by Mia Frances
She was startled by the sound of snapping branches and crunching leaves. Terrified, imagining bears, maniacs, or zombies hiding in the shadows, she pulled her sister and cousin closer and waited. She could see a figure coming toward them, but in the first hazy light of dawn, couldn't make out who it was.
"Aunt Alex? Is that you?" she timidly called out.
"Yes," came the reassuring reply.
Her fear allayed, Deana squirmed out of the bag. She could see more clearly now. Her aunt's arms were loaded with wood. She scrambled to her feet and began walking toward Alex, ashamed of what she'd been thinking.
Arms aching, Alex dropped the branches and taking the pack from her back, knelt to clear a spot in which to build a fire.
Deana watched her a moment, then came closer. "I was so worried," she blurted out, laying bare her feelings. "I didn't know whether you'd come back or not."
Alex looked up, her face showing hurt and surprise. "Why would you think something like that?"
"I don't know," she stammered, before dissolving into tears.
Alex patted the ground next to her, "Come sit a minute. It's time we had a talk." There was a long pause. "Did you really think I'd go off and leave you?"
Deana nodded her head, unwilling to meet her aunt's gaze.
"You actually think I'm capable of doing something like that?"
Deana didn't answer.
"I'll never leave you," Alex vowed. "I'm here for the duration Deanie. We either make it together or we don't make it at all." She stopped a moment to let her words sink in. "I can't blame you for what you thought. I know how scared and confused you must be after yesterday, but we're not going to get very far if we can't trust each other."
"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice choked with emotion.
Alex pulled Deana close and hugged her. "We've got a long way to go and if we're going to get there, you've got to have a little faith in me. I'm not going to leave you; you've got to believe that!"
"What's the matter with Deana?" Michelle asked in concern as she approached them, "Why's she crying?"
"Just a little scared is all," she said, giving Deana a squeeze. "She's fine now."
Michele walked over to her sister and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, "You don't have to be afraid Deana, we're not going to let anything happen to you, are we Aunt Alex?"
Alex nodded, a lump growing in her throat. They were lost waifs. They needed the security of knowing that someone cared enough about their welfare to stay with them through thick and thin no matter what. Alex had to be the rock they could cling to as the world imploded around them. She felt ill-prepared for the role. Nurturing, mothering, kissing away tears was something she knew little about. Give her an office and a position of authority and she'd rise to the occasion, but dealing with seven terrified kids was an entirely different matter. She wasn't sure she could handle it. Shuffling papers was one thing, assuming responsibility for young lives was quite another. Alex wasn't the touchy-feely type. Not a natural-born cuddler or hugger. She tended to be standoffish. But she couldn't maintain her usual physical and emotional distance in this situation. Alex was scared. She didn't want to fail them. Lucky for her sisters they weren't here right now. Because if they were…she'd fucking strangle them!
"I'm freezing," Alex announced loudly, "Let's get this fire started."
Deana got to her feet and wiped the tears away, watching as her aunt began to build a small teepee of sticks. She felt better now, less afraid. "Why are you doing that?" she questioned, puzzled. "That's not the way Daddy started fires in our chiminea."
"That's because your father wasn't a Girl Scout! This is the way you build a campfire," she informed her.
"Where's the paper," Michelle asked, doubtful that without it there'd be a fire at all."
"Don't need it."
Michelle looked skeptical.
"We'll use what the Indians did: birch bark." Alex held up a handful of white curls to show them. She carefully placed them under the sticks, then added some twigs. Taking a tin of matches from her backpack, she lit it. In a matter of seconds, the pile ignited and was engulfed in flames.
"You know a lot about the woods, don't you Aunt Alex?" Michelle said, impressed.
"Not nearly enough," she mumbled, digging into her pack and withdrawing a handful of wilted leaves.
"What's that," Deana asked, wrinkling her nose.
"Breakfast."
"Yuck!"
"Looks awful," Michelle agreed.
"I'd rather have what we had yesterday," Deana muttered, making a grotesque face at the growing pile of green.
"As I recall you didn't want to eat the snakes either," Alex reminded her.
"But at least that looked like food. These look like weeds."
"Greens," Alex corrected.
"Weeds," Deana insisted, scowling.
"Well, it's all we have. It took me a long time to pick and wash them clean. They're nutritious and loaded with vitamins and minerals. So I don't want to hear any more complaints."
"How do you eat them?" Michelle wanted to know. Her growling, empty belly providing the incentive needed to overlook their unappetizing appearance.
"Raw."
"You're not even going to cook them?" Deana objected.
"In what? Just where do you think I'm going to get a pot out here?"
As the other children slowly left their beds and made their way toward the warmth of the campfire, Alex added more wood to the flames, watching as sparks shot into the air. All those years of reading the Girl Scout Handbook when she was a kid had proved worthwhile after all.
"Come here Derek," she said, grinning at her youngest nephew. "Come sit by me." The boy responded with a shy, half-hearted smile, and knelt down next to her, his hand touching her knee. He was a cute little fellow, with chestnut colored hair and big, brown eyes. The spitting image of his mother, Tori. He'd always been rambunctious, talkative, and given to mischief, but that was before. Now he rarely spoke, and the twinkle in his eyes had been replaced by sadness and fear. He was pining for his mother, his father, his old life. Alex put her arm around him; and, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, kissed the top of his head. If she was going to play mother to this band of unkempt urchins, she might as well start now. It wasn't the sort of thing you could ease into over time. Alex wasn't sure she'd be any good at it, but at least she'd give it her best shot. "OK kids, everybody gather round."
One by one they came and sat by the fire, all except for Michelle and Shawn who were in a heated shoving match battling over who would sit by Alex.
She was gratified by her newfound popularity, but…"Knock it off!" she said sternly, frowning in their direction.
The bickering stopped immediately and they both dropped to the ground without another word. In all the years they'd known her, their aunt had never so much as raised her voice to any of them, but that had changed. They'd seen a whole new side of her since they'd gotten the news about the war. Alex had always been a kindly auntie. Showering them with gifts for Christmas and birthdays, and lavish baskets at Eastertime. Routinely showing up at their soccer and baseball games. Taking them out for burgers or to the park. Even taking them out trick or treating last year. They'd never seen her angry or heard her swear before, but behind the sweet, smiling exterior, there was a dark side. Until they knew her better, it was best to keep their mouths shut and do as they were told.
When everyone was quiet, Alex began passing out the dandelions and plantain. "This is breakfast," she announced. "I realize it isn't much, but it's all we've got, so I'd appreciate it if you'd can the comments and groans and abstain from making faces." She was staring directly at Deana as she said it. As the oldest, her behavior set the tone for the younger ones. If Alex could keep her in line, there'd be no problem. If, on the other hand, Deana refused to do as she was told, the others would follow suit. The result would be rebellion and chaos. Not a situation conducive to their survival. "I know it doesn't look very appetizing
and probably won't taste much better, but it will fill your bellies. Until we can come up with something better, we'll have to make do."
Justin picked off a wilted dandelion leaf, popped it in his mouth, and began to chew. He screwed up his face at the bitter taste; but nevertheless swallowed it.
Noting his cousin's distress, Seth leaned in and whispered in his ear, "How's it taste?"
"Terrible," the older boy muttered under his breath, hoping his aunt wouldn't hear.
"Do we hafta eat it?" Seth asked, staring at the limp weed in his hand. It didn't look even remotely edible to him.
"Yes!" she responded firmly. "Make believe it's spinach."
"I hate spinach," he snorted as he brought the leaves to his mouth and, cringing, took a bite.
"Let's go!" she ordered in a tone reminiscent of a drill sergeant browbeating young recruits. "Eat up! We're going to walk six miles today, maybe more, and you'll need your strength." Though unconvinced, they all meekly began eating. But not Deana. She was determined to be difficult. "Look, if the Indians and pioneers could eat it, we certainly can." Alex boldly bit off a piece, chewing and swallowing it without so much as a grimace.
"Yeah sure," Deana smirked, "But how many of them are still alive to tell about it?"
Alex frowned.
The girl was treading on thin ice and knew it. This wasn't a good time to test the limits of her aunt's patience. "Oh all right," she snapped, taking half the plant into her mouth. "Satisfied?"
Alex smiled, pleased that she'd won the first round in their battle of wills. As the fire snapped and crackled, she studied the children. They looked like a band of woefully small Indians as they huddled close to the flames for warmth. They were hers now. Her children. Her tribe.
Chapter 7
Alex saw the clearing up ahead; it was as good a place as any to stop and rest. This was going to be more difficult than she first imagined. The older ones could keep up the pace, but the littler ones, Derek, Shawn, and Michelle, tired quickly. The journey would have to proceed one arduous mile at a time. It would have been easier to walk along the road rather than fight their way through the heavy underbrush. Dense stands of trees and large boulders blocked their way at every turn. Each step made treacherous by snaking roots, laying in wait like tangled ropes ready to trip and ensnare them. Loose rocks shifted under their feet, making the very act of walking a hazard. Even so, she preferred to endure the perils of the forest rather than face the unknown dangers that might await them on the road. They were never out of sight of it, never more than a few hundred feet or so away at any given moment. Their lifeline, she kept it in view, fearing that if she didn't, they'd accidently veer off course, becoming hopelessly lost in the wilderness. Peering out from her vantage point amid the safety of the trees, she could observe the road unseen. They'd been walking now for a couple of hours, yet had found no sign of life, nothing to make them believe they weren't alone in this vast sea of green.
As they entered the clearing, Alex announced they'd take a few minutes rest before continuing on. Her words were greeted by weary sighs of relief as the column broke ranks, the bedraggled little group collapsing with fatigue on the soft carpet of pine needles and dried leaves. Scanning their surroundings for usable garbage: a cast-off can to cook with, an old bottle for water, shreds of paper to use for a fire, Alex caught sight of something red in the distance. It was down the hill beside the highway, but obscured by evergreen trees. Curious, she decided to investigate. After ordering the children to stay put, she set off alone, heading toward the road.
Moving quickly and silently through the forest, the red blotch grew larger. Though she wasn't sure, it appeared as though whatever it was, was off the ground, a roof perhaps. With only 50 feet separating Alex from the exposed shoulder of the road, she stopped, straining to see, but it was still too far away. Up ahead the pines and spruce gave way to thicket of denuded maples, offering little in the way of cover. She'd be like a darting target moving between the trees. Deciding it wasn't worth the effort, she turned, ready to go back to the children, but something stopped her, forcing her to take a second look. It was like a mystery waiting to be solved, luring her on. Though her instincts told her to beware, she decided to throw caution to the wind and get closer. She could have waited to find out what it was when she passed this way with the children, but felt a strange sense of urgency to know now. She shrugged off her sleeping bag, then her pack, and finally her vest, bracing against the cold as she laid them on the ground. They'd serve as markers, showing her the way back to the clearing.
Alex moved through the woods like a spy on a reconnaissance mission behind enemy lines, sprinting from tree to tree with the stealth of a seasoned scout. Though frightened and freezing, the thing that drove her on was the possibility that she'd stumbled on an abandoned dwelling of some sort. Visions of blankets and extra matches, cooking pots and knives, flashed in her head. Like a moth attracted to a flame, the visions tempted and beckoned her. The spot grew, red yielding to white, then blue. She stopped to study it a moment, then went on. Whatever it was, it wasn't just a roof. It looked familiar, with its stripes, colors, and changing shapes, yet she couldn't place it. Fifty yards further on, as the ground sloped away, giving her a clear view, she finally realized what it was. She'd passed it a hundred times or more, yet it was so familiar a landmark that she'd taken no real notice, forgetting that it even existed. The building was a low clapboard structure, with a red shingle roof. Above it, fluttering in the wind, was a huge, tattered, American flag and beneath it a sign that announced to the world in bold black letters North River Trading, Groceries, Bait, and Beer.
Did she dare? Her pace quickened, feet moving faster and faster, as images of canned vegetables and meats, cookies and candy, played like a slide show in her head, suppressing all thought of possible danger. Driven on by hunger, she could hear meat sizzling on the fire, smell the inviting aroma of baked goods, and taste the delicate flavor of chocolate slowly melting on her tongue. She licked her lips. There was a banquet waiting for her. All she had to do was go down there and get it. Reason was put aside, as she plunged ahead.
Alex could see something large and dark lying in the gravel beside the store. It appeared to be a big bundle of rags. Leaves crunched and slipped beneath her feet as she descended the slope. Halfway down, where the trees yielded to field, she stopped, staring aghast at the parking lot below. The rags weren't rags at all, but the remains of a body! Those things projecting from the sides weren't discarded pieces of cloth, but rotting limbs, frozen in death. She dropped to the ground, frantic, fearing she might have been seen. Her courage having deserted her, she lay in the dirt, clutching the grass, like a baby clinging to its mother. Minutes passed as she waited, trembling, expecting to hear a barrage of gunfire, or the sound of running feet charging up the hill after her. In time, she raised her head and slowly surveyed the scene, straining to see beyond the bending branches and fluttering grasses for some sign of figures lurking in the shadows. Having convinced herself that the danger didn't lie in the surrounding forest, she turned her attention back to the body. One thing was certain, she had nothing to fear from it. By the look of it, the corpse had been there several days.
Black flecks appeared in the sky…a flock of crows. They circled overhead at first, then descended en masse like a squadron of jet fighters converging on an enemy target. They landed a few feet from the body, squawking and flapping their wings threateningly. The largest inched its way toward a hand and boldly pecked at it, tearing away a strip of flesh. Instantly, the others followed, attacking every area where the skin was exposed, battling each other for the rotting morsels. Alex turned away in revulsion, hand pressed against her mouth to stifle a shriek of horror. Carrion eaters would grow fat and prosper in this world, feeding on the putrefying flesh of humanity. She shuddered, closing her eyes, trying to block the scene out, but the image lingered.
Alex tried to focus on something, anything to make it go away. The store was a wreck, bro
ken glass scattered around its windows and doors. No longer a place of hope, it had become an ominous specter, its windows gaping eyes, the door its ravenous mouth. Though she stared at it long and hard, Alex couldn't see any shadows moving past the windows. It appeared as devoid of life as the poor devil lying outside it.
Part of her wanted to bolt and run, fleeing back to the safety of the forest, where things remained unchanged, untouched by the war.
Here, watching the birds indulge their hunger, reality closed in. She could still see food, but the images were less enticing than before. Alex reasoned that whatever stock had once been there was gone, already looted by others. Yet the smallest particle of doubt remained. Perhaps a can of milk, a box of rice, something, anything, resting at the back of a shelf might have been overlooked.
She eyed the building with trepidation, wondering if the possibility of finding a few cans of food was worth the risk. Was a can of peas or a crappy box of crackers worth her life? The prudent thing would be to turn back, but Alex couldn't help thinking of tomorrow. Suppose they couldn't find food. What then? Could she watch the children sicken and die of starvation, knowing that she might have prevented it? No! Maybe she was grasping at straws, maybe there was nothing left, her life endangered for nothing, but she couldn't live with herself if she didn't at least make the attempt. The odds were in her favor. At least she thought they were. The building seemed deserted, but even if it wasn't, a hail of bullets hadn't greeted her approach. Alex was fairly certain she hadn't been seen yet. The trick, of course, would be getting close enough to see inside without being discovered. If someone was standing guard over the building and the corpse outside was proof of his determination to defend what was his, she'd simply retreat back to the woods, hopefully undetected.