Inoculation Zero: Welcome to the Stone Age

by Ison, S. A.

  With one hand, the man fumbled with his pants, getting the zipper down. He pulled his member out and was bringing himself over her when Alisa felt a gush of warm fluid come from between her legs, it felt like gallons of warm water were washing between her thighs.

  The man above her cried out and jerked back and to his feet in appalled surprise. Within a split second, Alisa pulled away and rolled toward the gun. Her hands grasped the gun firmly, and when she turned, he was lunging toward her, hands curled into claws, black rage on his face. Alisa pulled the trigger, hoping the sand had not fouled up the mechanics of the gun. Because this man was going to kill her and her baby.

  The gun exploded and the man jerked back, a stunned look on his face. A small hole was just under his cheek, and his eyes just stared at her in shock. It seemed like he just stood there for hours, staring at her. She watched as a small drop of blood exited the hole, she took note of how the sun glistened off it, and she wondered at how pretty the color was.

  Then real time started, and the man took a step forward. Alisa shot again. This one hit him in the throat, with the same effect: a small hole magically appeared. Once more the man stopped, still staring at her, then dropped, falling backwards, a wet stain beginning to spread in the crotch of his pants. Death had released both man and his bowels.

  Alisa sat up, still shaking. She dropped the gun between her legs. She could still feel the warm fluid flowing between her thighs. Your water has broken, her brain told her, and the baby is coming. Slowly and painfully, she got up and went back into the lake. Painstakingly she washed the blood from her face and her breasts. She washed the sand and small pebbles from her body.

  Turning, she went back to shore and picked up her gun, replacing it about her neck. Then she picked up the fish and walked to the house, not looking at the dead man lying several feet away. Her mind felt numb; angry, and afraid. She stepped into the cool darkness of the living room and went to the bathroom to grab her robe.

  Making her way to the couch, she sat down on shaky legs, placed her head in her hands, and began to cry. She rocked back and forth, sobbing. The baby gave a push and brought her back to reality. She hiccupped, and her hand caressed the bulge of her belly. Curling up, she pulled a pillow to her and tucked between her legs. Her hand glided over the swollen skin gently, over and over. Soon she fell asleep.

  ***

  Stephen and Mike burst into the house, jerking Alisa awake. Both men looked around, fear and panic written all over their faces. She smiled softly and sat up. Stephen saw her and ran to the couch, pulling her into his arms.

  “Jesus, what the hell happened?” he cried.

  “I was fishing, and that guy attacked me. I shot the son of a bitch.”

  It was then that Stephen saw her face; it was swollen, and the beginnings of bruising were spreading across her face. Her lip was swollen, and he could see dried blood at the edge of her mouth.

  “That bastard,” Stephen snarled. “Are you okay, honey? Is the baby okay?”

  “We’re fine, Stephen,” she said smiling gently. “I think our little baby is coming. My water broke earlier.”

  “Holy shit!” both men said at the same time, twin images of panic on their faces.

  Alisa laughed. “You better go get Janet. The contractions have started, though they are still far apart.”

  Stephen jumped up and looked around, as though Janet might be in either the kitchen or one of the bedrooms. Mike laughed and grabbed Stephen’s arm to hold him in place.

  “I’ll go get her Stephen; you stay here with your wife.”

  ***

  Alisa’s hands gripped Stephen’s larger ones; her teeth gritted hard, her eyes closed as she fought to keep the scream from passing her lips. The pain undulated through her body, waves of it sending her near to the edge of madness. She tried to breathe through her nose, but her sinuses were swollen shut, and she could feel her heartbeat behind her eyes.

  A low guttural moan escaped her lips, and she could feel Stephen’s hands tighten on hers. She could feel the small bones of her hands shift and move with the pressure her husband exerted. The pain brought her back to focus. She began to pant, and once more could feel the rise of the pain.

  “I don’t think I can do this,” she cried.

  “You’re doing just fine dear. Let it come. Try to relax your body,” Janet coached.

  “It hurts so bad,” Alisa whimpered.

  “I know dear. Just push through the pain. You’re almost there,” Janet said soothingly.

  Grunting, Alisa shifted her body.

  “I feel like I need to push!” Alisa announced.

  From there, things became a blur. Janet and Stephen moved around her, and she felt her body being tugged and pushed. Part of her mind noticed Mike off to the side, a worried look on his face. Stephen’s face was filled with an awed purposefulness.

  Stephen Michael Zackary Martin was born on the 27th of July at 11:45 p.m. He was alive, and he was healthy. Alisa lay in the bed, tired, but smiling down at her son. It had been a hard labor, but both Stephen and Mike had been there to help. Mike had brought Janet in the early evening. She had been calm, and had transmitted it to Stephen, who’d been fidgeting frantically.

  Though not a nurse, Janet had had five of her own children, sixteen grandchildren, and one great grandchild. Her calming presence had helped the trio remain calm, and her orders had been obeyed. Janet had helped mother and child clean up, then sent the men to bring in more firewood to keep water warm. There was a fireplace in the master bedroom, and it backed with the one in the living room.

  Alisa watched as Stephen stoked up the bedroom fire and added another log. The room glowed with candlelight, which moved and shivered around the walls. Stephen looked over to his wife and son, and felt both panic and profound joy. He grinned giddily at Alisa, and she smiled tiredly back. Going over to the bed, Stephen reached down and took his son.

  “He’s so small. You were early,” he said, awe and fear warring in his voice.

  “Babies come when they’re ready. Janet told me that,” she said, her hand gently tracing around the soft head of their son.

  They heard a knock, and Mike stuck his head in.

  “I walked Janet home. Can I see the baby?”

  “Sure, come on in, Uncle Mike,” Alisa said, smiling.

  “He looked a bit squished and red, but otherwise healthy,” Mike said, a grin on his face.

  Everyone laughed.

  Alisa watched as Mike bent and placed a soft kiss on the baby’s head, and then one on hers. Her eyes filled with tears, and she reached her hand up and placed it on his cheek.

  “Thank you for being our friend, Mike,” She said, her voice choked with emotion.

  “Thank you for allowing me to be here and share this with you. I’ll leave you two; get some rest, all of you.” He turned and went out, closing the door softly.

  29 July

  San Gabriel Mountains, California

  Larry pushed through the trees, his heart pounding so loudly he couldn’t hear anything else. The sweat was pouring off his face, his hair was plastered to his skull, and his beard itched with lice and other creepy crawlies. He’d smelled wood smoke, and knew now that the cabin was inhabited. But he had nowhere else to go, and he was so tired.

  He knew he would live or die here; he didn’t want to go on alone, and he was sure that whoever lived there would put him out of his misery soon enough. It had taken him another day and a half to reach the cabin. He had fallen off a small rise and rolled downhill, hitting rocks and saplings. He had lost his backpack somewhere during his crazed roll.

  He was without food or water, and he didn’t have his precious book. He had nothing, nothing but the clothes on his back. He was weak, and stumbled as he worked his way around thick thorny bushes and thickets of dense undergrowth. He’d also lost one of his shoes and his left foot was bloody, as were his hands. He had a deep gash on the side of his face, and it throbbed with every step he took and each beat of h
is heart. As sweat ran over it, it burned.

  Each footfall was agony, but he kept pushing forward. He no longer cared if he lived or not, and thought that perhaps it would be better if he did die; he would at least be out of pain. His ribs ached with each breath; he thought he might have a fractured rib or two. It didn’t matter. Just one foot in front of the other.

  “Freeze, asshole!” a woman shouted, and a shot went just above Larry’s head, the bark of the nearby tree embedding into his neck. He didn’t feel the sting of it, but stood rooted to the ground.

  “Turn around and go back where you came from. I got nothing here for you except a bullet,” the voice called. No anger. Just finality.

  “I…” Larry stopped and coughed. His throat was dry, and it was difficult to talk. He swallowed several times and tried once more to speak. It had been so long since he had spoken, or heard another voice.

  “I can’t. I can’t go back. I lost my food. I lost my water, and I lost my friend. I have nothing. So shoot me, please just shoot me. I don’t want to live by myself; I don’t want to go on. So just end it quickly for me. I won’t fight you, but I won’t go away either. I can’t go any farther,” he ended, sobbing, and fell to his knees. He curled into himself and wept.

  Larry had come to his breaking point, and he didn’t care anymore. He missed Jake, he missed his life, he missed everything. He’d had enough, and figured this was as good a place as any to die. He hoped the woman would shoot him in the head so he wouldn’t suffer. But he didn’t care.

  There was no other sound in the forest but for his weeping, and it went on for many minutes. The birds stopped their chattering, and everything stilled.

  “All right you big baby, get up,” the woman said, not unkindly. She nudged him with her booted foot when he didn’t respond, and he jerked back, looking up into the woman’s face.

  “I said, ‘All right you big baby, get up.’ I won’t shoot you. The name’s Charmain Zimmer.” Her long red hair was braided, and hung over her shoulder. The soft smile on her face belied the harshness of her words.

  Larry blinked, rubbed his eyes, and blinked again. Before him was a short pudgy woman, with the most brilliant red hair he’d ever seen, and she was beautiful. Not ethereal beauty, but she represented life, and humanity. Larry struggled to get to his feet, and he felt a strong hand grab his arm and help him up. He was so thankful, and began to cry again. He apologized, but she waved him off and helped him through the trees. Together they worked their way up a hill. By the time they had reached the cabin, Larry was dizzy and sweating heavily. He felt nauseated, and swallowed over and over.

  Charmain helped him over to a rocking chair on the porch. She went into the cabin and returned with a glass of water. Larry’s hands shook as he took the proffered glass and drank slowly, not wanting to throw it back up. After a few minutes, he looked up, and almost started crying again. She had kind eyes, one blue and one green.

  “Thank you,” was all he could say.

  25 December

  Bridgman, Michigan

  A fire burned bright in the fireplace. Alisa was curled on the couch with the baby on her breast, feeding him. He was nearly five months and growing fast. She delighted in watching the baby, and Stephen was enamored with his son.

  Stephen and Mike had worked hard the rest of the late summer and fall to get their home ready for the long winter on the lake. They’d found a lot of useful things, and also the canning jars, lids, and a pressure canner.

  They’d also built a platform on skids, so that once the ice covered the lake, they could take it out a ways, cut a hole in the ice and, on good days, maybe get some fish. It was hard work, there was no denying it, but they had survived and were going to survive.

  Stephen didn’t know what their future held. He didn’t know if he or his son would ever see civilization rise again. But for now, it didn’t matter. There was nothing he could do either way, and so he concentrated on the here and now.

  He marveled that they had taught themselves so much; they had all grown, and were capable of so much more than they’d realized. He had gone from a drug-dealing asshole to a father in less than six months. He wondered that if all this shit hadn’t happened, if he would even appreciate what he had now? He wondered if he and Alisa would still be together. It didn’t matter anymore, he thought again. All that mattered was his little family: Alisa, Mike, and little Stephen.

  Surprisingly, his step was lighter these days. He had something so rare. He had hope.

  Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina

  The house was cold, near 45 degrees, but Greg was warm. It was Christmas morning, and he and Pearl were sitting together on the couch. They had a heavy quilt wrapped around them, and they were drinking hot chocolate. Pearl said it was just the packet kind, but Greg thought it tasted wonderful. He liked the tiny marshmallows that floated around his mug. He was careful to hold the warm mug, not wanting to spill it.

  Randal was in his easy chair, with a wool cap on and his mug in gloved hands. They had gotten up with the sunrise and had already opened their gifts. Randal had given Greg a checker set, and even though he knew it wasn’t new, Greg was happy when they had played three games and he had won every time.

  ***

  Pearl looked over at her husband, and though she thought of her own children and grandchildren—she hoped they were safe and alive—she was grateful for this child and her husband. The house was cold, but with so many layers and heated bricks, they managed to stay warm enough.

  The other neighbors were surviving as well, and thriving. They had managed to put away more vegetables from their late garden. The men were becoming excellent hunters, and even Mr. Smith pulled his weight. They’d had no more strangers show up, and Greg had healed and gained weight. Pearl wasn’t foolish enough to think the child wouldn’t be scarred in some way by his mother’s murder and his own near death, but she hoped he was young enough to get past it.

  They were conservative with their food, and all had lost pounds, but all were healthy and grateful to have each other. They worked hard, and never stinted on kindness. They all realized that they were all they had, perhaps forever. None of them knew what their future held. But there was always hope that they would see their extended families once more, either in this life or the next.

  Topsfield, Maine

  It was snowing hard outside, and Kelly and Tim were on the couch watching it come down through the large window in the living room. She’d hung some Christmas lights and set a few decorations around the cabin. Schrodinger’s Cat and her two puppies slept near the wood stove. The puppies were an odd mix of Chance and Schrodinger’s Cat. They’d named them Hope and Chance Jr. They were the only two that had survived, as the three others had died at birth.

  They had spent the rest of the fall getting ready for winter. Between cutting firewood, hunting, and canning, they were about as ready as they would ever be. They had taken some of the foodstuffs to trade near the end of October, before the first snowfall. Kelly had also picked up a couple of recipes from Kenny’s wife, Patsy.

  It all seemed a lifetime ago. Now, here they both sat, holding hands. It was a slow-budding relationship, and Kelly had taken the initiative. She was thankful Tim let her go as slow as she wanted. She cared for him, but wanted to take her time.

  “I still think Kenny talks like that so no one will understand him,” Kelly grumped. To Kelly, the older gentleman was nearly incomprehensible, his speech so heavily Mainer.

  Tim laughed, and shook his head. “You may be right, but I think he enjoys going back to his native accent.” He laughed again. “Every time he would talk, Patsy would just roll her eyes and shake her head. I suspect he lays it on a bit heavy just for our benefit.”

  “Hmmh,” Kelly muttered. “At least the bodies have stopped stinking now that they are frozen. Hopefully by the end of mud season, they will be reduced to just bone.” She shuddered at the thought. She hadn’t asked about their physical condition, and hoped they would either
be gone or at least sterile skeletal remains.

  “Don’t worry. There has been enough predation, I don’t think they will be there come spring. I’ll take Butter down once the road is passable and check. If it’s still a mess, I will dispose of the remains.”

  Kelly looked at him with gratitude. She really didn’t want that grim reminder every time they left the property. “Thanks Tim. If it is just skeletal, I don’t mind. I just can’t take that gruesome sight or the stench of rot.”

  “I think that after all this time, our point has been made. I can paint a more permanent sign and post that, and I think we will always have to be careful. Desperate people don’t really care about warnings and threats,” Tim said, scratching his chin. His beard was getting thicker. He sighed contently and hugged Kelly to him.

  They had electricity and hot water, though they had to conserve the hot water on cloudy days. They had begun a routine and a pattern in their lives. The animals were in the barn, and Butter and Lonesome had become good friends. Kelly was able to coax milk from the goat, so they had a small supply. She would ask Patsy how to make cheese in the spring. For now, they had milk for coffee and breakfast.

  As though reading her mind, Tim got up and went over to the shortwave radio. He clicked it on and listened for a moment, turning the dial. The static was soft and constant. He clicked it off. “Kenny said that he heard from his brother-in-law. Some of the selectmen of Topsfield, who have survived are getting together to form a local government. He also said that they had started sending out patrols to acquire necessary supplies; in other words, taking them from the citizens who’ve survived.”

  “What? Can they do that?” Kelly asked incredulous.

  “They can try. I don’t recognize them as government, and neither do Kenny and his people. He thinks it is a way for them to freeload off the people who planned for this and have something set by.”