Famine: The Quiet Apocalypse

by T M Edwards

  FAMINE

  T. M. Edwards

  Copyright 2019 Tessa Escalera

  This book is a work of fiction. All people and events contained within are products of the author’s imagination and do not represent any real persons or events in any way. (Okay, some of the places might be real. But nothing else.)

  This work may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the copyright owner who can be contacted at: divergingfromnormalcy@gmail.com

  1: All Fall Down

  “How’s it looking?” I jerked the cart to a stop next to the van, where Sam stood with his head and upper body halfway inside the engine.

  He straightened and wiped his hands on the rag hanging over his shoulder. “It’s not great. I know basic maintenance, but without the internet for some tutorials, I’m as likely to break it worse as I am to fix it.”

  I yanked on the sliding door handle and pushed it open until it clicked into place. The inside of the van was already half full of food and water, all piled as neatly as we could manage. Leaning my cane against the cart, I pulled a flat of water bottles out of the basket and heaved them onto the van’s carpet. “Do you think it will get us home?”

  “Maybe. Just keep your eyes open for any other vehicles that’ll work. Or any vehicles we haven’t already drained the tanks on.” He settled the support pole back into place and let the hood fall into place with a bang. “I’ll see if someone can fix it when we get back.”

  “You really want to ask them to do that?” I heaved another flat of bottled water into the van. After those couple days of cold weather in late autumn, the weather had stayed mostly mild, and I was sweating, even in my t-shirt and jeans.

  “I get the feeling they’d prefer spore exposure to starving.” He walked back to me, and grinned as he made a shooing motion with his hand. I stepped back gratefully and stood leaning on my cane as he threw the rest of the water into the van with no apparent effort.

  “True.” I sighed, and ran the knuckles of my left hand down my thigh to dissolve the ache.

  “You okay?”

  I glanced up to find worry in his eyes. “Yeah.”

  “It almost seems like you’re getting worse, not better.” He pushed the now-empty cart away and I limped over to sit on the edge of the van’s floor.

  Once seated, I drew my injured ankle up onto my other knee and pulled my pants leg up to run my hand over the warped bone. It didn’t take an x-ray to know it hadn’t healed correctly, despite the brace Dr. Haroun made me wear. That knot was likely permanent unless the world woke up one day and decided to be normal again. “I dunno. We’ve been walking a lot.” I stared out across the abandoned parking lot as the breeze teased some of the red curls that had managed to escape my braid. “I’ll be okay.”

  Sam sat down next to me. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me when you’re hurting.”

  I smiled at him and touched his stubbled cheek with my fingers. “Look who’s talking.”

  “That’s different. We have pain meds…”

  “Which need to be saved for emergencies. Not a little leg ache.”

  “I know, but still…”

  “Sam.” I smiled at him, though it worried me how quickly he spiraled into panic attacks these days. I needed to keep him grounded, before his guilt and pain pulled him off to where I couldn’t reach him. “I’m okay. I promise. The spores will dissipate soon, and everybody else will be able to help us fix things and find food. We’ll get a chance to rest; we just have to make it through a few more weeks until that happens.”

  Sam had his elbows propped on his knees and his hands clasped together as he gazed out over the parking lot. His eyes were haunted, and any trace of his previous grin was gone. “It’s already been weeks. It’s only rained once, and not even enough to make a difference in the water barrels. We haven’t found any gasoline since yesterday. We can’t go much further without risking running out of gas on the way back.”

  I sighed, then placed my hand on his shoulder and used it to push me to my feet. “Come on. We gotta keep going ‘til that happens. Everybody needs us to keep going.” Without waiting for a reply, I dug the keys out of my pocket and waved them in front of his face.

  After Sam took the keys from me, I hobbled around to the passenger side of the van and leaned over to lay my cane between the two front seats before climbing up. Sam got up and slid the door closed, then swung into his own seat. When he turned the keys in the ignition, the van squealed as the damaged belt went into motion. He pulled the gearshift into drive, and the van rumbled out of the parking lot to bump onto the road.

  I suppressed a gasp as the transition jostled my ankle. Once we were on smoother pavement, I leaned my seat back and rested my injured leg on the dashboard.

  Driving calmed Sam...most of the time. This fact worked for me, as I’d never been horribly fond of the activity. All those little decisions to make, in such short timespans...they made my anxiety soar. Even with the roads empty, we never knew when we’d turn a corner and have only a split second to avoid large debris or abandoned vehicles. In contrast, Sam thrived on mindless activities that kept him busy...well, most of the time. We just had to avoid certain situations or noises that could send him spiraling.

  “It’s almost too quiet without Zena here.” I let my head fall back against the seat as I watched the city move past us.

  “She’ll come next time and talk your ear off like usual. Then I’ll get to listen to you complain about her at night when she can’t hear.”

  My jaw dropped as I glared at him in indignation for about two seconds before realizing he was correct. I pinched my lips together and shook my head. “I hope she’s okay. A tire blowout at that speed is enough to traumatize almost anybody.” I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t affected me as well, but somebody had to keep working to get supplies. We could barely keep ahead of the demand, with one water tank still not fixed and the power system’s constant malfunctions meant the freezers and hydroponics bay were suffering.

  “Hmm.” Sam didn’t offer any more conversation, and we fell into the silence of two people who knew each other well. We knew the streets of Vegas well by then, at least the downtown and northern parts. Each trip we ventured a little further south, trying to find spots where the stores hadn’t been emptied. The once-gaudy casinos stood silent and dark. I wondered what it would have been like to experience the city before. When the world was loud and chaotic, before the quiet apocalypse took hold and silenced it all within the space of a few days.

  I groaned as Sam pulled the van into the parking lot of a tall casino-hotel combination. “Sam…”

  “Deidre, it’s getting late. Wouldn’t you rather sleep on a real bed, instead of sleeping bags on the ground? If we just happen to spend a few hours searching…”

  “Fine.” Sam knew how much I hated searching the hotels. A wealth of supplies, but they took forever to collect. By the time we’d emptied every mini-fridge and all the restaurants of their non-perishable supplies, a whole day could be gone. He was right, though. We couldn’t just pass it by. We couldn’t skip resources just because they were inconvenient.

  Sam smiled as he pulled the van into park, and patted my hand where it rested on the armrest of my seat. “Cheer up. We can take all the good shampoos and add to your chocolate stash.”

  I wrinkled my nose at him, but managed to force myself into a more motivated state as I eased my foot down and picked up my cane. “Fine. But I’m not sharing. I find it, I keep it. I deserve something for all this work, dammit.”

  Sam knew better than to argue. He chuckled as he hopped down. I followed his example, albeit more slowly. He’d parked us under the awning at the entrance.
I opened the sliding door on my side of the van to pull out our backpacks, and handed his to him when he walked around. I slung my pack on my shoulders as Sam grabbed the crowbar from the van floor, then slid the door closed. He headed for the doors and I followed, then stood aside as he wedged the bar between the defunct automatic doors. After a few seconds of puffing and shoving, they moved apart far enough to admit us. Sam waved for me to go first.

  I squeezed through the doors and stepped into another world. Even in the dimness, it was obvious this had once been a grand place. A great chandelier hung from the ceiling, where lights would have once reflected from the white-and-black floor tiles. Dark casino machines filled every corner, including backed up to the fences surrounding the now-dying palm trees. The dome of the ceiling was glass, and allowed just enough light to see the place in all its abandoned glory. It was exactly the kind of place I’d have refused to step foot in before this whole apocalypse began.

  Something rattled behind me, and I looked back to find Sam pulling one of the bellhop carts. He grinned at me and gestured at the carpeted platform with its gold poles on each corner. “Hop on.”

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  “I won’t call the cops if you don’t.”

  Despite my protestations, I’m all too happy to lower myself onto the cart. I lean back against the poles, using my backpack as a pillow, and Sam moves to the front to pull the cart. I watch his arm as he grips the pole with one tanned and weathered hand. He’s thin, but he hasn’t lost the muscle his farm life gave him. He hasn’t bothered to cut his hair since I met him, and I have the sudden urge to pull the sandy-brown mess back into a little ponytail. A good quarter-inch of stubble coats his cheeks. He never shaves while we’re out on supply runs. He’s threatened to give it up completely so as to preserve our razors and water. So far, I’ve managed to convince him otherwise.

  The cart clattered as Sam pushed it across the lobby and toward the doors on the far side of the huge space. At least, I thought they were doors. Right now, they were just a dark blob amongst the rest of the darkness.

  We passed beneath the two great, leaning trees. The fronds had turned brown, and the floor was littered with paper and bits of palm leaf. I lifted my face to watch them as they passed over us, somehow more sad about the needless loss of plant life than all the evidence surrounding us that nine-tenths or more of the country’s population was now dead.

  Sam swung the cart around the corner at the end of an aisle of casino machines. The swinging doors leading to the hallway were now dead ahead.

  Something flickered at the edge of my vision, and I gasped as I turned to look. Was that…?

  “What is it?” Sam’s voice was low, and he jerked the cart to a stop as I shoved my hand into my pocket for my knife.

  “Something moved.” My voice was little more than a whisper. Behind and above me, a click sounded as Sam opened his own knife. I grabbed my cane and rose, using my knife hand to point at the darkest corner.

  “Are you sure?” Sam’s question was answered when the unmistakable sound of rustling papers reached us. “Stay here.”

  “Are you freaking kidding me? I’m not staying here while you walk off into the darkness.” I was growling in my attempt to convey my desperation while staying quiet. “I’ve seen that horror movie. It doesn’t end well.”

  Sam glanced at me and I could sense how hard he was trying not to roll his eyes. “Deidre, I’m an Airman, not a voluptuous blonde.”

  On that note, he stepped forward across the floor, which had transitioned from checkered tile to deep red carpet. The color of blood.

  Shut up, Deidre. My heart was in my throat as Sam’s slow and careful steps carried him away from me. I could barely hear another click, and the thin beam of a flashlight bobbed in front of him.

  Papers rustled again, and my stomach tightened.

  Then, as I listened with every nerve on edge, a low growl rumbled across the space, its last remnants echoing back from the wall behind me.

  Sam abruptly straightened. Then he laughed.

  2: Honey Badger Don't Care

  “What is it?” My voice came out entirely too loud, and resulted in Sam frantically shushing me by spinning around and waving his hands.

  Appropriately shushed, I limped forward as quietly as I could, watching in confusion as Sam crouched and slipped his backpack around in front of him. As much as I peered into the darkness, I couldn’t see anything but black.

  Suppressing a groan of pain, I knelt next to him and stared at him as he pulled a pack of jerky out of his backpack. When he glanced at me, he must have seen my unspoken question of whether he’d gone crazy, because he pointed into the dark corner. “Look, Deidre.”

  I followed his finger to one spot of darkness that was deeper than the rest. Then I went still. “Holy crap. Sam…”

  “Look.” He ripped off the top of the package and tossed a piece of jerky at the corner, which growls, but the jerky soon disappears between white teeth and black-furred lips.

  “We don’t know where it’s been. It could have rabies.”

  Sam graced me with a longsuffering stare. “Really, Deidre? Three months alone, and you assume rabies? Do you know how rare rabies is in the domesticated animal population? Anyway, it’s showing an appropriate fear response.” A strange tenderness stole across his face as he tossed another piece of jerky at the large, black dog. “It’s just scared and hungry.”

  I watched him, torn between shock and admiration, as he threw more jerky at the animal. His purpose soon became apparent when I realized each piece was landed a little closer to us than the one before it.

  By the time the painfully thin dog crept forward from the shadow into a faint puddle of light from a broken skylight, I was in utter awe of Sam. His patience and gentleness were unwavering as he coaxed the frightened dog forward. By the time he ran out of jerky, she took the last couple pieces from his hand. Her ears were just tilted back now, rather than pinned to her skull, and her eyes were focused eagerly on his hands.

  Sam moved slowly to pour some water into our smallest cooking pot, and nudged it toward the dog. I grasped his arm reflexively as she stood, and her emaciation was thrown into sharp relief. Even beneath the thick fur, her ribs and hip bones stood out. A deep white scar ran down one side of her face, and a chunk was missing from the top third of her ear. She looked like a German Shepherd, and a large one at that, but her fur was pure black. “Oh, Sam, look at her.” To my surprise, given I’d never been an animal person, tears pricked at my eyes. “What if we’re too late?”

  He put his hand over mine as we watched the dog drink. When the water was gone except for the drops splattered on the floor, he poured more into the bowl. For once, I didn’t even care that he was wasting water. I couldn’t stand to let one more living creature die when we could have saved it. “We’re not. She’s hungry. That’s a good sign. If she was too far gone, she wouldn’t be hungry anymore.”

  “I forget you used to own a farm, sometimes.”

  Sam smiled, but didn’t respond as he watched the dog. Once she finished the second bowl of water, she lifted a dripping nose and her tail wiggled. She was obviously still nervous, but we were winning her over.

  “Hey, sweetheart.” Sam reached out, and the dog’s tentative nose met his hand. After a long moment sniffing his fingers, she moved closer and stuck her long muzzle in his face to smell that, too. With careful hands, Sam touched the collar on her neck and slid it around until he found a tag. Then he laughed, which made the dog sit back and stare at him with her head tilted.

  Sam tilted the tag so I could see it. On the little blue heart were inscribed two words that could only be the dog’s name. Sam was still chuckling as he let the tag drop and I looked at him in confusion. He reached out and scratched the dog behind one ear. “Honey Badger, do you give a shit?”

  I gaped at him.

  “Oh, come on. You’ve never seen...of course you haven’t. And of course there’s no internet, so I can�
�t show you.”

  “What in the world are you going on about?”

  Sam pushed himself to his feet and Honey Badger danced back a few steps, her eyes still fixed on him. He reached down to help me to my feet. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Obviously.” I looked down at the dog, who was watching us eagerly. “Do you think she’ll come with us? Maybe she can sniff out food or something.”

  “We fed her when she was starving. I don’t think we could get rid of her if we tried. Come on.” Sam was right. As he led me back to the cart, the mean-looking dog with the funny name and the tentative demeanor followed in our wake as if she’d always done so.

  “We can’t keep feeding her though.” I lowered myself onto the cart and sat back with my knees pulled up. To my surprise, Honey Badger jumped up onto the platform and sat on her haunches with her tongue hanging out. She looked positively thrilled.