Teenage Survivalist Series [Books 1-3]

by Casey, Julie L.

  —No! Mom deserves better than that! You know she deserves better than a box in the shed!

  Lyle had tears in his eyes when he replied.

  —I know, I know, Ben. I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want to take her to the morgue and just throw her in with hundreds of other bodies. I want to bury her here, in our backyard, so I can go out and talk to her every day, so we can talk to her. Please understand…

  I stood shakily, weakly, and stuffed Mom’s watch into my pocket. I grabbed my coat as I made my way to the back door, ignoring Lyle’s pleas to lie back down and rest. I had to see Mom; I had to see that she was okay, that she was properly taken care of.

  The cold air gave me a burst of adrenalin, and I jogged across the huge acre lot to the back of the yard where the shed stood. The moon was nearly full, and I was able to see quite clearly. I stopped in front of the shed door and took several deep breaths as I built up my courage to enter.

  I went in, leaving the door open to add to the dim light coming through the two windows. The shed had been cleared of all the mundane lawn equipment that it used to house, instead having just one long, narrow box in the middle. Lyle had placed a few trinkets on top, which meant nothing to me, so I laid them aside and opened the top. I braced myself for the odor of death that I remembered Mr. Westcott having, but there was nothing but a slightly sweet perfume smell. Mom’s body was wrapped in a quilt on top of which was a bouquet of dried flowers. I thought it was probably her wedding bouquet.

  I gently pulled the quilt away from her face and then recoiled in shock. I had expected her to look almost the same as the last time I’d seen her, maybe a little thinner, but I didn’t expect to see her skin look so white, so frozen. I remembered how much she hated being cold, and I couldn’t stand it any longer. I covered her back up and quickly put the lid back on her coffin. I ran from the shed, choking on my sobs. I stood outside the back door crying for a long time until Lyle came out and gently forced me back in. I was too weak to put up much resistance. He just kept saying,

  —I’m sorry, Ben, I’m really sorry.

  Chapter 8

  Haunting Beauty

  I knew I couldn’t stay there in that house much longer. Even though it was a much better place than I’d lived in a long time, I couldn’t get over the fact that my mom was lying out there in the shed in the back yard, cold and alone. I had dreams of her coming into the house and trying to climb under the covers with me as I slept in order to get warm. Other times, I’d dream that I would wake up, hearing her voice, and find her sitting at the kitchen table talking to Lyle. But she wasn’t normal; her skin looked gray, and when she looked at me, her eyes looked dark and dead. I woke up screaming many times in the next few days.

  Several days later, I felt strong enough to leave. I figured I’d tried to go back to Whitley’s house even though I hated to be a burden to that family. Lyle tried to talk me into staying, but I just couldn’t face another night in that house; it held too many ghosts for me. I felt sorry for Lyle. I just couldn’t see him as the bad guy anymore after he’d been so good to me and all the other people he helped, medically, since I’d been there, and never once asked for any kind of payment in return. I could tell he was lonely and that he really wanted me to stay with him. I thought he probably saw a little of my mom in me and wanted to hold on to that connection to her. I found myself yearning for that too, but in the end, I just couldn’t stand the ghosts.

  The day I left was a much warmer day, although still quite blustery. I think it must have been getting closer to spring. While I was walking on the highway, a flashing light on one of the off-ramps startled me. I began to see more and more lights the further I walked toward the center of town: streetlights, lights in buildings and houses, lighted business signs. The power was back on! I looked around in amazement at the reawakening of civilization. People were out in the streets, cheering and hollering, hugging family and neighbors. By the time I reached Whitley’s house, their power was back, too. Everyone was whooping and hollering inside the house. I could hear them even before I rang the doorbell. When it sounded, I could hear a squeal of delight and footsteps racing to open the door.

  Whitley threw open the door and embraced me in a big hug. I was a little embarrassed by her enthusiasm, especially when I saw that there were two other girls standing beside her, all with big grins on their faces.

  —Mom, Dad, Aunt Lydia! Look who’s here!

  Several people rushed into the front room while Whitley pulled me into the house. Roger, Silvia, and especially Lydia seemed very happy to see me, and I was warmed by such a heartfelt welcome. After many confused minutes with everyone talking all at once, asking me questions, exclaiming over the fact that the power was back on, etc., Whitley pulled me into her bedroom with the two girls and introduced them to me as her cousins. One was a younger girl named Mikayla and the other was a stunningly beautiful girl named Sara. I found out that they were not sisters, though, but cousins to each other, as well.

  While Whitley and Mikayla were both pretty girls, in a malnourished sort of way, I just couldn’t keep my eyes off Sara. She had shoulder length, smooth, blond hair that curled out at the ends like the petals of an opening rose. Her eyes were big, deep pools of the lightest blue, like pictures I’d seen of the Caribbean on flyers that Mom had brought home to try to get Dad to take her on vacation the year before the CME. She was small, not much bigger than her younger cousins, but then all of us were mere slivers of what we used to be by then. She had beautiful, full lips that curved ever so slightly up when the other girls giggled about something, but even while smiling she looked sad, and her eyes had a haunted quality about them. I could tell that the past few months had taken a toll on her, much more so than on her cousins.

  After an hour or two of listening to girl chatter, during which Sara was mostly silent, like me, Sara asked me if I’d like to go for a walk outside. I was suddenly struck with fear of what I must smell like since I hadn’t had a shower or a full bath in months. We had run out of deodorant and soap a long time ago, and the best we could do to keep somewhat clean was to rub snow and a handful of baking soda all over.

  It was pretty dark by then, but I agreed to go for a walk with her because there was no way I could say no to that lovely girl, and the thought of being alone with her made my heart pound in my chest. I felt more alive around her than I had since before the CME. We grabbed our coats and walked around the neighborhood, which was now lit with just a few streetlamps, some having been damaged during the CME. Luckily, she started the conversation, as I felt quite tongue-tied around her.

  —How old are you?

  —I’ll be fifteen in April. Wait, is it April yet?

  —No, it’s still March.

  She looked at me quizzically, then said,

  —I turn sixteen in July. I can’t wait until July!

  —You’re lucky.

  We walked in silence for a few seconds, then she spoke again, as if trying to find something to say to fill the empty space.

  —My name is Sara. But then you already knew that, didn’t you?

  —Yeah, it’s a beautiful name, though.

  I looked down at my feet then said, barely above a whisper,

  — It was my mother’s name.

  I don’t think she heard the past tense in my words because she exclaimed,

  —Your mom’s name is Sara? What a coincidence! Does she spell it with an “h” at the end? I don’t.

  —Yeah, she spelled it with an “h.”

  I paused for an uncomfortable second, then said,

  — She died a few weeks ago. My dad, too.

  I looked away and squeezed my eyes shut to stop the tears that were prickling at the back of them. Her voice was quiet when she answered.

  —Oh, I’m sorry. My parents died last month. The flu.

  —Yeah, mine, too.

  I didn’t feel like explaining about the fire. I didn’t really want to talk about them at all, but just knowing that Sara
and I were both orphans made me feel suddenly close to her, like we belonged to some secret club that only orphans could be in. She must have felt the same because she reached out and took my hand in hers, and we continued walking around the block like that until we got cold and headed back to the house.

  —Are you going to stay at Uncle Roger’s?

  —I was hoping to, but it looks kind of crowded now. Maybe I should just find somewhere else.

  —Do you have anywhere else to go?

  —I don’t know. I’ll find something.

  I shrugged and looked away.

  —No, please stay, for a while at least. They’re already talking about sending us back to school, and I’m not going. So I may not be here for very long either. How about you? Do you want to go back? To school, I mean?

  I’d never even thought about going back to school. After all I’d been through, after all everyone had been through, it just seemed absurd to do something as normal as going back to school. If I did, I knew I’d be forced into a foster home or maybe even an orphanage, and the thought of either one of those terrified me for some reason.

  —No way. I’m not going either!

  —Let’s just run away together. There has to be tons of abandoned buildings or empty houses we could live in. We’ve survived without power for five months; we could survive alone until we’re 17. After that, we could legally be on our own.

  —How do you know that?

  —Uncle Roger told me I have to stay with him until I could be legally emancipated at 17. But I’m not staying if he’s going to force me to go to school! I just couldn’t stand the drama and the pity.

  I understood exactly what she was saying. I also didn’t want to face seeing how many of my friends hadn’t made it through the winter. It was much better to just believe that they were carrying on their lives like nothing had happened. But I knew my life was forever changed. And Sara’s too. She made so much sense that I agreed immediately, and we began to think of ways to make our escape.

  Chapter 9

  Sara

  Sara and I grew close over the next few days. It was amazing how everyone around us was looking forward to life getting back to normal, while Sara and I knew it never would for us. Everything just seemed so superficial and unimportant now, like TV, school, and phones. The only thing we wanted to do was talk to each other, hold hands and, starting that first night I met her, when she gave me a quick peck on the lips, kissing each other. Our kisses were sad, though, like we were doing it just to share our sorrow with each other.

  Landline phones were partially functional, although service to every household and most long distance service had not yet been restored. Cell phones were still out and would probably not be usable for quite some time since most of the satellites, which relay the calls, had been lost. We found that out from the news on TV, which was the only programming, besides reruns, that was available. The newscasters were calling the day of the CME “Power Failure Day,” or PF Day. I didn’t care to watch TV, though, I didn’t feel like playing video games, and I didn’t have anyone that I cared to call. I was afraid to try to call my grandparents in New York in case they had died, too. Better to just go on believing that they were fine.

  The one electronic thing that Sara and I did enjoy together was listening to her iPod, which is the first thing she plugged in to charge when the power was back on. She had a great mix of songs in lots of different styles, from classical to country to rock and even a little rap. I was familiar with some of the songs, but there were many that I’d never heard before. Sara’s favorite song, which we listened to together, one earphone in her ear and the other in mine, was If I Die Young by The Band Perry. She loved that song and would sing along with the iPod or even by herself when she wasn’t listening to it. The words made me so sad, but she said they gave her hope. I don’t know what hope she could find in them; all I heard was sadness. Her favorite line, she said, was the part about God making her a rainbow so she could shine down on her mother, but she said she thought of it the other way around, that her mother was the rainbow shining down on her. Another line she loved said to save her tears in her pocket for when she really needed them. She would pat her left jean pocket and say that it was full of tears. I didn’t tell her, but I kept my own tears of a sort, stuffed down deep in my pocket: Mom’s watch pin—even though it no longer kept time, it was a reminder of how much time I’d let slip away when I’d had a chance to use it wisely.

  A song that I liked and would listen to over and over was Mad World by Gary Jules. It made me sad, too, but it seemed like I needed to be sad now, like if I heard a happy song it would cheapen all that I’d been through. The words of that song held so much meaning for me. I know when it was written the words were talking about people scurrying around in their busy lives, not pausing to consider what’s important, but since the day of the CME and all the terrible things that had happened thereafter, the meaning of the words changed in ways I don’t think the songwriter could have imagined. My chest would always feel kind of hollow when I heard the words about hiding my head and drowning my sorrow, because there’s no tomorrow. That’s how I felt: like my life, like Time, had stopped, and there was no future for me, just today plodding on and on, going nowhere in this mad world.

  Sara had a pocketful of cash from her parents, not in the pocket where she symbolically stashed her tears, but in her right front pocket of her jeans, where she claimed no one could pickpocket her. She took it out and showed it to me, a wad of $100 bills—Benjamins—and said we would use it to start a new life for ourselves. We began to collect things we’d need, like blankets, warm clothes, extra coats, and water bottles, and stuffed everything into two large gym bags. We got most of it from Sara’s old house, which was just a few blocks away and still stood empty. She said we couldn’t stay in it when we ran away, though, because that’s the first place they’d look for us. School was set to start May 1st, and we were supposed to register the week before. We decided to leave the night before my birthday, so we could celebrate our new life and my birthday together. I also wanted to be sure that the official date of our freedom wasn’t the 13th, because I still didn’t trust that number, but I didn’t tell Sara about it. I just wasn’t ready to open up yet about all my past problems. We had too many things to think about right then to dredge up old thoughts and memories.

  We left shortly after midnight on April 12th, when we were sure the rest of the family was asleep. We had left our gym bags at Sara’s old house, so we went there first. We were tempted to stay the night there, but we knew it was too risky, so we set out right away toward downtown. We had dressed in some of Sara’s parents’ clothes so that we would look older to people on the street. I had on one of her dad’s suit jackets over my winter coat and one of those furry Russian hats on my head. Sara wore her mom’s red wool pea coat, which looked much more mature than her pink parka.

  We had to stay off the main highway this time, as there were a few cars back on the roads now, even though gasoline cost a fortune since the refineries had been slow to start back up after the power was back. We followed the general route of the highway, though, and when we came to the river, we had to use the highway bridge to cross. It was early in the morning, and no cars passed us as we crossed. This time, I was afraid to look down into the river, remembering what I had felt the last time I’d crossed it so instead, I just walked with my eyes focused on my feet. We were quiet most of the way; Sara only asked a few questions about where we were going.

  Just before dawn we made it to the burned out section of downtown. We stopped and stared at it for several minutes, Sara in awe of the destruction, and me reliving the horror of that fateful day. As the sun rose and its rays peeked around the buildings to the east of us, it cast a pinkish-orange glow in strips amongst the dark shadows of burned-out buildings. It reminded me of the first few nights after PF Day, when the aurora borealis made strange reflections on the dark buildings at night, although those buildings were now mere rubble
for the most part. I could only watch it for a few minutes before I turned away. Sara noticed my distress and grabbed my hand, saying,

  —C’mon. Let’s find a place to stay.

  We headed toward a building at the edge of the destruction, one that had some fire damage on one side, but which was still mostly standing. We tried the front door of the building, but it was locked, so we went around back into the alley, looking for a back door. We found it. It looked like someone had tried to bash in the glass, as it was cracked like a spider web, but had not succeeded. They had been able, however, to break the lock, and it hung off the frame, which had also been mangled. We entered cautiously. It was still quite dark, especially inside the hallway, and we had no idea what might be lurking inside. We made our way down the hallway, keeping our voices to a whisper, and quietly checking apartment doors to see if there were any that were unlocked. All on the first floor were locked, so we climbed the stairway at the end of the hall to the second floor and tried those doors, as well. It wasn’t until we got to the third floor that we found an unlocked door.

  This door opened into a room that faced south toward the destroyed part of downtown. As soon as we opened the door, we knew that we could not stay in that room. Part of the outer wall had been burned and was crumbling away. A cold wind blew in the hole, and several birds were perched on the edge singing to greet the morning sun. We closed the door quickly and turned our attention to the north side apartments instead. At the end of the hall, we found one unlocked and we entered it cautiously.

  The room looked like nothing had happened to the building, although the faint smell of smoke still hung in the air. We moved around quietly, checking each room to see if anyone was there. After finding it completely empty, I locked the front door and began to explore more carefully. The apartment contained the typical furniture: sofa, easy chair, coffee table, and television stand in the living room, but with no TV—that must have been taken by the previous owner or looted; little kitchenette at the end of the living room with a breakfast bar and three stools, but no table; bed, dresser, and bedside table with no lamp in the single bedroom. There were a few pieces of clothing still hanging amongst the many empty wire hangers in the closet, but no food in the kitchenette.