to live in such a hateful world now. Especially for the children. They shouldn’t be burdened with that.” She said, shaking her head.

  Harry walked up and laid a hand on the sleeping child’s small head. Her hair was soft, and her cheeks gently rounded. He smiled at his sister. He walked over to Monroe and made his hand into a claw and lowered it to the boy’s head making machine noises, causing Monroe to giggle, and pull his shoulders up to his ears.

  Harry leaned over and kissed the top of the boy’s head and turned to his sister. “Since the bodies will need washing, I’ll have Marilyn or Katie come get the water and some rags. I’d like to clean them up before we put them in the ground.” He said solemnly. At her silent nod, he left the kitchen and went out of the house.

  Harry drove the truck up into the back of the house, and into the back yard. He drove up the small hill to the gravesite. He was glad the ground wasn’t slick. He could see several lanterns lit around the grave site.

  Earl got out and walked over to look down in the hole. He looked back at Harry and jerked his head. “Spect I’d best help, that hole taint deep nuff yet.”

  Harry grabbed Boggy’s shovel and hopped down into the hole. “Marilyn, can you and Katie clean the bodies while we get this done, please? I’d hate to bury them like they are now. Willene is getting hot water and rags ready if you want to get them.” He asked softly.

  Marilyn held her hand to her nose and mouth and nodded, her eyes full of tears. She walked away toward the house. Katie came over and looked into the back of the truck.

  “My god, those poor people. I just can’t get used to the hate. Hate that would hang a child.” She said, her voice quavering, her dark eyes filling with tears.

  Clay walked over, he placed his large hand over her smaller one. Harry turned away and began shoveling dirt out of the hole. They needed it deep enough, disease could easily raise its ugly head. They were in a world that could no longer fight the old sicknesses, typhoid, tetanus, small pox, mumps, measles and every other illness. They also didn’t need scavengers digging up the bodies, nor the dogs. There were a few rocks scattered around, and he figured they could use those to put over the grave, to help keep it covered and safe.

  ֎

  Marilyn returned some time later with a bucket of hot steaming water, some rags, rubber gloves, and masks. Katie got up in the back of the truck, Clay helped her up and then Marilyn. Willene was walking up toward the gravesite, she had an armload of old sheets.

  “The kids are in bed and asleep. I figured I’d bring some old sheets to wrap the bodies in.” She said, laying them on the tailgate. She hopped into the back of the bed of the old truck. She picked up the gloves and mask. They stripped the bodies, their hands slow and careful. Marilyn had a difficult time holding her tears back. She could see the child in the teen, through the distortion of his corrupt face.

  She thought, this could be us, this could be Monroe. She felt a shiver go through her. Had it not been for Harry and Willene, they might be in that same state. Had it not been for Harry’s foresight, they might well be dead.

  “Are you okay Marilyn?” Willene asked softly.

  “Yeah, I guess. It’s just that, these poor people. I can’t help think that this could have happened to my son and me.” she said, her voice trembling.

  “But it didn’t. You and Monroe are safe. None of us will let anything happen to you. You know this.” Willene said and laid her gloved hand over Marilyn’s arm.

  Marilyn smiled beneath her mask, and nodded, then turned back to cleaning the bodies. They stripped off the clothing that had been bloodied and soiled. The clothes would be put into the bottom of the grave.

  It was difficult to cut the rope from the swollen hands and away from around the distended necks. Marilyn gritted her teeth, going slow with the scissors. The skin was splitting, seeping and oozing with foul fluids. It took time, but they finished cleaning the bodies then wrapped the corpses in the sheets. Katie and Willene rolled the bodies and she pulled and tucked the sheets.

  Harry and Boggy lifted the bodies and lowered them to Clay and Earl, who were standing in the hole. There was a short ladder leaning inside the hole, and they handed it up to make room for the bodies.

  Once the bodies had been placed in the grave, Earl and Clay got out of the grave with Boggy’s and Harry’s help. Harry began to shovel dirt into the grave. Then Clay picked up a shovel and joined him. It took a while to fill in, Earl and Boggy taking turns to help refill the hole.

&n
bsp; Once it was done, all stood around the dark grave, it was pitch black outside but for three lanterns that glowed softly around the grave. The soft chirping of the crickets filled the soft night air. The group was silent but for the muffled weeping of the women. Earl sniffed loudly and blew his nose into an old checkered handkerchief. Marilyn knew Earl had a tender heart, he’d been wonderful with Monroe. It broke her heart to stand there, nearly a whole family annihilated by hate.

  “Lord, watch over them poor an wretched souls, they dint deserve this. They’s evil men a doin evil thangs. We got their young’un, who now is gonna be ours. An we’uns ull watch over an protect our youg’uns wit our vera lives. Amen.” Boggy said, his voice cracking with a sob, Marilyn wrapped her arm around his narrow shoulders. She hugged the young man to her, trying to comfort him. There could be no real comfort for any of them, not for this family.

  ֎

  Willene sat in the porch swing, the late-night air was cool and crisp. She had wrapped Angela in a soft blanket. Harry sat beside her holding the sleeping baby. There was a full moon and it cast pale light onto Harry’s face. His expression was soft as he looked down at the sleeping child.

  The day before seemed like a nightmare, putting Angela’s parents and brother into the ground. She could still smell the corruption on her hands, thought she knew it was only her imagination. They’d worn rubber gloves. Perhaps it was stuck in her nostrils. She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. She’d washed her hands several times after and throughout today, but still she smelled it.

  Marilyn sat in a rocking chair, as did Earl, who was smoking his pipe. Katie and Clay sat in the glider, and Boggy was sitting on the floor of the porch, his long legs dangling off the edge. He had the NVGs and periodically looked through them. Monroe was asleep upstairs. The night was quiet but for the sounds of the tree frogs and crickets, the soft susurrus of the wind as it wound through the leaves of the trees.