Alpha Farm, Facing Your Demons (Prepper Chicks Series Book 2)

by Annie Berdel

  She could smell the alcohol before she saw the man. Beer. Making his way into the living room without breaking anything, Emma saw her husband turn the light on beside his recliner. Wondering who he was with, Emma still in bare feet and nightgown, crept back down the hallway and made her way back upstairs to their bedroom. Walking to the window, she melted into the curtain as she peered outside with her monocle.

  “Ben” she muttered under her breath.

  She wanted no part of whatever Ben was up to and she knew he had ulterior motives for bringing her husband home smelling like he had spent the night in the local dive. Whatever the reason, she needed to give Tommy his space. Assuming he would pass out downstairs, she crawled into bed, once again spreading her hand across the mattress to that all too familiar emptiness. Tears fell as she remembered all too clearly other nights in their marriage when their bed had not been so empty. When would all this craziness end? When would their lives get back to some sort of routine? Or was this their new normal? The thought made Emma sick to her stomach.

  Drifting off to sleep, Emma was awakened by the arm reaching around her waist and the undeniable stench burning her nostrils. Startled, she tensed up as her mind fought to wake itself and make sense of what was happening. Or was her mind playing tricks on her, betraying her against her deepest wishes. The smell pummeled against her senses. She felt his hand slide up over her breast finding and fondling its target until its objective triumphant.

  Emma stiffened her back against the man lying in her bed, her body responding to his promptings, her mind swimming in emotion. It would be so easy to just give in but something felt wrong. This was her husband, yet he didn’t remember her and to make matters worse, he was intoxicated.

  “Tom” she whispered as she tried to slide away...

  Trying to brush his hand away, she pushed down on his arm to get it away from her breast. He used the opportunity to seek pleasure elsewhere. His hand slid down her stomach and she twisted away, the strength in his arm making it almost impossible to sit up.

  “TOM” she said with a thread of fear drifting from her voice. “Tom, please. Don’t do this right now”

  Tom pulled her back to him with such strength that she slid against him effortlessly, his face now buried in her hair. The smell of him and the mixed emotions making her sick to her stomach. This is not how she wanted their reunion to be.

  “Come on baby. Let me have some fun.” Tom stammered in his drunken state

  “Tom!” Emma squealed as she felt his hand reach up under her nightdress. “Stop this right now”

  Awake now, Tom rolled over onto his back and flung his arm up over his head as the waves of nausea rocked him like a boat on the open ocean during a hurricane. Groaning, he barely missed vomiting on the bed as his head went over the side of the mattress.

  Torn between emotions, Emma didn’t know whether to try and save him or throw him out of her bed. This man she had known for years now had never acted like this before. Flashes of her new normal pulsated through her mind. NO, she would not accept this. There was no way she would allow her relationship with her husband to be built on false pretenses or would she? What could she do? She just wanted her Tommy back, not this person he was becoming.

  “Tom?” she said gently trying to get out of the bed without rocking him off at the same time.

  Groaning, Tom laid back on the pillow, his arm back over his eyes. “What?”

  “What’s going on here?” Emma asked

  “I’m sick. Can’t you see that?” he shot back

  “There’s a difference between being sick...and being drunk.” Emma replied

  “Either way, it’s none of your business. Leave me alone.” He said in a dismissive tone as he rolled over into the middle of the bed, still fully clothed. Standing up straight now as waves of anger pulsed through her veins, Emma looked around the room that she once shared with her husband. Walking around the side of the bed, Emma made sure not to step into the mess Tomas had made. Grabbing the quilt that had been given to them on their wedding day, she gently laid it across his body being careful not to wake the stranger now snoring in her bed.

  Emma knew what he would require the next morning besides a heaping of coffee and eggs with ketchup, he would need quiet. She had chanced everyone away right after lunch anticipating his late rising. He came stumbling into the kitchen looking like he had been beaten all night by Satan himself. Tom made his way to his usual chair at the kitchen table without looking at his wife and put his elbows on the table, his head gently resting on the palms of his hands. Walking over, Emma slid a steaming cup of coffee under his face and waited for its contents to waif to his nostrils. Groaning, Tom slid one hand around the cup and lifted it to his lips, sipping the hot nectar of the near dead.

  Resting the cup back on the table, Tom glanced over at his wife. Standing with her back to him at the stove he could still feel the tension emanating from her body. He felt like a kid having to explain to his mom why and how he broke the window with the baseball that she bought him for Christmas. Damn her if she hadn’t bought the fucking ball, he wouldn’t be in trouble!

  Emma turned with his plate and caught him staring at her.

  “Tom.” she said with a bit more chilliness then she had intended.

  “I suppose you want to talk about last night?” he asked her

  “I don’t even know what to say to you.” Emma replied

  “Good. What I do is none of your business and I sure as hell don’t answer to you.”

  “Tom, I’m your wife! I worry about you especially after all that has happened!”

  “Ya, I forgot. I can’t take care of myself before my heroic wife can come and save my stupid ass. Is that what you want to hear Emma? How awesome you are? How I am so weak and feeble that I need you to take care of my every move? For Christ’s sake Emma, I don’t even remember you!”

  The words stung and he knew it. He meant them to drill right into her soul and kill any love she had for him so that it made things easier on him except he realized it wouldn’t erase the guilt. She was a good person, just not his person anymore. He didn’t want to be here acting like this big loving family. Not when all he wanted to do was put his hands around her throat and strangle the last breath out of her. If it wasn’t for her, he wouldn’t be in this mess, of that he was certain. Her voice still haunted him even after he was pulled from the ditch and with each word that left her mouth, he hated her even more. He had had enough of this conversation that was one thing that he knew for certain. Slamming his arms down, coffee splashed across the table as he scooted his chair back and stood up a little too fast. Swaying, Emma ran over and tried to prop him up before he fell.

  “Leave me the fuck alone!” he screamed

  “Tommy, I was just try....”she got out before he interrupted her

  “Stop with the Tommy thing! You are not my mom! God, how I hate that!” he spat back

  “I’m sorry” she said quietly “I’ve always called...”

  “Just stop. That person is dead. This is me now. Live with it.” he said as he walked to the doorway. Turning, his eyes bore right down into Emma’s heart. “Oh, by the way. Just so you know. I don’t have your six anymore.”

  Emma stared at the shadow of the man she once knew. She understood.

  54

  They arrived in the middle of the afternoon, walking boldly up the little used driveway straight to the farmhouse. Several dozen frozen faces clothed in tattered and dirty clothes, the smell of feces and unwashed body odors now immune between them. Mostly adults, they did have a couple younger kids thrown in the mix who had no idea why they were there, they just wanted to be with the only people they had some semblance of familiarity with. Whether this was intentional or not, it didn’t matter. They still outnumbered the people at the farm.

  When no one answered the front door, the man who was taking lead, motioned for a couple of the followers to head off around the side of the house while the rest of the party waited o
ut front. The man pounded on the door this time, making sure that whoever might be inside heard him or his fist found its way through the door, whichever came first.

  Marauders as they were called in certain circles. Folks who had banded together and went out to take what they needed, or simply wanted. The rules of life had changed. It was now a day to day survival scenario. These same people used to be someone’s neighbor who took their children to soccer practice after school on Thursdays. These same people sat two pews up from you during Sunday worship. These same people bowed their heads and prayed to the same God that you did. They made fun of you when you brought up having a little extra food or water in the house for, you know, “just in case”. The experts called it normalcy bias, not wanting to confront the possibilities, or in some cases the certainties, because it shattered their misconceptions about what reality was. They read the same newspapers, watched the same news reports on the television, even read the stories you shared on Facebook, and still did nothing to secure their future. They didn’t want to flirt with the idea that something could happen because it would shatter their false little world that they had built around them.

  These same shells of a human had lived through the same small apocalypse that you had and watched their children die of starvation or worse, watched their child get raped while they were defenseless to help. Guilt is an overwhelming emotion. It can make a man go against his belief system that he has lived all of his life. To this caldron of shame we will add in their own personal demons who were making their stomach eat them from the inside out and you have your very own, homegrown zombie. It’s not as melodramatic as they were used to seeing on the television with the mystery virus but they were still zombies none the less.

  Opening the door, the leader of the group was surprised that there was no one seemingly home. He had visited out here on occasion when he needed advise from the old man about his bee hives and had observed that the homestead seemed well stocked with odd and end supplies that would come in handy now that the electrical grid wasn’t working. The old man liked to talk. He was easily led into giving away more information then he should to someone he barely knew.

  The leader silently divided the group off into directions as he made his way into the kitchen, looking for anything they could use to survive or barter to someone needing the junk. Looking around, the leader looked at the pictures scattered around with no emotion. He was tired. Tired of having to fight to survive. Tired of wondering where his next meal was going to come from. Tired of the sights and smells he encountered as he took from others. Tired of feeling angry that he thought this would be easy. His plan had failed him, miserably. He should have been better prepared at his own house but no, he thought he would just take supplies from others when and if the time arose. Now all he did was spend his time sneaking up on one family after another looking for anything and everything that could earn him an hour of rest. He was tired of killing.

  Hearing a noise, he walked boldly into the master bedroom. The old woman was there, her eyes as big as the plate she put the turkey on at Thanksgiving as the intruder entered. Demanding things had become easy for the leader, so had hurting the victim when they didn’t give him what they wanted. He needed gold and she said they didn’t have any. He said he needed opioids, and the woman had none. He needed guns and ammunition. The woman showed them where the safe was but was so scared that her hands shook uncontrollably as she tried to enter the code to unlock the vault door.

  There was no alcohol in the house other then what the old woman had used to make her homemade vanilla with when she made Christmas cookies. There were no cigarettes and no lighters, but there was food the old woman had spent hours canning from her garden. They took all of that.

  The leader drug the old woman into the living room by her hair and asked her where the rest of her husband’s medicine was, since he wouldn’t be needing it anymore. They had shot him where he lay on the couch, destroying the lower half of his torso. Crying now, the old woman had become useless to the leader. Bashing her in the spine with the butt end of his shotgun, he tossed her into the chair. Being unable to move because of the damage the man had done, she had to sit there and stare at the man who she betrothed her life to almost fifty years earlier.

  They left after they took what they wanted, leaving the old couple defenseless against the demons waiting in the shadows.

  55

  Emma’s nostrils picked up the odor as she was walking up the driveway. Flashbacks of a time long again filled her thoughts. She knew that foul aroma. The air was thick with the miasmas of rotting flesh with a hint of sweetness. An odd smell, death was an aroma you will always remember.

  Her pulse quickened as she stood at the doorway, her hand rising to knock. Pausing, she realized it was the first time since all of the recent drama that had been happening that she was scared. The bouquet of rotting meat mixed with the sweet scent of applesauce was starting to make her eyes water.

  She wanted to take a deep breath to calm her nerves, but couldn’t. She would surely gag. Digging around in her backpack, she pulled out a bandana and folded it in half. Placing it over her nose and mouth, she tied it behind her head. While it made the smell less noticeable, Emma’s stomach was now flipping over and over.

  Closing her eyes and breathing out, her breath caught as she knocked loudly on the door. Eternity passed while she waited.

  Please, she begged her invisible God.

  She jumped when she heard the floor creak as someone was walking towards her through the kitchen. Still standing outside, she tried to squint through the curtain on the backdoor.

  “Aunt Amy?” she yelled “Is that you?”

  Waiting for a reply that never materialized, Emma reached down and grabbed the door handle. She gave it a twist.

  “Sweet Jesus” Emma said under her breath as the door opened. Lifting her head, Emma paused, her eyes darting back and forth looking for answers to what lay ahead.

  “Aunty Amy? Uncle Randy? Are you guys in there?” she yelled, the stench overwhelming her as she started coughing up the foul fumes that were now attaching themselves to her tongue.

  Turning her head, she positioned her ear in alignment with where the door was now cracked open. No sounds came from inside.

  Pushing the door further open, Emma looked around the kitchen. Dishes were piled in the sink, left unwashed with decaying matter crawling with small white maggots. Amy’s dishtowel was flung over the back of the kitchen chair that she always sat at, waiting for her at any moment to step into the room and start cleaning. Her coffee mug sat on the table in front of her chair. Broken dishes were scattered around the room with the cabinet doors that used to hold them now left open. Drawers of spoons and knives were dumped and then discarded among the chaos. Someone had obviously been looking for something.

  The air was still. To still.

  Emma stepped inside and waited.

  Please God, she pleaded.

  Waiting, Emma could not pick out any sounds within the house that she would find any of the inhabitants alive. Making her way towards the hallway, Emma wished the house had windows that allowed some kind of light into the middle of the house.

  The smell of death heightened as she made her way towards the living room. Catching a glimpse of the floral sofa, Emma remembered the delight on her aunt’s face when she bought the hideous, nine foot long piece of foam and wood.

  “It’s glorious!” Amy said with as much pride as the day her grandchild was born.

  “Seriously?” Emma had said, more of a statement then a question.

  “We will be able to get five people on this couch.” Amy replied

  “If we can get it into the house! This thing is the longest, ugliest piece of furniture I have ever seen!” Uncle Randy shouted from somewhere behind the efflorescent monstrosity.

  Laughter, starting at a low boil, escalated until Emma’s cheeks hurt. Tears of happiness cascaded over her lashes as she looked back and forth from her Aunt to her Unc
le. They were the only living relatives older than herself which still gave her a sense of being a youngster.

  Now tears fell down her face, not only from the putrid smell but from the realization that both of her beloved kinfolk were the cause of the emanation.

  She caught a glimpse of the top of the woman’s head barely peeking above the back of the recliner as she entered the room. Pausing, Emma contemplated just turning around and running away.

  It would be the easiest way to handle this, she told herself.

  Scanning the room, all hope faded of finding her Aunt and Uncle alive as Emma saw the bottom of her Uncle Randy’s work boot resting against the arm of that god awful sofa. Couldn’t she just lie to herself and say he was napping and she didn’t want to wake him? Guilt flooded her as she realized that she should have checked in on them sooner but with trying to find her husband and nurse him back to health along with all the extra people at the farm, she just kept pushing it further down the list of things to do.

  Deep in the pit of her soul, she just wanted to go home and forget that she was here, to live without the knowledge that they were gone but an invisible rope was pulling her towards them. She needed to deal with this. She needed to bury them but there was no way she could lift them herself. She could, at least, throw a cover over them so they weren’t so exposed to the world as death ate at them. Kindness mattered even after, it keeps us humane.