She reached out to the SUV to steady her and to ease her fall.
For she was going down, she was sure of it.
She didn’t know how long she’d be out, or even whether she’d ever wake up again. But she was aware that hitting her head as she fell would only compound the problem and lessen her chances of surviving the blackout.
Her hand still on the SUV, she went to her knees and let her body roll sideways.
It was only then, as she was going down, she saw the German shepherd watching her from mere feet away.
In her last conscious moment she hoped it was a hallucination borne from her canine phobia.
But it wasn’t.
This dog was real.
-21-
Bill was so excited he slept nary a wink the night before. At the crack of dawn he was in his kitchen, preparing his morning coffee just the way Miss Scarlett had shown him.
He decided not to tell her he didn’t get any rest.
She probably wouldn’t like it much.
She might even change her mind about the whole hunting trip.
He hoped not. He was so looking forward to it.
While he waited for the water to boil he looked around his house once more. He ignored the dirty shirt in the middle of the living room floor and the half dozen empty water bottles on the couch.
Instead he got down on his hands and knees, picking random pieces of lint from the carpeting.
Lint only he would have noticed.
One of Bill’s issues was that he had a hard time focusing on the big things, the important things, but would zoom in like a laser on something trivial. He’d always been that way, and wasn’t likely to change.
And it was one of the most maddening things to Scarlett. Especially when she tried to teach him things like personal hygiene and dressing himself properly, and keeping his house clean.
Several weeks earlier he’d taken over an abandoned house on Baker Street, seven houses down from Scarlett’s own residence.
It wasn’t a suicide house. Scarlett hadn’t wanted to saddle him with the emotional baggage a suicide house might come with. Bill had enough problems already.
No, this house belonged to the Windham family. Two days before the blackout the Windhams had taken their kids out of school for a family trip.
It wasn’t to be a happy excursion. They flew to Seattle to bury John Windham’s mother. They were still there when the power grids went down and the airlines became permanently grounded.
Scarlett didn’t expect to see them again, for they’d have to trek almost two thousand miles through some pretty mountainous terrain.
“The good news,” Scarlett told Bill when showing him the house, “is that it’s fully furnished. The bad news is it’s way more house than you’ll ever need, so you may get lost in it.”
“Oh, Miss Scarlett, don’t be loony tunes,” Bill responded in a way that was uniquely Bill.
“You can’t get lost in a house, no matter how big it is. It’s just a goofy house, that’s all.”
Then the smile vanished from his face and he’d adopted a very serious tone.
“But… why can’t I live with you and Rhett? I love you… and Rhett.”
Scarlett considered the pause and wondered why he seemed to add Rhett as an afterthought.
She’d been worried about Bill falling for her after he’d confided to Tony Martinez that she was “prettier than Milk Duds.” It was an awkward compliment, yet rather sweet at the same time, and it had served to remind her that men like Bill see the world in a different light.
She’d gone out of her way since that day not to do or say anything to him that could be misconstrued.
And allowing him to share her house would be a big mistake.
Besides, the whole purpose of working with Bill was to make him independent. There would probably come a time in his life when he’d be all alone again, and it was essential he could survive on his own.
Preferably without having to eat human flesh to do so.
“You can never really consider yourself a grownup until you can live on your own and do everything for yourself, Bill,” she’d told him.
“But I lived by myself after Eddie died. I sure do miss Eddie.”
“I know you miss him, Bill. He was a great guy. But you only survived on your own because you ate the bodies. And we’ve discussed that. You know now that’s a no-no that you must never do again.”
He’d looked at his feet in shame and said, “Yes, ma’am.”
But her aim wasn’t to make him feel guilty. She quickly continued, “We’re going to teach you to live on your own, but to do it the proper way. I’ll teach you how to shoot, and then how to hunt. I’ll teach you how to fish too. And how to keep a proper house.”
“What do you mean, a proper house?”
“A house you wouldn’t be ashamed to entertain strangers in.”
“Huh?”
“A clean house, Bill. A clean house.”
“But Eddie never taught me how to clean house. He did it all by himself and told me not to worry about it.”
He looked down again, then added, “I guess maybe I should have learned anyways, huh?”
Scarlett never met Eddie, but imagined him a good brother and a kind soul.
Perhaps a bit too kind, although she’d never share that thought with Bill.
Eddie obviously doted on his brother, doing everything for him and making his life as easy and comfortable as possible.
By doing so, though, he did Bill no favors. For when Eddie passed away he left Bill totally defenseless and unable to survive. He simply had no skills to do so.
Scarlett was determined to fix that.
“Look around, Bill,” she told him on the day he moved into the Windhams’ house. “See how clean it is?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Every time I come to get you to go somewhere or to do something, I want it to look like this. If it doesn’t look like this I won’t take you with me until you clean it.”
He’d looked as though he’d lost his last friend.
“But how do I do that? Clean it, I mean?”
“The very best way is not to make it dirty to begin with.”
She could tell by the look on his face he didn’t understand.
“When you take off your clothes, don’t just drop them on the floor. Place them in the clothes hamper, and when the hamper is full let me know so I can teach you how to wash them.
“When you finish eating, don’t leave your dishes on the table. Put them in the sink and I’ll come over and teach you how to wash them. Or better yet, I’ll ask Tony to bring over a case of paper plates so they don’t have to be washed.
“Don’t drop any trash on the furniture or the floor. Instead, place it in the trash can in the kitchen. When you have enough to fill up a trash bag, place the bag in your back yard. When you have several bags, tell me and I’ll come over and show you how to safely burn it.
“Do you get what I’m driving at, Bill?”
“Not really, no.”
“I’m trying to tell you that if you always place things where they belong, it’s easy to keep a house clean. The big thing is to avoid clutter. Clutter builds up fast. If you just leave everything everywhere, it’ll bury you in no time at all. If you put everything in its place, all you have to do is dust and sweep the floors occasionally.
“In other words, the easiest way to clean a house is not to clutter it in the first place. Do you understand now?”
“I think so.”
That was several weeks before, and Bill still struggled to get the whole “clean house” thing down. Scarlett usually had to point out several things that needed to be picked up before she allowed him to leave.
But there were a few bright spots. He was doing his own laundry now, by stewing it in simmering water, then rinsing it in another pot of hot water.
He smelled like pond water, for that was his source. But in the new world everyone smelled like pond wate
r or body odor. There seemed no other option.
For some reason he took great pride in the front yard. In the Windhams’ garage he found a lawnmower and edging machine, and both worked because they had pull starts instead of electric ignitions.
It turned out he loved yard work and was very good at it.
When others suggested he dig up his front yard to plant crops on it he rebelled.
“I can grow food in the back yard, and in the vacant lot next door,” he pleaded. “Please let me have my yard.”
And have it he did. His front yard was so well groomed the Baker Street residents decreed it an official neighborhood park.
Meadow Lake, a quite talented artist, even built a sign for the yard.
BILL STEWART PARK
It was a small gesture, but one for which Bill was supremely proud.
So proud he dragged everyone who happened by to see the sign with his name on it.
Even when he’d already shown them the sign twenty times before.
The funny thing was, though, nobody ever called him on it.
Nobody ever said, “Bill, you showed me that sign already. At least a dozen times.”
Everyone held their tongue and pretended they were seeing the sign for the very first time, then ooed and aahed over Bill and his sign.
Because Scarlett wasn’t the only Baker street resident who’d fallen for Bill and his sweet soul.
The whole neighborhood had come to love him.
He’d come a long way since John Castro was searching for him, considering him a heartless and bloodthirsty cannibal.
-22-
Scarlett paused in front of the park sign just long enough to tie her boot.
She preferred combat boots when she hunted. They weren’t as stylish as cowboy boots, but had a wider toe. The pointed toes of her cowboy boots hurt her feet after awhile.
And besides, they were made for dancing, not for trekking through woods and brush trying to flush out rabbits.
She knocked on Bill’s door.
“Good morning, Miss Scarlett.”
He beamed, as he always did when Scarlett came around.
“Good morning, Bill. How are you feeling this morning?”
“Oh, I’m all excited.”
She examined his face, noticed the bags under his eyes.
“Do you think you got enough sleep?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Let’s see what your house looks like before we leave.”
He stepped aside and she walked in.
In a way she felt guilty for performing what amounted to cleanliness inspections of Bill’s quarters. She imagined how humiliating it must have been for a grown man to be treated in such a manner.
But she didn’t like the thought of the young man living in filth, and he would have undoubtedly descended into such squalor if she didn’t hold him to their agreement.
Their agreement was that he had to keep his house clean before they went anywhere or did anything together.
It wasn’t a white glove inspection. Scarlett recognized that all men were slobs by nature. That they were little more than cavemen with shoes. And with the world the way it was now, without vacuum cleaners or washing machines, she could only expect so much.
She’d told him up front that as long as he swept and mopped the floors on a regular basis and kept the clutter to a minimum she’d overlook the rest.
“I see you’ve been following my advice and putting the caps back on your empty water bottles,” she said. “Good job, Bill.”
He beamed again as she started picking up the empty bottles from all over the room.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll put these on the counter for you if you pick up all the clothes on the floor and put them where they belong.”
“Oh, man…”
He was disappointed in himself. He thought he’d aced his test on this particular day. He thought his house was spotless.
For a man like Bill, it was easy to look at something and not see its details.
It was easy for him to look at a room and think it was clean even when there were the beginnings of clutter here and there.
Still, it wasn’t bad.
“Oh, don’t get discouraged, Bill. You’re getting better and better at this every day. I’m proud of you.”
“You are?”
“Yes. I certainly am. Now get your dirty clothes picked up and put them in the hamper so we can get out of here.”
“Yes, ma’am!” he snapped with the tone a young recruit would use to address his drill sergeant.
A few minutes later they walked out the front door, leaving it unlocked and wide open.
Such was the practice on all of Baker Street. Some of the more timid residents still locked their doors at night, while they slept.
During the daytime, though, the doors and windows were raised to allow the air to circulate and cool the house. In a world without air conditioning it was required to maintain even rudimentary comfort.
A house which was shut up all day was stifling in the evening and stayed almost unbearable all night long.
“Miss Scarlett, I was going to ask you something…”
She knew what was coming but pretended she didn’t.
“What’s that, Bill?”
“I was thinking maybe we could hunt squirrels today instead of rabbits.”
She spoke slowly and patiently, even while explaining things to him for the tenth time.
“Bill, we’ve gone over this before. Before we go squirrel hunting you’ve got to be a better shot. Remember we started you out shooting at big targets until you got the fundamentals down? Because we didn’t want you to waste a lot of ammo shooting at tiny targets you’d miss every time?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, it’s kinda the same thing. Rabbits are easier to hit than squirrels because they’re bigger. When you first started shooting I had you shoot at big targets until you started hitting them almost every time. Then you went to smaller targets.
“We’ll do the same thing now. When you get good enough to hit a rabbit almost every single time, then I’ll let you start shooting at squirrels. If we’re still shooting them then.”
“What do you mean, ‘if we’re still shooting them then?’”
“Well, I’ve been building some traps so we can trap squirrels instead of shooting them. I should have several finished by next week, so we’ll no longer have to shoot them. We can catch them instead.”
“But why would you want to do that?”
“Well, because .22 ammunition is getting harder and harder to find. There are a few people out there who are making their own bullets, but they’ve hoarded all the powder. So those of us who want to pack our own casings can’t. In the months and years ahead we’ll have to barter for ammo, and it won’t be cheap. So I’m working on a better way.”
“But I want to hunt squirrels. Eddie used to hunt squirrels and I always thought it was way cool.”
“Oh, honey, I told you I’d let you shoot at squirrels once you got good at hitting rabbits. I will still do that. But it’s only to make you a better shot, and once you show me you can hit a squirrel we’ll stop hunting them and go to trapping. Okay?”
He said nothing, but had a big grin on his face.
He hadn’t listened to anything she’d said after the word ‘honey.’
-23-
Charles was a troubled boy. On a day which followed a restless night punctuated by horrific nightmares he was grumpy and hostile.
He had a bad attitude which seemed to surface at the worst possible times, and a general dislike and mistrust of most adults.
But he wasn’t without his endearing qualities.
He was loyal to a fault. At least to Millicent. And protective of her as well. Everyone knew he’d die in a heartbeat to save her life. And while no one was hoping that happened, it was nice to know she’d always have someone watching out for her.
He was a very hard worker, provided he wasn’t lorded o
ver by adults “ordering” him to do something. He was much more likely to delve into a particular project if he was gently coaxed into it; if he felt it was his idea to do it.
And last but not least, he had very small and steady hands.
Those two things made it relatively easy for him to do what others might find impossible.
He could rebuild the fried circuitry on electronic items.
Of course, he didn’t know a diode from a dinosaur at first. He also didn’t know how to tell which parts of a circuit card were totally destroyed and which ones might be salvageable.
But Jordan did. Jordan had been a tinkerer for most of his young life. When something broke, he didn’t just throw it away. He took it apart to try to determine why it stopped working, and whether it could be easily repaired.
They made a good team, the two of them did. Jordan had a rudimentary knowledge of how electronics worked and could tell young Charles which circuit boards to pull and which parts of them needed to be replaced. Charles had the fine motor skills to actually replace the damaged parts.
Sometimes they worked when finished, sometimes they didn’t.
Sometimes they still had to be scrapped.
But more often than not they worked to a limited degree. Some worked as well as the day they came out of a box.
Of course, repairing such things required parts. Lots of parts.
There were two spare generators which survived the second onslaught of EMPs by sheer luck. They’d been inside the protected barn when the normally opened door was closed because it looked like rain was coming.
By closing the door the barn became essentially a big Faraday cage, preventing all electronics inside from being destroyed.
There were also two soldering irons in the same barn. It would have been almost impossible for Charles to work his magic without them.
The actual hardware was a bit harder to obtain.
Sometimes the pair could cannibalize working parts from like items.
Their hand-held radios were, oddly enough, damaged in different ways. A circuit card which was complete toast in one radio might have survived unscathed in another one.
An Acquired Taste Page 8