by Aborn, A. L.
Our pace is slow, with Michael leading the way. He has set a steady trot down the dirt road, with us cautiously following as close as possible. Eugene is driving, Marie is in the front seat, while David rides beside me in the cramped back seat. Meekah is crammed between us, refusing to leave my side.
It’s an overcast, gloomy day and the wind in my face is chilly. I shiver as we turn off the rural dirt road onto the pavement of the road that will lead us through the center of town. I avoided this road on my way in, for obvious reasons, but there is no way that we are going by the schoolhouse.
I feel adrenaline start to pump through my body as we near the center of town. Resting my elbow on the door, I put the nose of the rifle out the window, my other hand grasping the butt of the gun. Trying to look everywhere at once, I squeeze the gun tighter, careful of the trigger, to keep my hands from shaking. I think David is picking up on my anxiety; he lays a calm, reassuring hand on my shoulder.
The center of town looks… dead. The General Store is only half there; a fire has reduced the entire roof and half of the building to ashes. The glass has been broken from all the windows, leaving them like black eyes in the remains of the building. Across the street, a row of pretty white houses sits. It’s cool enough for a fire, but no smoke escapes from the chimneys.
Despite the apparent emptiness of the town, I feel like we are being watched; a solo act on a huge stage. “Wow,” Marie whispers. “We haven’t been down into town since the first weeks that the power went out. Look at what they have done.” Her voice trails off sadly.
Abruptly, Michael pulls Beau to a halt. He points a hand just past the store, where the parking lot meets a strip of trees. Leveling his gun in that direction, we all wait silently, guns ready for a moment… then two. Finally, Michael lowers his gun and motions us forward. Easing the jeep up to Beau’s side, Eugene asks Michael what he saw.
“There was some sort of movement behind that truck in the parking lot. I thought it was a person.” He’s still staring intently in that direction.
“Let’s just go,” Marie demands, “if it’s only one person, we can take them. And if they’re hiding, at least they aren’t shooting. So, let’s go.”
Michael trotted Beau forward, the jeep rumbling behind. We left the town center behind without any sign of another living thing. The minutes tick by. I try not to let the hum of the vehicle and sense of my companions lull me into a false sense of safety. As the main road passes through heavy forest on either side, I picture groups of armed men behind every copse of trees. The silence of the others in the car makes me think that maybe they are feeling the same way.
When we are roughly halfway to Ally’s, Michael pulls up short again; this time pointing into the woods. My heart in my throat, I hold my breath while I wait to see what it is. Gun leveled out the window, I see that David is eying the woods through his scope. His body rises and falls in deep, rhythmic breaths. His composure leaves me envious. “There,” he whispered, “coming from behind that pine.”
I still can’t see anything.
Ever so slowly, a deer pushes her head out from the trees and into view. Only a bit of her shows between the surrounding trees and underbrush. She munches hungrily on the spring growth for a few seconds. Taking a step forward, her thick neck comes into view. The explosion of the gun next to me in the small backseat makes both Meekah and I jump off the seat in surprise. I had been so engrossed in looking at the doe that I hadn’t realized that David was preparing to shoot it. After the echo of the gunshot off the trees fades into silence, my right ear rings painfully.
“Nice shot, Dave!” Michael calls. He is already dismounting.
“Thanks.”
The neck-shot had dropped the doe in roughly the same spot where she had stood eating. It’s about fifty feet off the pavement, up a small rise of cleared land that meets the tree line. Eugene shuts the jeep off while the rest of us pile out. Michael hands me Beau’s lead rope before heading to the trees with David. Eugene and Marie stay close to me, each looking up and down the road, their hands resting on their guns. “Looks like we’ll be smoking some venison tonight,” Marie says, looking pleased.
“Is that going to fit in the jeep with us?” I ask.
“We’ll make room in the back, Baby girl,” she assures me.
The boys make quick work of gutting the deer before dragging it down to the road. As things are rearranged to accommodate the one-hundred-pound animal behind the back seat, a rustle of underbrush and snapping twigs draws all of us to face the opposite side of the woods. Meekah circles my feet, growling.
A moment later, a shaky voice calls out, “Don’t shoot!”
“Come out and show yourselves,” Michael called gruffly.
Two backpackers stumble out of the trees toward us, both with arms raised to show us their empty hands. As they draw closer, I see that it’s a middle-aged woman with a teenaged boy, maybe fifteen. Their faces are dirty, thin, and scared. Tattered layers of clothing hang off their frames, all faded into shades of dirty brown.
“Stop right there,” Michael said when they are fifteen feet away.
The pair stops instantly, staring into our faces and gun barrels.
“How many others are with you?”
“None,” the woman answers. “Please, if you could spare a little food, we won’t bother you.”
My heart softens as I saw the pleading look in her face. She had once been beautiful, perhaps she still would be if she were better fed. Curls of red hair peek out from her hat and clear blue eyes look out from her lined face.
Two gunshots ring out in quick succession.
The bodies of the woman and boy slump to the ground.
Stunned, I look around.
Marie had lowered her weapon. “Check them.” Without question, Michael and David move to search the bodies while Eugene resumes his watch of the road.
“Why did you do that?” I exclaim. I drop Beau’s lead and limp to the lifeless forms. “He was just a kid! We could have just told them we didn’t have anything!”
Marie looks at me blankly before explaining. “We can’t have them following us to Ally’s or back to our house. Use your head. What if they told the next passing group about us? They were dying anyway, better off this way.”
I feel a tear leak from the corner of one eye for the pair, letting the words sink in. I know that while harsh, she isn’t wrong. What would happen if they were part of a larger group or told others about us? The thought makes me shiver. But… where does it stop? If no one can trust anyone, how will we ever get back to the way things were? Will we all just be destined to kill each other off or starve?
The doe loaded into the back of the jeep, Eugene helps me back in and we resume our journey. I can’t stop picturing those skinny, dirty faces. What bothers me almost as much is the absence of remorse from any of my companions. I’ve known them all my life, love them like family… but I suddenly feel like I don’t know them at all. Yes, I had killed, but I had been under attack. This feels like murder.
I go back and forth, thoughts chasing thoughts for the rest of the trip home. At one point, Marie reaches back and places her hand on my knee, squeezing it before returning to her surveillance of the passing landscape. By early afternoon, we are turning onto Ally and Brad’s dirt road. Meekah whines anxiously in my lap, tail wagging fiercely to be so close to home.
They must have heard us coming; Ally is perched in the loft window while Brad pokes his own gun out of one of the slots from the boarded-over ground floor windows. It only takes seconds for them to recognize Beau and the jeep. They come flying out of the house to greet us. The dogs are barking, and everyone is hugging and crying. I get caught up in the happiness of my welcome home and momentarily forget my uneasiness from the road.
The seven of us are all hugs and tears, stories and laughs for about fifteen minutes. Marie and Eugene want a quick tour of the farm, so Ally and I bring them with us to feed Beau and put him back in his stall. The goats and Tanke
r are happy to see me; after seven days with little company, they are all eager for a treat and a quick scratch.
Back at the house, it’s clear that David and Michael had already clued Brad in on our plans of combining forces. The two are describing the setup to Brad, who nods along. After a half hour, it’s decided by all that in fourteen days, Marie and Eugene would again make the journey to our house. In the two weeks between, we were to inventory and pack up everything of use. This would not only give us plenty of time to see to the daily chores while packing but would also give Michael and David time to finish the cabin. The half-finished cabin that I had seen at Marie’s had been intended for one of Ally’s aunts and uncles, but they had willingly given it up to have their niece on the property with them. I wasn’t really sure how big the cabin would be; would I be in the cabin with Ally and Brad? Or the main house with Marie and Eugene?
Unbidden, the image of the teenage boy’s face before Marie shot him flashes into mind.
Shuddering, I push the memory away. No matter where I live, it’s clear that we are all welcome (and expected) to join the family compound. Ally is clearly thrilled; while we had spoken of our families frequently over the months, she was glowing in her parents’ company. Brad is reserved, but that wasn’t too unusual for him as of late.
With the plans laid, we say our goodbyes. Marie makes sure that I have all of the herbs that I will need for my knee and reminds me to keep resting in the coming days. I swear, it’s like she has forgotten that I am a nurse. Either way, I return her hug and promise to follow her directions. A little sadly, the three of us watch the four clamber up into the jeep and pull away. Putting my arm around Ally’s shoulders, I smile at her. “How did it go?” she asks, looking down at my knee. We hadn’t had a chance to really talk yet.
“Not really as planned, but then, what does these days?”
Chapter Twelve
A Return
The three of us shared a long meal that night. Ally and Brad are practically drooling when I reveal the loaf of bread that Marie had stashed in my pack. Between bites, they ask me to describe what had happened over the last week. These are my two best friends in the world, so of course, I tell them every detail. No glossing over anything. It feels good to divulge everything: the killing of at least one man by the schoolhouse, the emptiness at my dad’s, and the shock of Marie killing the two on the road.
They eagerly ask questions about what I had seen at Ally’s parents’ house. Obviously, they had been there a thousand times before, but hadn’t expected Marie’s entire family to be there and were shocked at how large the homestead had grown over the past few months. It was hard to describe how it had felt to be surrounded by people in the cozy cabin; what if felt like to be truly safe for a time.
Brad seemed just as eager for details but didn’t seem to share our enthusiasm. When he went out one last time before bed to check that all the chickens were locked up tight, I asked Ally if anything had happened during my absence. “I don’t know what’s going on with him,” she answered. “After you left, I think he believed that you would never come back. He was worried, he kept saying that letting you go was a bad idea. It doesn’t help that his hunting hasn’t been going well, I think he feels like he isn’t providing enough.” She sighed. I can tell that she is worried about this change in him.
“Well, hopefully he’ll feel better after we move. There will be more people to help provide.”
She only shrugged in response before heading to the bathroom to wash up.
***
Sleep eludes me.
Meekah curled into my side, I stare at the ceiling, absently petting her. Thoughts churn through my mind, nervousness about the future leaving a pit of anxiety in my stomach. Why am I feeling so stressed? Isn’t this what I want? Safety and familiarity? I’m excited at the prospect of the move, but worried about the in-between. Why did it seem so hard to leave this behind? We were taking everything of value, but somehow, leaving this place feels like giving up. Like the three of us had been playing house for all these months and now we were being saved. But were we? What new issues would arise with the move? Only time would tell.
***
The next morning dawns gloomily. Grey overcast skies and a chilly rain soak through everything. On the plus side, my knee hardly aches at all, even bearing my full weight down the stairs. Happily, I lean the walking stick against the wall, to hopefully, never be used as a crutch again. Downstairs, I find Ally puttering in the kitchen alone. “Brad’s out hunting, he’s been gone since before sunrise,” she tells me.
In companionable silence, we go through the morning chores. By early afternoon, Brad stomps through the front door, empty handed. Sensing his sour mood, I take the opportunity to walk over to the farm. Caring for the animals soothes me; absorbed in my tasks, I forget about my worries.
Once the animals are cared for, I go into the farmhouse. I don’t come in here often; there isn’t much need to. But it’s time to start inventory of what we will take and what will be left behind. The freezer powered by the solar panels is almost empty; a frost covered chicken and a few bags of vegetables. Well, at least that will be easy; a nice chicken stew to can and transport.
The rest of the house has been mostly picked through; warm clothing, blankets, and everything else useful is already at Brad and Ally’s. Still, I take the time to paw through boxes and closets, in search of anything we may have missed.
Meekah barks at the sound of the front door opening. It’s Ally, with a steaming bowl of chili. I must have worked straight through lunch. Handing me the bowl, she looks over the mounds of junk that the old couple had squirreled away in this old house. “I was wondering what you were doing over here,” she remarks.
“Just cleaning stuff out, getting ready for the move.”
“Brad’s being a dick,” she states bluntly.
“What’s the matter now?”
“He didn’t see anything hunting. He’s just walking around, muttering under his breath about this and that. I don’t know what’s up with him.”
I honestly don’t know how to respond. Ally and Brad never really fight beyond the occasional bickering. “Do you think he wants to go to your Mom’s house?” I ask.
She shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He acts like it’s an insult to move up to Mom’s. He asked me last night if it didn’t make more sense for them to move here, because of the property and there being two houses.”
“What!” I exclaim. “That’s crazy, all of those people! Plus, all of the animals and things that they have that we don’t…”
“I know, I know,” she says sadly. “Just don’t say anything to him. Hopefully he snaps out of it soon.”
***
The farm freezer cleared out and the rest inventoried into ‘take’ boxes, Ally, Meekah, and I trudge back through the rain to the main house. I can see Brad, hunched over in the drizzle, tinkering with the chicken coop.
Ally and I start to pool our food on the kitchen counter; most of what we have left is canned goods, stored in tightly sealed mason jars. The real obstacle to the move will be the animals. Ally and I are shooting ideas back and forth about tearing down the shed to use the wood to construct a portable coop for the birds. We could alter the cart that Brad used to haul things with the four-wheeler. The horses can walk behind the vehicles or be ridden. Ally proposes that we slaughter the goats and the lone sheep, cook them up and can them for instant portability. The animal lover in me cringes at this idea; even now, I don’t like the idea of killing animals that I have fed and tended to. She laughs at my ‘tender heart,’ as she calls it.
Our banter is interrupted by Brad slamming the front door. He’s wet and cranky. Great. He storms over to the kitchen cupboards and pulls the half-empty bottle of whiskey from one of the shelves. Twisting off the lid, he drinks directly from the bottle before slamming it onto the counter. “What?” he practically shouts, as he sees Ally and I staring at him.
Ally crosses the room to him, whispering to try and calm him. I don’t know what to do, so I just pretend it isn’t happening and continue separating our goods into piles.
***
Dinner that night is a quiet affair. Brad is still shooting straight off the bottle, sitting at the head of the table, appearing to be in deep thought. Ally and I serve up the last of the chili leftover from lunch and give the dogs a scant handful each of the depleted dog food and a hard-boiled egg each.
The tension is so thick that I find myself wanting to scurry up to my bedroom. Instead, I shovel the chili into my mouth and keep a neutral expression on my face, looking anywhere but at Brad’s face.
Finally, he breaks the awkward silence. “Don’t you think that you girls are jumping the gun? Leaving piles of shit everywhere? We still have to live here, you know. Jesus Christ, I’ll be lucky if I can make it to the door without tripping over something.”
“Brad stop it. And put down the whiskey. You’ve had enough.” Ally demands.
In response, he picks up the bottle and takes another swig, emptying the last bit of smooth brown liquid.
“Wow.” She responds coldly. “Well at least that’s the last of it. This should be a happy time, getting ready to be with my family! Think of how many people there will be to pitch in! Just think of not being terrified every time we hear a noise! You should be happy that we get this chance!” Her last words are tight, like she’s fighting tears.
“This isn’t a fucking fairy tale, Ally!”
“I never said it was, but we’d be stupid not to go up there!”
I watch the exchange in shock. What is he thinking? And how dare he speak to Ally that way!
“Brad! Knock it off. It’s just the booze talking, you’re going to regret this tomorrow,” I chide.
He glares at me. “This isn’t a fucking fairy tale,” he repeats. “We aren’t going to go up there, if we even make it with all of this shit you girls have stacked up and live the perfect life. You get all those people together in one spot, family or not, and eventually, there’ll be fighting. You watch.”