by Ison, S. A.
The men dragged the bodies away from the house for several blocks. They found a secluded spot and began to dig a large, shallow grave.
“Thank you for saving my old ass,” Clive said gruffly. He was shaken to his core.
“Say nothing about it, Clive,” Jimmy said, shoveling the sand aside for the graves.
“We need to keep a look out. I’m sure they won’t be the last to come our way,” Randal said.
“We are spread kinda thin. How can we keep watch?” Roy asked.
“I say we take turns, maybe four-hour shifts. The gals can help during the day, just keep their eyes open. They are outside most of the time anyway,” Randal suggested.
“That’s a good idea. Me and Reed can take turns, and split up the night. Mr. Smith can help, too. He was who told me you were in trouble, Clive. He came to me whining. Then I heard you yelling,” Jimmy said.
“Smart dog you got there, Jimmy,” Clive said, grinning.
Once finished, they walked back, checking several of the surrounding homes. Their doors had been kicked in. The two men had clearly been looking for food. They hadn’t found much, and a few blocks from Clive’s, they found a home where the door and screen door had been kicked in. The two men had killed an old couple with their own butcher knife. That was where they had probably gotten the snub nose; it was an old gun.
From the looks of the couple, they hadn’t had much food, as both were almost skeletal. They took them out and dug graves for them in the back yard. It was cooler as the evening began to ease in. At the middle of July, the heat had reached its zenith, though August would be hot too. Then, they all knew, the temperature would slowly go down.
No one spoke. It had begun. Strangers were on the move, and Sullivan’s Island was no longer the safe haven it had been.
19 July
San Gabriel Mountains, California
Larry and Jake sat at the mouth of the cave; they’d been there for a couple days. It felt good to rest and stop walking. When they’d finally found the cave, they’d been looking for hours, dragging the deer behind them. The cave even had water trickling from the back of the declivity. It was a bit brackish, but drinkable.
Both men had drunk of it eagerly and heavily. Once sated, they’d fanned out and gathered branches and leaves and anything else they thought they could burn. They’d built a large fire at the mouth of the cave, and cooked more of the venison.
Over a separate low fire, they had placed rough cut thin meat. Smoking it slowly was the key, Larry had said. They’d used some of the plastic they’d saved and wrapped the meat as it dried.
Larry was reading from the battered survival book. The smell of roasting meat made his mouth water and his stomach growl. The meat began to sizzle and pop, the smell rising up with the smoke. Audible growls bounced off the cave walls, and both men grinned. Their stomachs would soon be quieted. He pulled the survival book well back from the flames; it was getting too dark to read. They also had to keep the flames going, as there were mountain lions in these hills.
The night before, they’d heard a large cat screaming in the distant woods. It had brought both men out of a sound sleep. Thinking about it now, the hairs rose on his arm and he sat up and looked around. Jake paused and looked over, nervously looking into the growing dark.
“It’s okay. Just sitting up,” Larry assured Jake.
They’d built up the fire and kept it going, sleeping at the back of the cave. The deer carcass was dwindling, and they’d taken the entrails out before dragging it through the woods. They kept the fresh meat wrapped in plastic now, washing it before they cooked it.
“I think we have about ten pounds of jerky now,” Jake said, turning the meat so it wouldn’t burn.
“Good, because I think if we don’t use up the rest, it will be too dangerous to eat. I think it might be starting to rot,” Larry said.
Jake leaned forward and sniffed the meat on the stick. He smiled at Larry, letting him know it smelt fine.
After dinner, both men went to the back of the shallow cave and drank more water, then lay down near the fire to sleep. From time to time, each man woke and added a stick or log to the fire. It was the first peaceful night either had had in over a month, and with the fire burning at the mouth, both men felt safe from four-legged predators.
They’d foraged in the hills and found a few edible plants, adding them to their larder. The greens kept them from getting scurvy. Jake didn’t like the bitter plants, but Larry made him eat them. They had tried to set snares and traps, but failed miserably.
Jake had been growing weaker by the day before they’d gotten the deer, and Larry had given him the lion’s share of the food. They needed to keep moving, or they would die.
Topsfield, Maine
Kelly maneuvered the truck around a deep rut in the road. The rain always made the road worse, but there wasn’t much to be done about it. She slowed so they wouldn’t get shaken to death from the rutted road. Neither spoke. There wasn’t anything to say. They were each lost in their own thoughts. Kelly slowed even further for a tight curve, then sped up a little. The drive down the road was always an enjoyable one, but today she felt the weight of the world on her shoulders.
They had finally gone to Tim’s cabin and buried Chance. They had worn protective gear, and had taken sanitizer with them. The dog was still intact, but desiccated. They had carefully placed him in a shallow grave, buried him, and placed good-sized rocks over the grave, to mark his resting place.
Tim had gone into the cabin alone to retrieve his hunting gear and some clothing and personal effects. All was carefully wiped down with the sanitizer cloths. The cloths would be boiled once they got back to Kelly’s cabin. Tim had taken her about a hundred yards into the woods, to where he kept his weapons, which were encased in a protective shell.
They loaded all the weapons and boxes of ammo into the back of her truck. He tucked his Taurus 24/7 into his holster at his hip. A secret smile had curved Kelly’s face as she watched him pat the gun with loving familiarity. The man loved his weapons.
To say she was impressed by the firepower he possessed was an understatement. It looked as though Tim had planned and saved for World War III. Well, as it turned out, they might need it in the future; there was just no telling. A depressing, thought to be sure.
Up ahead in the road stood Butter. “Why is Butter in the road?” Kelly asked Tim, who had been looking off into the woods.
“What? Who?” Tim looked at her, then looked down the road. He saw his horse, and pulled the Taurus from his holster. “Something’s wrong. She wouldn’t wander off like that.”
Kelly had set up a staked area to the back of the yard, putting up a rope corral. This kept the horse in one place, and the piles of horse dung to one area. After stepping in two piles, Kelly wanted the smelly dung as far away from the house as she could get it. The corral was also near the small pond, so water was easy to haul to the metal tub Butter drank from. The nearby trees provided plenty of shade in the heat of the day. With the two-acre lot cleared, Kelly had plenty of room not to smell horse poop.
Kelly grabbed her gun and slowed down, then pulled over to the side of the road. Both got out of the truck, careful to close the doors softly. The entrance to Kelly’s property was three hundred feet farther down the road. Tim melted into the trees, as Kelly walked slowly up the road, her ears attuned to the sounds around her. She came up to Butter and petted the horse’s sun-warmed neck. Butter snuffled softly into Kelly’s hair.
Walking past, Kelly continued slowly up the road. She was beginning to hear voices, male voices, though not distinct. The smell of exhaust lingered in the air, and the clinical side of her brain observed how synthetic smells were now very noticeable to her. She moved into a crouched position and slowed her gait, placing each step carefully. As quietly as she could, she took the safety off her gun and held it up and ready, near her chest. She heard laughter, and wondered where Schrodinger’s Cat was. Her dog would not have willingly let these
intruders near her home. Her heart fell into her stomach.
Schrodinger’s Cat was pregnant; she and Chance must have mated on his last visit. She hadn’t even known her dog was in heat. Now she feared her dog was dead. Adrenaline moved through her body like an electric eel; she could hear her heartbeat slamming, and her breath was coming in short pants. She smelt blood. Tt was her rage.
She crept around the trees and peered through the undergrowth. She could hear their voices clearly now. Her hands were trembling, and she clamped down on her fear and steadied herself. She saw two men in the yard, there were two dead chickens, and as she watched, a third man came out of the house, carrying another dead chicken. Looking around, she saw her dog, blood on her chest and her head. Kelly bit down hard, trying not to cry out as hot tears burned her eyes and hate and rage filled her heart.
Stepping from the trees, Kelly walked toward the men at a fast pace. Bringing her gun to bear, she shot the man who had been holding the dead chicken in the chest. He flew backward and dropped the bird, landing hard on the ground, not moving. Blood blossomed on his chest, like a growing rose.
***
Tim moved around the back side of Kelly’s property, through the trees. He could hear the men’s laughter and followed it. He held his Taurus up tight to his chest, the safety off and ready to fire. He sidestepped fallen logs and brambles, moving with stealth and speed. He knew Kelly would reach the men first, but wanted to get there fast. He didn’t know what she would be facing when she reached her cabin. He knew she was a very good shot – they had done target practice from time to time. She’d wanted to be proficient, but Kelly had never killed a man, and he didn’t know if she would hesitate and get killed herself. He heard the shot as he reached the cabin.
The other two men whirled around, their faces contorted by surprise and rage. They both fumbled to draw their guns. A double tap from the Taurus send 9 mm rounds from the woods into the man nearest Tim, propelling the man forward. He landed on his companion, his legs twitching. Kelly put two rounds in the last man standing, point blank in his chest. He fell back screaming, and then silence. She hadn’t said a word or made a sound.
She turned and ran over to the dog and knelt down, gently bringing the dog’s head into her lap. She rocked back and forth over Schrodinger’s Cat, and cried. The dog moaned a little, and Kelly jerked back and cried for Tim to get the first-aid kit. Tim ran into the cabin and came back out with the kit and paper towels.
Tim stood over Kelly, and watched as she gently checked the injured dog’s head. The girl had a deep graze. Thank goodness the dog had a hard head. The bullet had ridden along the side of the dog’s massive skull, knocking her out. The blood on the broad chest was from a bullet, a small hole in the dog’s shoulder.
He helped Kelly, gently lifting Schrodinger’s Cat’s leg. He found the exit wound and sighed with relief. It had passed through. He held the bottle of peroxide while Kelly washed the wounds, and then put antibiotic cream liberally on each area. Tim helped her wrap the shoulder and part of the upper leg snuggly.
“It’s a good thing you’ve got a hard head, girl,” Tim said, gently petting the dog’s side. The tail moved up and down slowly.
“Good girl. Mommy and Tim killed those bad men, those bastards.” Kelly started crying again, and held onto her dog’s thick neck, repeating “Good girl!” over and over. Tim got up, put a hand on her shoulder, and squeezed.
Tim went over to the men; he kicked at the bodies to ensure they were dead. They were. He admired Kelly’s shots clinically; she had nailed the bastards, keeping her grouping tight. He went back to the road and called the horse.
Tim pulled the horse’s bridle and looked the horse over. Then he led her back to the yard and secured her in the roped area. The birds had begun to sing and call around him, the threat now gone. He then went over to the bodies and searched them. The copper scent of blood, cordite, and gun smoke settled around him like an old friend. He pulled the weapons from each man and tossed them into a pile. They’d had 22s.
He walked over to the two motorcycles, and looked through the satchels that hung on them. He pulled out boxes of assorted ammo and tossed them toward the guns. He then pushed each of the bikes across the road and into the woods, leaving them there.
“Do you have any rope?” Tim asked Kelly as he stood over the dead men; he could feel his heart starting to slow, and the haze of rage recede.
“Yeah, in the big shed, should be some hanging on the wall.”
Tim got a length of nylon rope and threw it on the men, then walked back out to the road. It was some minutes before he pulled the truck into the dooryard. Tim stopped, then backed the truck up to the bodies. He began to methodically wrap the rope around the ankles of the men. The rope was slick in his hands, and he tugged hard to secure the knots. Once they were all tethered together, he attached the other end of the rope to the trailer hitch.
He jumped back into the truck and drove out, the men gruesomely dragging behind; their heads bouncing off hidden rocks sounded like hollow melons. In the rearview mirror, he saw Kelly turn her head to vomit. His mouth turned down; he was sorry he’d distressed her, but he had to get rid of this scum.
Anger seethed. He gritted his teeth hard, and his jaws hurt with the force of it. It had been a violation of Kelly. Those bastards wouldn’t hurt anyone else. He knew this was the start of the migration up north. It was time to plan, to set traps, tripwires, and warnings in the woods around the property. He was glad he had come back with Kelly, that they had decided already to move to her property; he didn’t know what would have happened to her had he not been there. She might have killed two before the third man shot her
Kenneth’s intel had been disturbing. Though Maine wasn’t densely populated, much of its population lived in the cities. With food and supplies going dry there, it was only a matter of time before people started to spread out and search for food and guns. He’d seen such desperation in other countries. He’d seen the poorest of the poor, and Americans had had no idea how that felt; until now. They would be lethal in their bid for survival.
He was sure the tweekers and druggies would be looking for drugs or alcohol, and killing anyone who got in their way. The fact that violence had hit Lincoln already meant it was getting closer to home. These men’s motorcycles had made it easier for them to travel and get around with less fuel. He figured the three men had been working their way around the area, and wondered what mayhem they had left in their wake. He and Kelly could use the bikes later, if need be. They would be good transportation when they could no longer use the truck.
His extensive weapons collection in the back of Kelly’s truck would have to be buried again. Since they were stored in an airtight case, they would be safe until he could figure out a better solution. He could not chance leaving all that weaponry lying around for someone to steal. He and Kelly would have to stay armed 24/7, and keep their weapons in top shape and at the ready.
His thoughts went to Kelly’s dog. There was hope now that Chance would still live on in the puppies he’d sired. Hopefully Schrodinger’s Cat wouldn’t lose them. The anger resurfaced. He looked in his rearview mirror, and watched as the dead men’s feet bounced obscenely along behind. His mouth turned down hard. They deserved the ignominious treatment.
Coming up to the main road, he pulled over to the stop sign. He removed the men from the truck and dragged each one to the sign. He cut off a length of the rope, and secured the men to the post. He found a cardboard box in the back seat and pulled it out. From the glove box, he pulled out a sharpie, then tore the box up into a square sign. He wrote the words, “Trespassers will be shot, survivors shot again. STAY OUT!”
MS Aloha Pearl, Pacific Ocean
Within a day, sharks showed up and the cries were silenced. During the dark nights, splashes were heard as the bodies were thrown over. Some bodies were consumed, many were not. By the end of the fourth week, only seven passengers were left, their hollowed faces gray from lack of pr
oper nourishment—which didn’t include rotted human flesh and contaminated water. More of the crew had opted for instant death since the food was gone and they were now out of bottled water.
Captain Lumberman and Ensign Thad Malory were the last of the crew left. They went out on deck. The handful of people lay on the deck below, so weak they could only watch as Captain Lumberman raised his gun to Malory’s head. Captain Lumberman’s gaunt face was pale and sweating after the exertion of simple movement.
“Sir, I’m ready to die now.”
“All right, Thad. I’m sorry we had to end this way, but I’m honored to have known you and worked with you,” Captain Lumberman said with genuine warmth, tears shimmering in his eyes. “You won’t be alone, Thad. I will join you shortly, son. Look out to sea, and tell me about the happiest time in your life.”
Thad Malory began his story, his voice trembling. His thin, emaciated body stood tall and straight, swaying with weakness. Tears coursed down his thin tanned face as he told his captain about the first time he fell in love. As he took a breath to continue, Ellis pulled the trigger. The young man fell forward, boneless, to the deck.
“God forgive me, I could not help them or myself.” Closing his eyes, he placed the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.
Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina
The day was particularly hot, September couldn’t come soon enough. Pearl waved her fan, stirring up a warm breeze. She had a wet dishtowel around her neck to keep her cool. She watched as Laura bounced her daughter, Becka, up and down on her hip, standing in the garden Pearl had helped her grow. All the women had planted second gardens from Pearl’s leftover seeds. Her tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, string beans and kale were coming in nicely; though still small, they looked healthy.