Naomi headed out of the room and shut the door behind her. Her heart raced inside her chest. A sudden chill danced up her skin. She shuddered. Her knees and arms felt weak.
She headed into the study. The leather chair fit her like a well-worn glove. She swiveled back and forth before digging into a medical textbook.
Five minutes later, her eyes ached. She rested her face on her hands and lifelessly leafed through pages of a dense textbook. Her pulse and breath were erratic. She drifted off and had a discombobulated nightmare where everyone in Allen’s house was killed one-by-one by the plague.
The next couple of days sapped Naomi’s life away. She lost about fifteen pounds and found herself frequently regurgitating her meals behind the greenhouse. The sickness gave Calvin the shakes. He was couch-bound and useless. Becca and Cathleen had shut themselves in their room. The only person who’d check on them was Dean, who seemed to be immune to whatever was happening. Naomi thought that would make him useful. Instead, he got lazier and his attitude changed. He’d take long walks at the late hours or go on hunting trips that lasted from daybreak to sundown with little to nothing to show for his efforts.
Two days after the funeral, Naomi found him standing by the downstairs storage closet. The room was bound by four different locks. When questioned why he was there, he shrugged at Naomi and walked on.
Conner shut himself inside the recreation room. His violent coughing fits could be heard throughout the house.
Meanwhile, Allen and Naomi were the only two doing work.
Allen worked outside most of the time, repairing the fence where Conner had left off or improving the cold storage shed that Calvin had prototyped.
Meanwhile, Naomi took care of the house. She cleaned, changed sheets, washed clothes in the tub outside, pumped the well until her palms blistered, swept, set the table, mopped the floor, tended to her sick daughter and husband, kept track of the candles, and treated the fire. By themselves, the tasks were simple enough, but with no one to help her, Naomi found that even standing was a chore. Her dreams were invaded with running the clothes through a wooden washing rack. She’d go to sleep late and alone and get up early to repeat the process. Long crow’s feet grew out of the corners of her eyes. Her head swam. If she stood still for too long, she found herself leaning. Bruises blossomed on her knees from scrubbing out the floor of the tub. Small cuts seemed to appear out of nowhere.
Her one time of rest was during her therapy sessions, which she moved to the study. The only person who would show up was Dean. He’d talk about his father and how Sean, his youngest brother, was always the favorite. That was mainly because Sean escaped the slums and made a good life for himself. Dean also spent time talking about Cathleen, being more open about the chemistry they shared and how he wanted more.
After a few days though, even Dean stopped coming to therapy.
Allen stayed separated from the drama, and the whole group for that matter. As time went on, the Baxters grew further apart while the Ryans tightened their pack. Surprisingly, Cathleen was on the road to recovery the quickest. Becca followed soon after.
Meanwhile, Trinity and Calvin fell deeper into illness.
By day twenty-five, the Ryans were all back at the dinner table, or their own version of the dinner table. They sat in the recreation room adjacent to the dining room. Naomi and Allen had the whole dining room to themselves. Allen sat at one head with a clear view of the recreation room. Naomi sat at the other end. She rubbed her forehead, trying to kill her headache that hammered her skull like a jackhammer.
Allen said little as he ate his heavy rationed soup. He looked haggard. His beard had grown longer, and his eyes more tired. Naomi felt too weak to start a conversation. Allen didn’t take the initiative. He was still pissed Naomi hadn’t sent away the Ryans away, and she was too prideful to admit her mistake.
She listened to the Ryans talking lowly with each other during dinner.
Calvin dragged his feet into the dining room and looked around, only now realizing there was a divide between the families. He slowly lowered himself into the seat and asked for tea. The conversion was replaced by the sound of spoons clinging on the sides of soup bowls and the faint whispers of the recovering Ryan family.
Every night, Naomi listened to their quiet chatter and her frustration grew. One night, toward the end of the month, she was eating normally when the Ryans started whispering again.
As she nursed soup to her lips, anger grew inside Naomi like a mold. At first, she didn’t even notice it, but as it spread, it began to take over every part of her heart.
The Ryans kept whispering.
Allen had become an expert at ignoring them and Calvin was completely ignorant. Naomi squeezed her spoon so hard the metal handle imprinted the palm of her hand.
More whispering. They gave Naomi’s table silent hostile looks.
Naomi grinded her teeth.
She reached her breaking point.
Smash!
The bowl shattered against the wall. Naomi lurched up, her chair falling out behind her. Her face glowed red. Allen slowly lowered his spoon. Calvin looked up at her with a mixture of confusion and concern. The Ryans turned their eyes to the dining room and Naomi, who’d just tossed her bowl.
“Enough,” Naomi shouted. “The secrets. The division. It ends tonight.”
The house grew silent.
Naomi breathed heavily. “Conner, Cathleen, Dean, whatever you guys are saying, grow a pair and say it to our faces.”
Conner stood up. “I suggest you change your tone,”
Allen glared him. “Speak to my sister like that again, and I’ll break your jaw.”
Conner opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it.
Allen went back to eating.
Naomi made daggers at him with her eyes. “You think you’re off the hook here, Allen? You’re a part of the problem.”
Allen looked up, traces of anger forming on his usually hardened face.
“Yeah,” Naomi doubled down. “You don’t talk to anyone. You run this place like a death camp. You’ve had no interest in helping out the Ryans at all, only making them more miserable. Hell, you’re making us all miserable.”
Cathleen nodded in agreement.
Naomi’s anger burned inside. “If we keep going this way, we are going to fall. So why can’t everyone buck up, act like adults, and say what you are thinking?”
Allen put aside his silverware. Calvin kept his eyes on his. Naomi put her hands on her hips. She felt her jaw quivering in rage. “Well? Someone going to start or are we going to keep playing games?”
Conner moved into the dining room. “I’ll start.”
Allen scoffed and went back to eating.
Naomi reached over and pulled his soup away.
He gave her a look of hate.
Naomi held it away from him. “Listen to him.”
Conner glared at Allen. “You’ve been holding back supplies.”
“They aren’t your supplies,” Allen replied.
Conner look like he was a second away from jumping on Allen.
Naomi stepped between. “Allen, let him talk. You’ll get your turn.”
Conner continued. “You’ve been giving your family medication while my father lay dying.”
Allen looked him square in the eyes. “Your father was dead the moment you brought him into this place.”
The remark infuriated Conner. “Not only did my father die, I almost lost my own life going on that mock supply run. You not only put me at risk, you put my brother and your family at risk too.”
Allen glared at him. “I don’t owe you or anybody anything. You came to my house. You used my beds. You ate my food. Letting you have as much as you have is a privilege.”
“You admit to holding back supplies?” Conner asked facetiously.
Allen rose up from his seat. “It’s my stuff. I decide who gets it and when. You don’t like it, you can leave.”
“You’re a murderer,” Conner said. “Y
ou could’ve saved my father, instead you let him die.”
Allen glared at him. “I didn’t kill your father, but I wish he died sooner. It would’ve saved us all from getting sick.”
That was the last straw. Conner lunged at him and slammed his fist into Allen’s jaw. He staggered and straightened his posture.
Blood leaked from his lip.
No one moved. No one spoke.
Allen wiped his lip with the top of his hand. “You, all of you,” he looked at the Ryans. “Have twelve hours to get out of my house.”
Cathleen met his eyes. “And if we don’t comply?”
“Then I’ll kill you,” Allen replied.
Everyone’s breath seemed to leave the room instantly.
You could’ve heard a pin drop upstairs.
Dean stood defiantly. Cathleen pulled her terrified daughter close.
Calvin had his hand halfway up his scalp.
Naomi’s mouth went dry. She had no words.
Allen wore his neutral face like a shield. There was no hint of joking. No hint of rage. His words weren’t a threat. They were a declaration.
Naomi opened her mouth, but only empty air escaped. She pushed herself to speak, but her voice was soft. “Let’s…” she feigned strength. “Let’s be smart about this, everyone. No one needs to get hurt. No one needs to die.”
Conner shook his head and walked away to another room. The rest of the Ryans followed, leaving Naomi with Calvin and Allen. Calvin’s jaw hung open. He had no clue what to say or do. Naomi turned to Allen to speak. He headed for the stairs without looking at her.
As he started to march, he said. “I suggest you two follow me.” He vanished up the stairs.
Naomi looked back into the recreation room. The Ryans had left for another part of the first floor, probably the bunks. Naomi traded looks with her husband. They quickly gathered their things and started upstairs.
Naomi grabbed a knife from the knife block before she left.
As Naomi marched up the steps, she felt the heavy weight of failure crushing her. She thought that she’d be able bring the two families together, but instead she sparked a fire that would consume everything.
Calvin knocked on Allen’s door. He answered quickly and glanced behind them before beckoning them inside. He scanned the hall like a hawk looking for prey and shut the door.
He brought them to the small card table before heading to a tall cabinet.
“Allen,” Naomi said slowly. “Please, apologize to the Ryans. I don’t think anyone wants a war in this house.”
“Too late for that,” Allen said as he pulled the lock away. He opened the cabinet. Tall hunting rifles and shotguns stood vertically inside while various pistol rested on a horizontal shelf. Allen lifted a SIG-Sauer P980, a small handgun fit for a lady’s hand, and presented it to Naomi.
Naomi eyed it but made no move to grab the weapon. “Allen, please. Let’s just go downstairs and work out some sort of deal.”
“We have a deal. They leave or I kill them, and I’m not changing my mind this time,” Allen said stubbornly. “This would’ve never happened if you sent them away, Naomi.”
The words punched Naomi’s gut.
Calvin stepped up. “This is getting too out of hand, Allen. What do you gain from bloodshed?”
Allen pulled out his automatic rifle. “I get my home back. My peace and quiet.” He slung the weapon over his shoulder and then gave Calvin a pistol.
Calvin took it, the blood leaving his face. “What about Becca? Are you going to shoot her too?”
“Not if I don’t have to,” Allen replied. He shut and locked the cabinet. “Rest up. Tomorrow could be a long and interesting day.”
Defeated, Naomi and Calvin left the room and headed back to their own. Trinity sat up in bed as they entered. Candlelight illuminated half of her worried expression. “I heard shouting.”
“Go back to sleep, beautiful,” Calvin said as he set the pistol aside and pulled off his boots.
“Is that a gun?” Trinity exclaimed.
“Yes,” Calvin said with annoyance, not wanting to further explain himself.
Trinity bounced her wide eyes between them. “You guys are scaring me.”
Calvin sighed and climbed into bed.
After taking off her shoes and putting on another sweater, Naomi joined them. “We just want to be safe.”
Trinity didn’t understand. “From what?”
Peeved, Calvin said. “Go to bed, Trinity.”
They packed together, no one caring that Trinity was still recovering from her illness. Naomi wasn’t going to leave her alone. She’d never expect Conner or Dean to raid their bedroom, but people did crazy things when they’re scared.
All throughout the night, Naomi faded in and out of sleep. The days of hard work and mental fatigue put her in a foul mood. She thought back to what choices she could’ve made to prevent the conflict between the Baxter and Ryans, but found the thoughts to be futile and further steal her sleep. Just when she was about to shut off her mind, another thought arose.
She jolted up, covered in sweat.
Calvin quickly awoke. She could only see his silhouette.
Trinity groaned in the center of them. “Mom…”
Naomi shushed her, leaned over to Calvin, and whispered. “Do you have the keys to the Rover?”
Naomi couldn’t see his expression in the dark. He swirled his legs out of bed and headed to the dresser, stubbing his toe along the way. Mumbling, he fetched the lantern and clicked it on. The sudden light blinded him. With a sour face, he took a moment to adjust before checking the drawers. His search became more frantic as he moved to the laundry basket and began fishing through his pant pockets. Naomi chewed her nail as she watched. Calvin tossed aside his fourth pair of pants. Half hunched, he turned to Naomi with fearful eyes. “I think they’re on the hook in the kitchen.”
Naomi’s heart raced. “Stay here,” she commanded in a whisper and quickly got out of bed. The nightly chill made her skin crawl.
She snatched the pistol, getting used to the cold metal, and reached for Calvin’s lantern.
“Let me go instead,” Calvin said.
“No,” Naomi protested. “I need you to stay with Trinity.”
“But--”
Naomi put her finger over his lips, effectively quieting him. “They still trust me.”
Calvin gently took her hand away. “You sure about that?”
“They trust me more than you,” Naomi spelled it out. “I’ll be back in two minutes. Stay with Trinity, please.”
Reluctant, Calvin handed over the lantern.
Naomi clenched the lantern’s cold plastic handle. She squinted at the light and glanced over to Trinity, who was rubbing her eye with her fist.
Naomi kissed Calvin quickly and hurried out of the room.
She waited until she heard the door lock. With slow steps, she descended the stairs. The old wood groaned under the pressure of her bare feet. Naomi cringed and continued downward. The temperature dropped as she stepped into the downstairs hallway.
She held the lantern up high, not wanting to blind herself. Her other hand clenched the pistol. She breathed sparsely and cautiously peered around the hallway corner. The lantern would’ve betrayed her position the moment she got off the stairs, but she didn’t want to run into anyone unannounced.
Something clanked.
Naomi swiftly cut off the lantern. She stood in cold darkness.
Clank.
It came from inside the house.
Taking a breath, Naomi started toward the source of the noise. She brushed the knuckles of her lantern-carrying hand across the wall to guide her. For once, she was glad Allen had no picture frames or wall décor downstairs. She turned a corner into the hall that connected with the kitchen. An extremely dim light leaked from the shut storage closet.
More clanking. It came from behind the door and below the ground.
Putting the lantern aside, Naomi put both hands on t
he pistol and approached the storage room. The multiple locks that had once bound it were unlocked.
The door hung open an inch.
Naomi peeked inside, seeing a flight of wooden stairs. The light came from a basement Naomi never knew existed.
With unblinking eyes, Naomi scanned the hall. She gripped the end of the lip of the door and opened it enough to fit through. Getting on the first step, she almost completely closed the door behind her.
The clinking sound turned to shuffling downstairs.
After the first five steps, the stairs lost their wall and Naomi saw the rest of the open basement. It was the same size as the first floor with rows of shelves holding a seemingly endless supply of canned food, medication, ammunition, toilet paper, bottled water, and every other item a survivor could ever ask for. It was a prepper’s paradise. Naomi guessed that she could live here for thirty to fifty years.
An oil lantern sat on the floor of the basement, casting long shadows across and through the shelves of meticulously organized items.
Keeping both hands on her weapon, Naomi scanned her surroundings. There were many blind spots and long shadows.
Perspiration dotted her forehead. She took one sep at a time, still trying to wrap her head around the large sum of supplies that had that been under the house the entire time.
Her wool sock touched down on the dusty floor.
She stifled a cough behind closed lips.
Something moved in the corner of her eye.
She twisted back in time for someone to quickly grab her pistol-wielding hands, painfully bend back her wrist, and pointed the gun back at Naomi’s own chest. She was about to cry when the mysterious woman shushed her.
She had a black bob cut with bangs cut straight across her forehead. Her eyes were cool and serpentine like that of a snake. Her jaw was pointed. Her thin lips curved into a lopsided, sadistic smile. She had a backpack the size of a barrel. Though she was shorter than Naomi by a few inches, she was in far better shape and doing a masterful job of holding Naomi’s hands tightly. Naomi couldn’t release the gun even if she tried. Her finger was lodged behind the trigger guard. One misstep and she’d blow her own heart out.
Despite being seconds from death, her mind went to her daughter’s safety.
Aftermath (Book 1): Aftermath Page 11