She slumped down to both knees now and rested her hands on her thighs, staring at this picture with blank eyes, wondering how old the poor child who had drawn this had been. She remembered the first time she had seen one of those things, back when she was a young girl. She remembered the sheer trauma of it. It was hard to imagine a much younger child witnessing such horror. He or she had apparently felt compelled to draw it, but one of the parents must have taken exception to the grisly image.
Abby looked around on the floor. There was a plastic ice cream bucket filled with crayons and several coloring books here, along with small pillows and blankets, and some toys. A candy wrapper here, a popsicle stick there. Abby shook her head at all this. It was easy to forget that not everyone had been fortunate enough to have already grown up at least a little bit before The Crisis happened. Pushing herself back up to her feet, Abby turned her back on this depressing corner so that she could continue searching the store.
The whole building seemed to have been repurposed into a bunker of sorts. Pillows and mattresses strewn along the far wall while some shelves lay on the floor in pairs, like couches. Several families must have all settled in here, counting on safety in numbers. But how long had they stayed here? And what made them leave? Abby saw no shell casings on the floor, no bullet holes, no blood stains, no signs of any struggle. When these people left, it must have been a voluntary migration. Where had they gone?
But these questions soon vanished as Abby spotted a treasure trove in the corner: a box of MRE’s. Even if those had been from before The Crisis, they would still be good. But Abby caught herself and pushed her hopes back down. The box was open, and could very well be empty. She stepped over to the box and gave it a tap with her boot. It felt heavy, like something was in it. She bent over and pulled the flaps open as she peaked inside.
“Yes!” she squealed as a smile consumed her face. Four small brown packages filled with military rations sat inside the box, unopened. She hastily pulled her ruck off her shoulders and flipped the top open, stuffing all four of the meals inside her nearly empty pack. These MRE’s were the best find she’d had in at least a couple of weeks.
She began to put the ruck back on her shoulders, but hesitated. She set it back down and flipped the top back open, retrieving one of the MRE’s, the one marked ‘Beef Ravioli’. Abby drew her KA-BAR and sliced the brown bag open, then turned it upside down, spilling the contents onto the floor.
Abby was familiar with these military rations. Zach had told her stories about the meals, and they had come across a few of them now and then. She tore open the cardboard box that housed the entrée packet and set this to the side, then grabbed a thin, green, plastic sleeve that contained a white bag filled with a powdery substance. She slid the entrée packet into this sleeve and then drizzled a little bit of water from her canteen into it. She folded the top of the sleeve down and slid this back into the cardboard box, then put the box inside her coat, holding it against her chest. The water caused a chemical reaction with the powdery substance inside the white bag, which was inside the green sleeve, and it was heating up. So while the package of beef ravioli was cooking, Abby sighed and closed her eyes, reveling in the steaming warmth.
After two short minutes, the chemical reaction ceased and the bag quit steaming. Abby pulled the box out of her coat and retrieved the packet inside, then tore it open with her teeth. The smell of the hot food intoxicated Abby as she grabbed the plastic spoon that came with the meal and greedily dug in. She finished the meal in seconds, then dropped the spoon as she used her fingers to get every last bit of food and sauce from the pouch.
She set this aside and ate the rest of the food that came from the MRE: a large cracker that Abby smothered in a jalapeño cheese paste that came separately, and an oatmeal cookie. She kept the water-proof matches and the napkin, as these might serve some purpose, as well as the little bottle of Tabasco sauce and a packet of instant coffee grounds, figuring maybe she could barter these someday.
Abby left the rest of the trash on the floor and prepared to leave, only now with a full stomach and a lingering warm feeling. She exited the Dollar General and continued west down the street with just the tiniest spring in her step. She didn’t feel the pressing need to rifle through multiple houses, now that she’d found a decent supply of food, but she decided to still check a couple of houses at random. Just in case.
She stayed on the main road going west through town, hitting the occasional house based on nothing more than the size of the house and Abby’s gut instinct. It seemed that she was coming to the edge of town, Abby deduced as she looked ahead down the street. A gust of wind coming from the west wound through her hair, and Abby screwed up her nose as she smelled an awful stench coming with the breeze. She sniffed again and almost gagged. Abby pulled the sleeve of her coat over her hand and covered her nose, wondering what was emitting that horrid odor as she looked ahead of her.
That’s when she saw it. Up ahead in the middle of a four-way intersection there was a blackened crater in the crumbling pavement, and what looked like human remains scattered around it. Bloated corpses, limbs, and chunks of what could only be called ‘mush’ lay strewn about on the ground, all looking to be in advanced stages of decomposition. These people died a very long time ago. Had they just been people? Or were some of them zombies, Abby wondered as she approached the intersection. She looked around and saw dozens more craters, to the north, south, and west. Too many to count, and even more human remains. Houses and buildings were destroyed, and trees turned into splinters. Even through her sleeved hand, Abby could still smell the stench of death.
“Jesus Christ,” she whispered. It looked like the pictures she’d seen of the battlefield at the Somme, where the British army unleashed one of the most hellacious artillery barrages in human history. What had happened that this kind of wanton destruction had been necessary? Was a horde sweeping through town until the military destroyed it with an artillery or aerial bombardment? Abby remembered some of the news from the first couple days of The Crisis, when she’d been hiding alone in her old home. She’d turn on the TV and hear how the National Guard proved unable to contain the breakouts in and around Chicago. Had there been other places where a quarantine failed?
Abby marched quickly through the killing field, pinching her nose tightly shut as she went. The slightly-higher-than-rock-bottom spirits she’d been feeling moments ago collapsed under the oppressive weight of all this death, even if it had happened years ago. There was just so much death in this world, so much of it undeserved while too often the deserving were spared, Abby thought. Men like Bernie and Isaiah lived while those kind souls like Dale were killed. The good were willing to face death to protect the innocent, and the evil would happily exploit this to their advantage.
Then again, some of those good people were killed because those closest to them were incompetent. Abby chewed on her lip as her cheeks flushed red in shame. She refused to feel sorry for herself because it was her own damn fault that she was out here on her own. She got Emma killed. She got Zach killed. She got Diana and Ross, Al and Amber, all those people in Little America killed. Her stupid choices cost those closest to her their lives, again and again. Abby clenched her eyes shut, blinking away tears as they formed. She didn’t have time to cry; she didn’t deserve to cry.
Chapter Twelve
The next several days were more of the same. A hopeless horizon receding before her, vague promises of a Promised Land always in a distant future, out of her grasp. Even limiting herself to just one MRE and a couple bites of canned food per day left her in dangerous straits again before the week was out, and it seemed like the farther west she went the less food she was able to find. She felt herself becoming weaker, and trudging through the snow was placing a tremendous demand on her body.
Another week (or two?) passed, and Abby found it increasingly difficult to push her hunger to the back of her mind. There was a constant gnawing in the pit of her stomach, made worse by the phy
sical exertion she was putting herself through. She had finally reached the Rocky Mountains, making every day literally an uphill battle. And while the ruck she carried on her back was empty, the one she carried on her soul was filled almost to the point of bursting. She was just so cold, so hungry, so tired, so alone.
It was getting dark again, and Abby looked for shelter for the night. But a quiet, dark part of her was trying to talk herself out of that.
“What’s the point,” she muttered to herself. What was the point of trying to make it through another cold, lonely, hungry night if all she would face when she woke up was the same biting cold, the same bitter loneliness, and the same slow death of starvation? What was the point of carrying on after all she’d been through? She’d lived far longer than she deserved or expected. It had been a good run but now it was more like walking on a treadmill and getting nowhere. Yes, she might as well just lay down in the dark and the snow and let come what may.
“Freeze! Don’t move!” a man’s voice shouted.
Abby stopped, jerking her head up and looking around herself. While wallowing in self-pity, she’d stumbled right into what looked like the front yard of an enormous, gorgeous mansion situated on the side of the mountain, overlooking the valley below. The large front door was swung open, flinging a rectangle of light out into the snow, disrupted only by a single shadow. A man stood in the doorway, wearing grey sweatpants, a heavy black coat, and untied winter boots, and in his hands he brandished a dangerous looking shotgun with a drum magazine.
“Move into the light so I can see you better!” he said to Abby, and she did as she was told, holding her rifle in both hands up above her head. Once she stepped into the light coming from the open door and the man got a good look at her face, he lowered his shotgun, looking relieved.
“Ah, just a young lady. A beautiful one, too,” he said.
Abby ignored the compliment as she glanced past the man and looked inside the house. Lamps inside were creating the light, which meant this house was still powered. He probably used solar panels, and maybe a generator, Abby thought.
And despite being a good fifteen feet away from the door, Abby could still feel a slight tinge of warmth on the tip of her nose, coming from inside the house. She shuddered, imagining herself being enveloped in that heat, away from this miserably cold winter wind.
“Well, come inside! Come on inside! We’re letting out all the heat!” the man said, waving his arm to Abby. He turned and headed back into the house, pushing the door behind him so that it was just barely cracked open.
Abby stayed where she was, reticent to take the man’s invitation. He seemed friendly, but so had Henry the first time she met him. On the other hand, night was falling and Abby could feel the temperature dropping by the minute. What she wouldn’t give for even a brief respite from the cold. Hell, maybe she could even get food out of this guy. Her stomach growled at her, emphasizing just how hungry she was.
Going into this unfamiliar house with a man Abby didn’t know seemed like such a bad idea, but Abby was only human. A very hungry, cold, tired human. So, against her better judgment, Abby entered the house, closing the door behind her.
Immediately she was rewarded by a rushing sense of warmth. Having come from the winter winds outside, this house felt like a sauna to Abby. She leaned back against the wall next to the door, soaking in the heat and the stillness of the air, her face no longer being pricked and bitten by an icy breeze.
She pulled her hat off of her head and set it on an end table next her, underneath a wide, ornate mirror. She dared a glance at herself, scrunching up her nose at her reflection. This journey was taking a toll on her. Deep bags under her grey eyes, which weren’t nearly as bright as they once had been. Now they were clouded over with a distant, haunted gaze. Her hair was a dark, tangled mess, and Abby supposed rats would take offense were she to term it a rat’s nest.
“You can come on in here,” the man’s voice called from the next room at the end of the hall. “I’ve got the fire going good.”
Abby trudged down the hallway, keeping her pack and her weapons on in case she needed to run. Her boots thumped against the wooden floor until they were somewhat muted by the ostentatious rug that covered the latter half of the hallway. The tiny part of her that was still the young girl who had grown up learning proper manners felt like a poor guest for sullying such a fine rug, but the part of her that was hungry didn’t care.
She peaked around the corner and found herself looking into what appeared to be a large study. A magnificent fireplace was along the far wall, and a beautiful fire roared inside, throwing its heat even out into the hall and beyond. The wall to her left was lined with hundreds of books of all sizes and colors, filling the several ornate bookshelves there. In the corner along the left and far wall was another door, but it was closed.
In front of the fire, the man who had let Abby inside was standing next to a grand desk. He was looking down and reading a large book that lay open on the desk, likely finishing a chapter or a paragraph, and cradling a glass of red wine in his right hand. He was actually a fairly attractive man for his age, Abby thought. What hair he had left was a copper color, and pale green eyes flanked a distinguished nose.
He looked up and smiled at Abby as he closed the book. “Welcome,” he said, raising his glass to Abby. He then gestured to Abby’s right and said, “Please, have a seat.”
Abby unzipped her coat as she turned towards a dark grey couch over in the corner, already occupied by two women that Abby had failed to notice at first. Abby stifled a gasp as her cheeks burned bright red and she quickly looked away. The women were completely nude.
The man laughed as if he had set Abby up for that embarrassing interaction. The women joined him in laughing as they stood up and went to stand next to him. He kissed them both and then turned back to Abby to say, “Oh don’t be such prude, my dear. It’s just the human body.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Abby said, she glanced back at the man, trying her best to avoid looking at the women.
“Well, let’s at least make some introductions,” the man said. “My name is Adam. That’s Ashley and this one, believe it or not, is Eve.”
“Hello,” the two women said in unison, smiling at Abby.
“’Sup, I’m Abby,” Abby replied in a curt tone, still avoiding eye contact. She considered running out of the house and back into the night, but it was just so warm here that, despite her instincts, she stayed put, though she was halfway turned back towards the doorway.
“So did y’all just lose your clothes or something?” Abby asked.
Adam and the women laughed, and he said, “You have nothing to fear, young lady. If you think this is some kind of haram where I kidnap poor, innocent women and keep them for slaves, you’re wrong. Ashley and Eve have stayed here under their own volition, and they know they’re free to go whenever they choose.”
“Clothes just get in the way and slow everyone down,” Ashley said.
“And why would we ever want to leave?” the woman closest to Adam, the one he said was named Eve, said with a sultry smile. Adam returned the grin and embraced her, kissing her passionately.
“Oh get a room,” Abby said, turning away and facing the wall in disgust.
Adam chuckled again as he pulled away from Eve and said, “Oh, alright. I guess we’ve had enough fun at your expense.” He waved the girls away and smacked Ashley on the behind as the two women made their way back to the couch. He took a few steps toward Abby, and she took a step back herself, staring at Adam with distrusting eyes and hands that still clutched an M16 rifle.
“That’s fair,” Adam said as he took another sip of his wine. “So look, I invited you in to see if you’d be interested in some bartering. That’s my only intention, Scout’s honor.”
“I can trade,” Abby said.
“Excellent,” Adam replied. He downed the rest of his wine and set the empty glass on one of the many bookshelves to his right. “I don’t need a crystal b
all to tell me that you’re probably most in need of food, eh? Maybe some warmth too?”
Abby nodded her head to this, trying to recall all the stuff with which she was willing to part in exchange for food. “I’ve got this,” she said, holding up her M16. It had become a deadweight, and she had never used it once. “Government-issue, and over a hundred rounds.”
“I’ve got dozens of guns,” Adam said, waving a dismissive hand at Abby. “You should see the armory I’ve got downstairs.”
Abby thought some more and said, “I’ve got some coffee grounds, some hot sauce. It’s not much, but with the world gone to shit those are like little luxuries,” she offered. But Adam shook his head.
“No, I actually had a different kind of trade in mind,” he said, rubbing his chin. He looked over at Eve and Ashley, who were busy getting romantically involved on the couch, and smiled.
Abby followed his gaze, then turned back to Adam with a sneer. “You’re not serious,” she said.
“Quite, actually,” Adam replied. “I wasn’t lying when I said Ashley and Eve both chose to stay here, knowing full well they’re free to leave if they ever wish. And I’m prepared to offer you the same deal I offered them: I’ll let you stay here, give you complete access to my food, my water, my house, everything. All you have to do is sleep with me whenever I ask for it. And if ever you grow tired of this arrangement, well, you know where the door is.”
Hardly blinking, Abby stared at Adam. “I’m fifteen, dude!” she said, emphasizing her age.
Adam laughed along with the women on the couch and said, “So? You’ve already gone through puberty. I mean, look at you. A hundred years ago you’d already be married and have kids!”
“Yeah, a hundred years ago! That’s not how it works anymore!”
His Name Was Zach (Book 2): Her Name Was Abby Page 12