The Long Search For Home

by Ray Wench

  Myron put the peanut butter away and tore open a granola bar. The water rippled in the light warm breeze. The sun was on its descent and reflected off the surface. He sank his teeth into an apple and turned his attention to the house. Nothing had moved there since he’d arrived. When he finished eating, he would investigate. He needed to replenish his meager supplies. He left his pack and bow and arrows, pulled out the gun, and advanced toward the house. There was no place to seek cover, so it was straight ahead or not at all.

  Seventeen

  Glancing at the gun as he walked, Myron reasoned there was no sense having the weapon if he didn’t have the courage to pull the trigger. Could I take another person’s life? He created anger to shake off the anxiety and increased the pace of his approach. Windows lined the house. Anyone there could easily see him.

  No shots or shouts of alarm sounded as he reached the door. The storm door was open, but the wooden door was locked. He pressed his face to the glass and peered inside. The house remained quiet. Using the gun as before, he broke the glass and reached through to unlock the door. He wasn’t inside for more than a few seconds before his eyes watered.

  Myron gagged. He sucked in a short breath and held it as he raced back through the door to gulp in fresh air. When the nausea passed, he stared at the house. By the strength of the stench, probably more than one body was in there. Myron had no choice. If there were food and drink inside, he had to go in.

  He ran back to the hut and grabbed a towel. He poured some chlorine on the ends and wrapped it around his head, covering his nose. The chlorine soaked ends were at the back of his head, but the fumes were strong. Not sure how long he could stand inhaling the chlorine or how safe it was, Myron ran back to the house and right through the door. The kitchen was to the left.

  As fast as he could, Myron rifled through the cupboards. He filled a large garbage bag with whatever he found, not caring for the moment what it was. The refrigerator yielded some diet pops and flavored mineral waters. Not his favorite, but he would learn to adjust his tastes.

  When the cupboards had been stripped, Myron retreated to the shed, ripping off the towel and dropping it next to the pond. He gasped for clean air.

  Myron opened the bag and pawed through the contents. He pulled out a can of beef stew. His mouth watered. He could eat it cold, but his taste buds cried for hot stew. Wasn’t there a bag of charcoal in the shed? He spun around. Yes! There, next to the patio, was a grill.

  He ran inside and snagged the bag.

  Myron had a lighter in his pack. He tore through it finding it at the very bottom. A search of the shed came up empty for lighter fluid. Flicking the lighter through the hole at the bottom of the grill he tried to light the charcoal dry.

  Minutes later, with no progress he grunted and swore. His desire for a hot meal bordered on desperation. There was a thin line of pine trees running from the shed toward the house. In the fading light Myron scrounged for old twigs, pine cones or needles that might burn. “Yes!” he shouted, when the charcoal lit.

  While he waited for his food to heat, Myron set about making his bed for the night. He spread a tarp he found on the floor of the shed. On top of that he laid two towels. Two more towels would be used for his pillow. From his pack he pulled a small blanket.

  As he ate, he looked over the pond. A slim moon cast a dim light upon it. Maybe I could stay here a while. It would be too difficult to carry the amount of food he’d found. He finished the stew and threw the can in the barrel. It was time for bed.

  Part Three

  Eighteen

  “Pull, Caleb.”

  “I am.”

  “Well, pull harder.”

  A large burly man with wild black hair covering his face and head slid along the peak of the roof and grabbed onto the rope Caleb struggled with. With one pull, they lifted the solar panel over the edge of the eaves, almost knocking the man who was guiding the panel from the ladder he stood on.

  “Whoa! Easy up there. You trying to kill me?” the man shouted.

  The big man pulled again. “Well, make up your mind. You want it pulled or not?”

  “Just pull it up, Jarrod,” the man on the ladder said.

  “Uh-huh, that’s what I thought.”

  The panel slid along the shingles and stopped at the feet of the large man.

  The tall boy said, “Thanks, Jarrod.”

  “No problem, Caleb. Now help me move this thing over to the frame.”

  The two men lifted the three-by-three-foot panel toward the end of the roof.

  Mark watched from the extension ladder as Jarrod and Caleb set the panel and attached it to the framework. He nodded as they worked. This just might work. The idea of putting solar panels on the house had been a very ambitious one. But with the winter coming in a few months, Mark wanted to give the family every chance of staying warm.

  He descended the ladder and stood next to Jarrod’s flatbed truck where more panels were stacked. He looked across the yard. Lynn and Ruth were busy hanging laundry. Alyssa and Zac were in the cornfield, harvesting whatever they could. Darren and Mallory were taking care of the livestock.

  His new family had come a long way from the days trying to survive the Horde. They had been at peace for a month now. They still had a long way to go. The physical and mental scars of that final battle might never heal, but given time, they would scab over.

  Mark looked into the rising sun, shielding his eyes with a hand. He looked toward the east several times a day. The hope never died that one day Becca and Bobby would appear on the horizon. But with each day that passed, Mark was forced to accept the fact they may have succumbed to whatever illness had killed off most of mankind. The hard part was not knowing, perhaps never knowing.

  The rope dropping on the truck made Mark jump.

  “One down and a whole lot to go,” Jarrod shouted from his unseen perch above.

  Mark smiled as he grabbed the rope and tied it to the next panel. The big man had come a long way since being shot in the shoulder, thanks to Maggie and the nurses they had rescued. Jarrod still didn’t have full range of motion, but his strength was returning. And Jarrod would never let the injury or the pain it must still cause stop him from helping his friends.

  Mark lifted each corner of the thirty-pound panel and slid the rope around it. He then tied the end to the hanging portion creating a rope basket. The process was slow, but there was no hurry.

  “Okay, lift,” he yelled, and then climbed the ladder guiding the rope. There was a three-foot overhang where the eaves were attached. Mark lifted the panel, swinging it away from the house. The panel wasn’t that heavy, but the awkward angle Mark at which had to lean so the panel would clear the gutters, made the task more difficult, if not somewhat dangerous. That was why he chose this job rather than be on the roof. Jarrod would try, but his shoulder would hinder him, and Mark wouldn’t risk Caleb’s safety.

  “It’s clear. Pull.” The panels were rated at 190 watts. Each one held seventy-two solar cells. However, he couldn’t find enough of them to cover the roof, so he grabbed whatever one-by-three-foot panels he could find too. They would go on last.

  Mark had filled the front closet with a stack of batteries. An electric panel was hooked up there that would control where the electricity was directed. According to the research Mark had done in the small town library, the panels should generate more than enough electricity to run the refrigerator full time, the lights and outlets when needed, and the electric heaters in the winter.

  Their house would be the test house. If the panels worked, they would start hunting for enough panels to do Jarrod’s house. It would be a long process, but it was only mid-August – they still had time.

  When Jarrod and Caleb had grabbed the panel, Mark started down the ladder.

  “Just stay there, Mark,” a voice came from below. “No sense going up and down all day. I’ll feed them to you.”

  Looking up at him was Lincoln Colston. He had moved into the house across the
street to the west a week ago with a young blonde who didn’t leave the house much. Lincoln had been a pro football player with St. Louis before the apocalypse. He had been a star. People wore his jersey, picked him for their fantasy teams, and wanted to be him. Now he was trying to survive like everyone else.

  The couple had appeared one day on foot. The young woman, Jenny, collapsed on the street. Lynn rushed to their aid. Jenny, who looked to be no more than sixteen, was dehydrated and suffered from malnutrition.

  Lincoln had been very protective at first, not allowing anyone near Jenny. He brandished a gun and threatened to use it if anyone came close. Mark had joined Lynn and pushed her behind him.

  “I understand,” Mark said. “You want to protect her. I want to protect my friend too. She’s a nurse. If you want her to look at your lady, she will. If not, we’ll go back to our house and let you be. You decide.”

  Lincoln looked on the verge of collapse himself. He was exhausted, confused, and scared. In the end, he allowed Lynn to help. The family took them in until they were stronger and rested. Lincoln decided to stay, but space was short, so Mark set them up in the house across the street.

  Mark smiled. “That’d be great, Lincoln.”

  Nineteen

  Six hours later, the family sat down together for their evening meal. Four picnic tables had been placed in a line. Jarrod and Lincoln stayed for dinner. The job had taken all day, but was done. Now they would have to wait and see whether any energy was produced.

  With everyone seated, Jarrod bowed his head and said a quick prayer. Then, in a burst of movement and sound, the food was picked up and passed. These were Mark’s favorite moments. He glanced around the table. The smiles, the laughs, the loud happy voices, reminded him of Thanksgiving dinner. Only now, they got to do it every day.

  His gaze stopped at Lynn. She was watching him with a warm smile. He smiled back and winked, and then took a plate of corn from Lincoln. When he looked back, Lynn was busy passing food. Mark marveled at her strength and resiliency, especially after all she’d been through.

  “Hey, wake up down there,” Jarrod’s voice boomed. “You got hungry people down here.”

  Mark laughed and took the bowl of green beans Lincoln had been holding.

  “I don’t think he likes beans,” Lincoln said.

  “Well, good,” Jarrod replied. “More for the rest of us.”

  “So, Lincoln,” Lynn called from her end of the table, “is Jenny joining us?”

  Lincoln paused for a second. His eyes clouded over and then cleared in a flash. “Ah, no, she was taking a nap. If you don’t mind, I’ll fix her a plate and take it to her later.”

  Lynn continued, “If she was taking a nap when you came over, she should be awake by now. Should I go over and invite her?”

  “No,” he said too quickly, “she’s very shy. I’ll go do it.”

  Before he could rise, Mark covered his hand. “We’re not prying, Lincoln. We’re just friends who are concerned.”

  Lincoln deflated. He put his hands on his face and rubbed as if he could clear away whatever the problem was.

  Lynn said, “Is she all right? Is there something I can help with?”

  “I-I don’t know. I can barely get a response from her. She seldom gets out of bed or eats. I don’t know what to do.”

  “I won’t pry or get involved if you don’t want me to,” Lynn said. “But she obviously needs help. Is she ill?”

  “That’s what I thought at first, but she doesn’t have a fever or any symptoms of, you know. There’s just something wrong up here.” He pointed to his head.

  “She’s not vomiting or complaining of cramps?”

  “No. She just lies there like she’s in a trance.”

  “Do you want me to look at her?”

  Lincoln turned toward Lynn with tears welling. “Would you please? I don’t know what else to do.”

  “Of course.” Lynn stood. The entire table had gone quiet during the exchange. “Everyone go back to eating and having fun. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Lynn walked toward the other house. Lincoln jumped up and followed. Mark was a few steps behind him.

  “Lynn, wait.” He caught up with her.

  “I don’t want to offend you, Lincoln, but I think I should talk to her alone.”

  “Ah, yeah, sure.”

  Lynn glanced past him and met Mark’s gaze. “Why don’t you finish eating while I see how Jenny is?” Something unsettling lurked in Lynn’s eyes. Mark tried to understand what she was trying to convey. Did she think Lincoln was the cause of Jenny’s problem?

  Perhaps he was abusing her. Maybe he had Jenny restrained inside so she couldn’t leave. The man came from a violent world as a football player. Could he have turned physical with Jenny?

  “Come on, Lincoln, let’s go eat. Let Lynn do her thing.”

  Lincoln stared at Lynn as if trying to puzzle something out. “Whoa, wait a minute. You’re not thinking that I’m the cause of Jenny’s problems, are you? ‘Cause that shit’s messed up.”

  “Lincoln—” Mark started.

  “Uh-uh, man, back off me. I would never hurt that girl. What is this? You thinking because I’m black I grab this young blonde to take advantage of her? Screw that, man. You don’t know me, and you don’t know shit about what we been through.”

  “Lincoln, I’m not judging you,” Lynn said in a calm voice. “Jenny needs help. That’s all I’m concerned about. Okay?”

  Lincoln relaxed a bit. “I need to tell you something about how I found Jenny. You know how it was in those early days. It was crazy. People were dying, and other crazy people were killing those who survived. I was wandering around half-crazed myself. My wife and kid were dead, and I couldn’t find anyone who could make sense of it all.”

  He stopped and seemed to drift back to that time. “When I first saw Jenny, she was trying to fight off two men who were … well, they weren’t doing nice things to her. I stopped them. My anger, my pain, my confusion all built into a rage that I unleashed on those two men. I don’t know if I killed them, but neither of them moved.

  “I reached down to Jenny, but her eyes were wide with fear. She had just witnessed me destroy these two men. She must have thought I was just taking their place. I convinced her I wasn’t going to hurt her, and to be safe she should come with me. She agreed, but as she stood up, she walked to a bundle on the ground and picked it up. She cooed at it, so I thought it was a baby.

  “We walked for miles. When I found a place I thought we might be safe, we stopped for the night. It was then I saw the baby was dead. She was seventeen years old and had given birth to a baby a month before people started dying.

  “I finally convinced her to let me bury the baby. That was real hard for her to watch. She’s been like this ever since.

  “So you see, that poor girl, she’s going through some stuff in her head that I can’t help with.”

  Lynn put a hand on Lincoln’s arm. “I’m sorry Lincoln. I know you did the best you could. The mind’s a tricky thing to figure out. Let me talk with her. Maybe I can help her through the pain.”

  He nodded. “I’d be obliged, Lynn.”

  She smiled and left. Mark put an arm around Lincoln’s shoulders and walked him back to the table. The long day was turning into an interesting night.

  Twenty

  Morning came early. In truth, they all came early. The family adjusted their day to match the sunlight. Although they now had some stored energy from the windmills, they only used electric lights for an hour after sunset.

  Mark stretched and went to the kitchen to make coffee. Lynn sat sipping her own cup. She looked up and smiled.

  “Good morning.”

  “Morning,” she replied.

  Mark poured a cup of coffee and sat down across from her. “Rough night?”

  “Yeah, she’s really messed up.”

  “You been to sleep yet?”

  “I tried, but gave up.” She shrugged.

  �
��Why don’t you try now? You can use my room. We’ll handle things.”

  “No, that’s all right. I’ll take a nap later if I need to.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  Lynn sighed. She set down her cup and leaned forward. “She’s just seventeen. She was sixteen when she got pregnant. The baby died in her arms while she walked to find help. Then two men tried to rape her. They tossed her baby aside and knocked her to the ground. That’s when Lincoln stepped in. Jenny saw him pummel her attackers and thought she’d be next. Instead, he helped her. He convinced Jenny that the baby was dead and buried her. She can’t get past that. Says she still hears the baby cry.” Lynn stared into her mug.

  “Jenny did say that Lincoln never touched her or tried anything improper. He’s looked after her. I think she sees him more as a father figure.”

  “Well, that’s good to know. You had me worried last night.”

  She sipped her coffee and stared past Mark.

  “So she gonna be all right?”

  “I don’t know. Time will tell, I suppose. We have to get her out of the house, if only to have meals with us. She needs to have tasks to do to keep her mind off the baby.” She stood and poured the remains in her cup down the sink. “That’s all I got. I’m not a psychiatrist.”

  “Well, you’re the closest we have to one, and Lord knows you’ve been called on enough to have earned an honorary degree.”

  That made her smile.

  “And in case no one’s said it lately, thanks for all you do for us.”

  “Aw, thanks.” After a slightly awkward silence, she said, “I’m going to wash up. Then I have to start breakfast.” She left the kitchen.

  Mark knew better than to push her to get some sleep. She was a strong woman and felt a great responsibility to the family.

  He finished his coffee, rinsed out the cup and went outside. The air was crisp – a little surprising for August. He walked away from the house to observe the solar panels on the roof. They were constructed to withstand fifty pounds of weight from snow or wind. He would test the system later after it had a full day’s charge.