Everything that came next happened in an instant. I was spot-blind and squinting into the sun, a half-ton animal on a rope in one hand, a gun in the other, and the lion exploded out of its hiding spot on the grassy slope like a missile.
I had not seen it hiding. I could not have seen it. It had been in full prowl mode, crawling low and slow. The cow reacted to the motion of the beast. Thing 2 gave a panicked bawl and yanked hard to the right, away from the lion. The sudden change in her direction caught me off-guard. The rope stripped out of my hand, burning like fire. I was thrown off-balance and fell, landing hard on my right side in the tall grass. Immediately, the baby began to protest the sudden jarring by unloading an entire soccer match worth of kicks into my internal organs. The lion, caught up by the cow’s motion, ignored me for a moment. I was hidden from its view, and that might have been the saving grace of the attack. If I had not fallen, I would have been the easier prey. It might have attacked me instead of Thing 2. Instead, it sprinted past me, mere feet from where I lay.
I was able to get to my knees in time to see four hundred pounds of golden African lion leap to the back of my poor little cow. The cat moved like a machine, quickly catching the much slower and more awkward cow and pouncing. Its claws sank into the cow’s side, trying to find purchase to help it hold on long enough to let it attack the neck and administer a killing blow. Thing 2 bawled loudly and collapsed under the attack. Cow and lion rolled through the grass. The cow’s weight rolling over the cat made the lion relinquish its claw attack momentarily. Thing 2 rolled back to her feet and tried to run. I could see the dark red slashes in her flesh bleeding freely. The cat tried to rush her again.
I wasted no time in sighting down the barrel of my gun and popping off four quick shots. The bullets hit the cat broadside. At a range of maybe fifteen yards, each bullet found a home in the cat’s muscled body. The bullets were small-caliber, though. They stung the cat. They were a painful bite, wounding shots, but they were not killing shots, not through the thick hide and muscle walls. I needed to hit it someplace vital.
The bullets were enough to make the cat reevaluate its targets, though. The cow could be easily caught again. I was the true threat, though. The cat wheeled on me. There was only a little distance between us. At full speed, the cat could close that gap in a heartbeat. It sprang at me, maw gaping and snarling viciously. The cat’s snarl reverberated through my chest. I felt my heart seize. My pulse was hammering in my temples. A heavy drape of pure fear fell across my shoulders and my hands started to tremble. I did the only thing I could do and started squeezing the trigger as hard and as fast as I could.
The lion’s broad face made a good target. I saw blood and flesh spray from the animal’s head as the bullets landed. It had so much weight and momentum behind it, I could not stop it in time. It was a freight train. It slammed hard into me. I managed to twist my body to right, taking the full brunt of impact on my left shoulder and upper back. The force of the animal hitting me sent me flying, though. I remember the gun leaving my hand. I simply couldn’t hold onto it. It disappeared into the grasses, never to be found again. I remember being airborne for a split second, tumbling through the air with only one thought on my mind: Protect the baby. I wrapped my arms around my stomach and tried to get a foot under me to twist myself around so I could take the landing flat on my back. Somehow, through a miracle or profoundly innate protective instinct, I managed to keep my bulging belly from handling any of the fall. As I planted my right leg, I felt something pop in my knee. I managed to turn and take the full landing on my back and neck. All the air was knocked out of me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t figure out how to breathe, either. I slapped the ground around me with one hand, trying to find the gun. I expected the lion to come around any second to finish me off. I could hear it near me in the grass. I could hear snuffling and heavy, labored breaths. The Mama Bear in me was trying to fight through the pain and the panic. I couldn’t though. I just couldn’t. I felt a hard wave of pain rip through my abdomen. I couldn’t even breathe through the pain. I started to see spots.
Relax, Ren. Somehow, I heard my father’s voice in the back of my head. Relax. You aren’t going to die. It was a memory from when I was a kid. He had been trying to teach me to catch a baseball. I mishandled a throw, taking it off the heel of my glove. The ball had popped up and hit me square in the throat. I couldn’t get my breath. Everything hurt. Like any kid would, I went into full drama queen mode. Grunting screams, panic, tears—the works. My father, with his big, calloused, working man’s hands, held me in his arms. Relax, he’d said. Something about his voice calmed me. I stopped freaking out, the pain ebbed away, and I got to my feet. It was another year before I dared try to catch a baseball again, but I lived. My dad was right. Relax. I started to repeat my manta. You will be fine. You will be fine. You will be fine.
Suddenly, I could breathe again. My lungs figured out how to inhale. The dark spots in my vision cleared. I hissed a heavy, cleansing breath through my teeth. I pushed myself to an awkward sitting position, cradling my belly with my right arm. The baby was thrashing. Easy, kiddo.
I struggled to my feet, desperately looking for my gun, or any weapon actually. I found a fist-sized rock in the weeds, but that was it. It was better than nothing. I raised the rock, ready to thump it off the charging lion’s nose, but I saw the lion wasn’t charging. There was a large mound of big cat lying in the grass ten feet away. It was no longer breathing. I moved around it and saw that one of my shots had punctured its skull, almost nearly right between the eyes. The poor lion was dead.
I let the rock fall out of my hand. I looked for Thing 2. She was standing placidly nearby, the slashes in her back staining the white patches of fur on her sides bright red. She seemed to understand that the lion was no longer a threat.
I stood on wavering legs. My right knee hurt fiercely. I had twisted it, or sprained it, or even popped a ligament somewhere. I could stand, but it hurt to put weight on my leg. What if I’d blown my ACL? It wasn’t like I could get surgery to fix that. Deal with one problem at a time, Ren.
I limped toward the cow. She let me gather the lead rope. The palm of my hand had a wicked red welt from where the rope had burned me when she’d yanked away. The skin was gone leaving a strip of glossy, red, bleeding flesh. Ignore the pain, Ren.
I grabbed the rope, and started to walk back toward the barn. It was still a long way away. It was going to be long, painful struggle back to barn. I leaned on the cow, using her like a makeshift crutch. When I could, kept my right leg bent, crow-hopping with the cow as my support. It was a slow walk back to the barn, but through sheer grit and determination, and the help of my pretty Thing 2, I somehow made it.
Thing 2 walked straight to the rear door of the barn. She knew what lay beyond. I opened the door for her, and she stormed through it, running to Thing 1, and nuzzling her sister for support. I knew I needed to clean her wounds, possibly get some stitches in them, but that was going to have to wait. At that moment, I just could not do another thing.
As I stood in the doorway of the barn in the fading light of the day, I was doubled-over by a rippling wave of pain low in my guts. It was like my body was involuntarily clenching every muscle in my stomach. It was an unmistakable, terrifying pain.
I was having a contraction.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Home is Where the Heart Is
I was startled awake to find a big, smiling, bearded face almost directly over my own face. “Hey, bud! Time to rise and shine! We gotta get that bandage changed.”
Chet whistled a cheery tune as he peeled the bandage from my hip. It was crusty with dried blood, and when he peeled it away, it pulled at the scabbed areas of the wound and caused them to bleed afresh. He appraised it with a smile. “It don’t look too bad. That’s a good thing.”
It did not look too bad, he was correct in that assumption. However, it looked bad enough. The entry point of the slug was still open and bleeding. The area around it was
mottled and stained with blood and bruising. The left side of my hip and lower abdomen was a deep shade of purple from the trauma of the blast. It would be for several weeks. Something that like was a slow heal.
“Doesn’t look like infection is setting in yet, but it is probably too early to tell.” Chet handed me a bottle of capsules. “Take three of these a day, morning, noon, and evening. They’ll help stave off infection.”
I took the pills from him. “Thanks, Chet. I really have to get home now. You said you had a plan.”
Chet crossed his arms in front of him like a genie. “What Master wishes, Master gets.” He gave an exaggerated Barbara Eden-style blink. “It’s down the street. C’mon.”
Chet helped me limp down the street. He told me he had a plan to get me back to the farm, come hell or high water. In the garage of a neighbor’s house, he pulled open the door to reveal a golf cart. Chet thumped the plastic roof of the cart proudly. “My neighbor was a big golfer. This here cart is street-legal. Top speed around thirty miles an hour. This will get you home.”
“It will go thirty miles?”
Chet shrugged. “Should. Look at the battery pack in it.” He lifted the hood of the little cart. A large array of car batteries powered it. “We are just going to have to charge the batteries, first. We can do that at the house. Shouldn’t take too long. Four hours, tops.”
I did the mental calculations. Five, maybe six hours before I would get home. It was better than walking. And it wasn’t like I had another choice. “Let’s do it.”
Chet put the cart into neutral and pushed it down the street. I crutched along behind him.
“So, this wife of yours—what’s she like?”
“She’s great. The best.”
“You marry her before the Flu, or after?”
I told him the story of how I met Ren, and how she saved me from bleeding out after a tiger attacked me, and how we were building a farm near a lake. I held back the location, though. Like Chet said the night before, it was hard to know who to trust. Part of me wanted to invite him out there. He could help us farm. We could put him in the house down the street so we could all still have our privacy. I knew he was set up well in Houston, though. It would be silly for him to abandon a house with so many conveniences to come try to rebuild at Lake Houston.
I decided to broach the subject of farming with him as we walked back into his driveway. “How long do you figure you can last without planting crops?”
Chet was digging an electrical cord out of a pile of stuff in his garage. He plugged one end into a wall socket, and hooked the other end to the charging plug at the front of the cart. He put his hands on his hips and looked around at the neighborhood around us. “I guess I never really thought about it. I had a year’s worth of stuff ready to go before the Flu. After everyone died, I scavenged a bunch of stuff from the neighbor’s houses and the nearby stores. I probably have three or four years of canned goods and boxed non-perishables. So, probably three or four more years.”
“You’re going to have to farm eventually.”
“Probably.” Chet did not seem fazed by the prospect of having to farm. “I figured I’d jump off that bridge when I came to it. A lot can happen in three years. Might be I die of a heart attack before then. Or maybe I get shot by one of the psychos roaming Houston. Who can predict the future, am I right?”
“You did a pretty good job of predicting the future when it came to preparing for the Flu.”
Chet shrugged one shoulder and waved off my compliment. “Got lucky, is all. I saw some data and took a risky gamble on it. It could have worked out pretty poorly for me.”
I decided I’d invite him out to the farm, without actually inviting him. “Listen, man—I’ll be back on the north side here a few more times, I’m sure. I’ll stop back in and check on you, provided you promise not to shoot me again.”
“Just knock on the front door and shout your name, brother. I promise I’ll put the gun down before answering.” He laughed. “I’d appreciate you checking on me, though. Nice to know there are some good people left out there.”
“Maybe someday you can move out to the farm with me and Ren. There are a lot of houses around our place. You can take one of them.”
Chet looked embarrassed. He kicked at the concrete floor of his garage with the toe of his sneaker. “I dunno, man. This is my house. It’s where I’ve lived for the last fifteen years. I’m not really inclined to just bail on it. Plus, I’ve got all my stuff…”
I held up my hand. “I get it. I do.” It had been hard to leave a lot of my old stuff back in Wisconsin. “It’s an offer on the table for the future, is all. Come out, don’t come out. You do what makes you comfortable.”
“I appreciate the offer, though. You got a standing offer for a place to sleep any time you show up here, though. We can watch movies and stuff. Always glad for the company. Bring the wife and that baby when it comes.”
“Maybe I will.” The words hung in the air between us. It felt like we had already said our good-byes, and there was only awkward silence left. It was uncomfortable.
“Well, hell. This is gonna take a while. You want to watch some Star Trek or something?” Chet scratched behind his ear.
I nodded. “Make it so, Number One.”
The cart started easily after five hours on the charger. We watched six episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation in that time, and had a simple lunch of canned tuna and Triscuits. Chet loaded me up with some more bandages and salves. “Just in case, man.” He also gave me a few bottles of water and some snacks. He put the crutches in the bag-holding racks on the rear of the cart.
Chet and I shook hands after I positioned myself behind the wheel of the cart. “Remember the way back,” he said. “Be glad to see you again, anytime.”
“I will,” I promised. “I’ll look for a ham radio out there. Probably got to be another one somewhere. Maybe you’ll hear from me before too long.”
“I’d like that. I’ll look for one, too. Maybe next time you show up, I’ll have one for you.”
There wasn’t anything else to say. I double-checked my shotgun, making sure it was loaded and the safety was on. I rested it on the seat next to me, keeping it in easy reach. I shifted the cart to reverse and stepped on the pedal. The cart’s electric motor whirred to life, and I rolled down the driveway and bounced over the lip of the street. I felt a jolt of pain ripple through my hip. The seat springs were bouncy and absorbed some of the rough road, but it was going to be a long trip home, regardless.
I shifted to Drive, and the little cart spun its tires for a second, caught the pavement, and launched me forward. It got to speed quickly, and I was on my way.
Right away, I started feeling lighter, as if a great weight was being lifted from my shoulders. It was only the early afternoon, and I was heading back to Ren. I would be there in an hour, maybe a little longer. For the first time since I left the house two days ago, I felt good. I had wasted the trip by having to abandon everything I’d come for, but I could always get those supplies again. I’d lost Hera, but someday I could get another horse. I’d been shot, but like Chet had assured me repeatedly, I’d live. I’d learned some possible truths about the Flu. I’d learned that there were a number of people gathering in the major cities. I’d learned that civilization might return someday in the distant future. All things considered, this trip could have gone much worse for me. I was desperate to get home to put Ren’s mind at ease. I wanted to hold her again. I wanted to see my farm again.
The first thirty minutes of the drive went well. I twisted through the suburbs and found Highway 69 North, the road that would take me most of the way back to Lake Houston. On the empty highway, I enjoyed the breeze the cart generated through the open sides. It was not the most conventional of vehicles, but it was a welcome ride, regardless.
I saw a lot of animals on the way home. In the suburbs, I saw a large pack of dogs. The feral packs had learned quickly to revert to the wolf part of their brains
to stay alive. The packs were growing quickly, expanding with new additions and puppies. I knew that they would probably become a problem in the future. Nothing made me feel sicker than the thought of having to hunt dogs to keep their numbers under control, but I could already see that day coming. I saw a pair of rhinoceroses wading through a field of corn, eating their body weight of the towering stalks. At one point, a mixed group of kangaroos and antelope bounded across the highway in front of me. It was a strange sight to see the two very different animals merging as a single mob and bounding along together in a similar fashion. There were herds of cattle moving as a single group. There were deer herds, no doubt the future prey of those feral dogs as they moved closer to their lupine ancestors. I saw flocks of turkey, geese, and ducks. The whole world north of the city seemed to be completely stocked with game. In that game, I saw my future, and my baby’s future. The game, the garden, the solar panels—we were on the correct path to living a beautiful future. I could not wait for that time.
It struck me then that I was actually excited for what would be in the future, instead of mourning what was in the past. My vision was set firmly on what was coming next instead of being consumed by the present. It had taken a long time to put the past behind me, to move past the deaths of all my family and friends, but I had somehow done it. I had waded through a river of misery and suffering, and I’d come out clean on the other side. I had made a new family to fill the void of the family I’d lost. I’d just made a new friend. I was living for something instead of just living. For the first time since the first kid in my old high school died of the Flu, I was actually happy and excited. It felt strange. It was a good strange, but definitely strange. Two years of putting on the brave face, two years of struggle, two years of uncertainty, and it was finally feeling like it was all over. I had adjusted to life as it was, and I was embracing it fully. Of course, karma conspired to kick me in the butt the second I started to get happy again.
The Survivor Journals Omnibus Page 58