Band of Preppers (Book 2): Life is Hope

by Chad Evercroft

  “Nothing about how he died or what happened afterwards was normal,” Megan had said, as Amy related it later to Derek. “If he died of cancer, or in war, or even in something like a car accident, there are ways to be sad that I understand. There’s the funeral and people trying to make you feel better and trying to get back to work...none of that applied anymore. I didn’t really have time to grieve. And now, it’s almost like I can’t miss him because I’m not doing any of the things we used to do together. I’m not in the house we bought when we first got married, I’m not going to the same stores or restaurants or seeing the same friends. It’s weird.”

  Derek understood what she meant, at least a little. He never thought about the people he used to know in his “old” life, pre-pox. The people he worked with never crossed his mind. If he had had family left besides Buckle, it might be different, but everyone he really cared about was with him. Still, he felt if he had lost Amy like Megan had lost Blake, he would be missing her, obsessing over her actually, but that was not how life had played out for him. Thank God.

  After hour five of walking, the group was getting tired and discouraged. Their pace slowed and they started looking for a place to camp, at least for a little while, when they rounded a corner around a little forest and saw a farm. Everyone stopped dead in their tracks.

  “Hey, look! Horses!” Adam called, pointing.

  There were two of them, sleek and well-fed. They galloped across their fenced-in pasture, heads bobbing, manes waving. Their barn looked well-maintained as well; the doors were open and the men could faintly see stalls and straw.

  “Someone’s been taking care of them,” Fred remarked. “There’s the farmhouse over there.”

  It was a quaint little white farmhouse with a large wrap-around porch, potted plants, and no signs of any real damage. It was almost as if the house had been transported from another time, before the pox, and was untouched by the chaos of the new world. Jacob and Zeke seemed a little uneasy. They kept flexing their hands as if warming up to grab their guns.

  “They must have weapons, some way to defend this place,” Zeke said. “Or the place wouldn’t look so good.”

  “That’s true,” Buckle said. “But that doesn’t mean we need to be worried. We’ll just make sure they know we don’t mean any harm.”

  Each step to the farmhouse brought renewed hope. Derek thought he could hear chickens, but maybe he was just imagining things.

  “Keep your guns on your backs, boys,” Buckle said. “Don’t scare anyone.”

  He put his hand on Adam’s back and gave him a little push.

  “You go in front. It’ll look better.”

  Adam nodded. They walked slowly up to the farmhouse, looking around for anyone who might be watching them. When they reached the steps, Buckle held his hand up, instructing everyone but himself and Adam to stay there.

  “Don’t want to crowd the door,” he explained.

  Turning back to the house, Buckle pressed the doorbell. They could hear it echoing inside, in a sing-songy tune. It had been a long time since they had heard music. Everyone was a little in awe.

  “Someone’s coming,” Adam whispered, hearing footsteps.

  From his place below the stairs, Derek could see a shadow pass by the window, pausing for a moment. The screen door opened, revealing a middle-aged man in a flannel shirt holding a shotgun.

  “Afternoon!” Buckle said cheerfully.

  The man looked suspiciously at Buckle and Adam before tilting his head to look at the other men.

  “What do ya’ll want?” the man asked, in a not unfriendly voice, but definitely with a tone that warned Buckle to watch his step.

  “We’re from Mineral Point,” Buckle said. “We’re looking to do some trade with the folks around us.”

  The man squinted.

  “Oh, I’m Buckle,” Buckle added. “And this is Adam, my nephew. We’re good people, sir.”

  The man closed the door for a moment, putting up a finger to let Buckle know to wait. They could hear faint whispering between the man and a woman. After a few moments, he opened both doors and stepped on the porch.

  “I’m Randall. Randall Fisher,” he said.

  Randall Fisher was a lean, nervous-looking person with a gray beard and pale blue eyes. His wife, Candy, looked much younger than him, and had rabbit-like eyes that stared and darted back and forth. They didn’t seem like the kind of people who had been able to defend a farm with animals, but Derek knew people were often not what they seemed. He did notice that Randall’s body language was always tense and aimed so he could see everyone at once. He never turned his back on the group and though his shotgun was pointed down, his finger was on the trigger. Candy stayed inside, and Derek could see her peering at them through the curtains.

  “What are you boys looking to trade?” Randall asked after everyone had introduced themselves.

  “We’ve got flour, coffee, and cocoa, which you might be interested in, and we can help around here if you’ve got any chores…” Buckle said.

  Randall glanced around the porch, as if that would provide some answers. He sighed, and shook his head. Derek’s hope faltered.

  “I dunno. We’re pretty well-stocked here. Not really looking to trade.”

  “No chores? Farms have a lot of chores, and I know it’s gotta be hard with just the two of you,” Buckle pressed.

  Randall was quiet again. Buckle looked a little nervous, which probably didn’t help Randall’s doubts. He looked out over the porch again, scanning his field and horses.

  “Any of you guys good at fixing things? Tractor’s busted. I had a guy for that once, but he took off in the fall. Like most folk, I guess.”

  Buckle’s face brightened. He looked back at the men, smiling.

  “Yeah! We can do that!”

  “What do you want in exchange?”

  “You got any glass jars or canned stuff? Canned meat, especially?”

  “Yup.”

  “How about we fix up the tractor for ya, see how long it takes, and strike a deal? We’d ask for at least $50 worth of supplies.”

  Randall nodded slowly. Buckle stuck out his hand.

  “Sounds good then! Show us the tractor?”

  10.

  “Apparently giving birth is not as messy as I imagined,” Megan remarked to Amy.

  “It’s messy enough,” Amy assured her. “What else is that book saying?”

  Megan turned the page of the home birth book. Even though Amy wasn’t due for quite a while Megan was reading everything she could about how to help Amy. A water birth wasn’t really an option, simply because they couldn’t afford to use that much water, so the plan was to cover the bed with a clean shower curtain and towels. Amy had been relatively detached from the whole process, but once Derek and the others left for the supply run, Amy let her guard down a little. Going over the actual birth seemed to cause a lot of anxiety for Amy; she had Megan read the book and write down the list of what they needed.

  “It says to have tea and cookies out for your midwife,” Megan said in an overly solemn tone.

  “It does not!” Amy laughed.

  “I’m being totally serious,” Megan said, smirking. “See?”

  She pointed to the page. Amy leaned forward to see.

  “Well, what do you know. It does say that.”

  Megan smiled. She closed the book and looked over the back.

  “It’s funny how a lot of times these home births are supposed to be for people who want to be really ‘natural,’ back to their roots, y’know? But they’re still so staged. There still wasn’t a lot to be scared of.”

  “It’s weird to talk about it in the past, too. Those days. Last year.”

  Megan set the book down and looked over at Britney, who was sitting in the high chair Buckle had made her. Britney talked constantly, mostly gibberish, but she sometimes managed to say words, like “da” for “dog” and “ma” for “Megan.” Megan always referred to herself as “Megan” to Britne
y because she wanted Britney to know she wasn’t her mother - Lily was - but Britney’s interpretation of “Megan” sounded so much like “Mama” that it made Megan’s heart swell every time she said it.

  “How are you doing? With...all this?” Megan asked. “You haven’t really talked about it.”

  Amy sighed. She tried to smile, but it came across forced. Megan reached across the table and lightly touched Amy’s fingertips.

  “I’ve been having a lot of bad dreams,” Amy admitted.

  “About the baby?”

  “Yeah. Or just nightmares in general. Sometimes it’s about the baby. I’ll be in the woods or some other abandoned place all by myself, and something is chasing me. I’ll keep dropping the baby, or weird things will happen to it, like it will get so small I can’t hold unto it or it disappears completely.”

  “I used to get nightmares like that, too. After Lily and Blake died.”

  “When did they stop?”

  “I still get them sometimes, but not very often. It’s basically just time. I started thinking about other things. I wasn’t always in a permanent state of stress.”

  “I don’t really feel stressed during the day,” Amy explained. “But I guess at night, I can’t control what I’m feeling. I’ve seen patients with stress so bad it makes them physically sick, like really sick. Maybe that’s partly why the pregnancy has been so rough this time.”

  “That makes sense.”

  Amy turned the home birth book so it faced her, but she didn’t open it. The lines in her forehead deepened as she thought.

  “I don’t like Derek seeing me stressed. He’s sensitive to stuff like that. Tends to carry everything all at once.”

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed he has a lot of anxiety. You don’t think he’ll worry that you’re not being open about your worries? He must know you’re feeling nervous, too.”

  “He does and he doesn’t. Unless I really break down, he thinks everything is basically ok. I’ve always been the stronger one. More rational, I guess.”

  “Do you feel strong? About this?”

  Megan’s question hung heavy in the air for a moment. Megan could see Amy’s layers begin to crack just a little like the hairline fractures in a hard-boiled egg that was held too tightly. Tears began to fill Amy’s eyes and her shoulders shook.

  “It’s ok,” Megan assured her. “You can let go.”

  A half hour later, Amy said that it had felt really good to cry. Megan didn’t recall ever having seen Amy cry at all, besides maybe just tearing up, but after Megan had told her it was ok to let go, Amy had wept. It was an overflow of weeping, like when a soda can is shaken and then opened. There was so much pressure built up inside Amy that once she let a little out, it all had to come out. Megan just set the table, letting Amy cry, and comforted Britney. Seeing Amy so upset, had made the little girl confused and upset as well. Megan took the baby around the room, distracting her, dangling her toys, until Britney became sleepy and was ready to be put down for a nap. When Megan returned, Amy had put her head on the table and cried silently, tears streaming down her face. Megan sat beside her and gently rubbed her back. When Amy had no more tears, she sat up and took a long, shaky breath.

  “Whoa.”

  “Feel any better?” Megan asked.

  “Yeah. Felt good. Like a release.”

  Amy took several more deep breaths before getting herself a glass of water. The spring rain had been generous and they did not need to be worried for a while. It was a huge relief to not have to think about such basic concerns for once.

  Amy’s cry had made her exhausted, so while she and Britney napped, Megan decided to go out for a brief stroll with Roadie and Bailey. It wasn’t recommended for anyone to go off by themselves, but Megan had her gun and the two dogs to keep her safe. Besides, the fresh air was too much to resist and promised herself she wouldn’t go far. After telling Amy she was leaving, Megan leashed the dogs and headed out. They were thrilled to be out of the village and snapped playfully at each other. Since the venison pox had put a stop to hunting, the dogs hadn’t been out in the woods for a while. The disappearance of the snow revealed a cornucopia of smells, one more refreshing than the last. Roadie and Bailey snuffled their way through mounds of dead leaves, animal holes, and whatever else they could get into. Megan breathed in deeply, taking the crudely-cut path through the forest. It could barely be called a path besides the fact she didn’t have to deal with trees directly in her way most of the time. She had walked about ten minutes from the village, taking in the fresh scents and budding trees when she reached a little clearing. She paused to look up, the sky a pale blue and curving down. It made her feel a little like she was living in a fisheye camera lens. Megan was just about to turn back when she heard loud crunching. It was too loud for a small animal, and they had never had trouble with bears or anything of that size. Megan looked around through the trees, trying to figure out where the noise was coming from.

  “Who’s that? Who’s there?” Megan called, gripping the dogs’ leash a little tighter.

  She heard more branches cracking. Whoever it was, they were coming closer. Megan drew her gun with one hand and cocked it, clicking loudly. The branch-crackling stopped.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Megan warned. “I’m armed.”

  The sound of a person vomiting startled her and the dogs barked. From behind a particularly thick cluster of trees, a figure staggered forward.

  “Please,” they moaned. “Help.”

  Megan didn’t move. She recognized the voice.

  “Lewis?”

  Blake’s half-brother lifted his head when he heard his name. His face was speckled with pox, oozing and rent with fingernail scratches. He stared at Megan, disbelieving, as if he was seeing a ghost.

  “Megan?” he choked.

  He started to come forward, but Megan held up the gun.

  “Stay where you are,” she ordered.

  She lifted her shirt to cover her nose and mouth, tugging a little at the leash. Roadie growled at Lewis, aware that something was amiss with the stranger. Lewis stopped short, a look of bewilderment on his face.

  “What...what are you doing?” he stammered. “Please. I need help.”

  “How long have you been sick?” Megan demanded, not lowering the gun.

  “Uh...I don’t know. A week maybe?”

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “We all got separated. Me and Cash and his girl. I’ve been jumping around. Got into a group that said they could help me, but they just needed a pack mule. One of them got sick, got exposed somewhere when they were out on a run. We all got sick. They’re all dead. I’ve been walking. I don’t know how far. Please. I need help.”

  Lewis vomited again. Megan stepped back, dragging the dogs with her. The vomit was mostly blood. Lewis dropped to his knees and stared at the ground in horror.

  “I’m dying,” he said, in a shocked tone of voice. “This can’t be happening. This isn’t real.’

  He began to scratch at his face, like Blake had, as if he was trying to rip off his skin. Megan turned her head so she wouldn’t have to see. Lewis was screaming, sobbing, but he wouldn’t stop tearing at himself.

  “Stop that!” Megan cried. “Stop doing that.”

  Lewis obeyed, letting his arms fall to his sides. His hands were covered in blood.

  “They’re all dead,” he whispered. “Rotten.”

  Megan’s mind was racing. She didn’t know what to do for sure, but she knew there was no way Lewis was getting into Mineral Point. Lewis looked up at her, his eyes so bloodshot the whites had turned deep pink.

  “You’re dead,” he said in a confused tone. “You’re supposed to be dead. Like Blake.”

  A knot formed in Megan’s throat, but she forced herself to swallow it. She still had the gun pointed at Lewis’ head. She tightened her grip.

  “We’re all going to be dead,” Lewis continued. “Rotten.”

  He began to laugh. It was a guttural, wet sound l
ike he was trying to cough up his insides. Bailey began to growl along with Roadie, and bared her teeth.

  “Where’s that little brat?” Lewis asked. “Dead? Rotten?”

  The knot appeared again, larger, and tied squeezing against Megan’s heart.

  “You probably got her killed, didn’t you, you bitch? After trying to save your moron husband? You…”

  Lewis never finished his last insult. The bullet hit him square through the front of his head and out the back. He fell forward into the puddle of his own vomit, blood mixing with the mess on the ground. The dogs barked furiously, their sensitive ears ringing. They would have continued barking at Lewis’ unmoving body for some time, if Megan hadn’t tugged on their leash to go back to the village. The stench of gunpowder and vomit clung to the insides of her nostrils. Megan fought the desire to be sick and just kept walking. When she got back to Mineral Point, Megan let the dogs loose in the house and went straight into the cellar. Buckle had an assortment of tools hanging on the wall. Megan took the shovel, a surgical mask, and a pair of latex gloves. Without a word to anyone, Megan retraced her steps down the path until she reached the clearing. She almost hoped the body would be gone and everything that had passed in just the past twenty minutes would be a dream. However, the body was still there, blood soaking the newly-softened ground, and Megan felt a little glad for that, too. She didn’t want to be crazy or imagining killing people. This was happening. This was real. She would just have to deal with it.

  Digging a grave was harder than Megan expected. The ground had thawed by now, it was true, but it was still hard enough to give Megan a difficult time. She stripped layers of her clothing off until she was digging in just her jeans and tanktop, her T-shirt and sweatshirt tossed as far from the body as possible. When she had dug as deep as she thought necessary, she put on the gloves. The first thing she did was go through his pockets. They were empty except for a wallet and a pocketknife. Megan looked inside the wallet, but there was only a driver’s license and some cut credit cards. Megan tossed everything inside the grave, even the knife. It was cheap and the blade was dull. Taking a deep breath, Megan grabbed Lewis by his legs and pulled him around into the grave so she didn’t have to touch as much vomit or blood. She still ended up with stained gloves, but once Lewis was lying in a tangle in the grave, Megan stripped them off and threw them in with him. She filled in the hole with the tainted dirt before moving the soil she had dug up back on top of the body.