The Unwanted Winter - Volume One of the Saga of the Twelves

by Richard Heredia

  The other teenage boys were standing about it, hands on their hips, their heads bobbing up and down, obviously proud of their creation.

  Time to get clean…, though Anthony as he too stood and made his way toward the others.

  ~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼ }>>>>>>~~~~~~~~

  ~ 65 ~

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  Day Two, Friday, 8:56 am…

  For the second time, she awoke within the cold and the clutter of what, at one time, had been the two-car garage attached to her parent’s new house. It was supposed to be in Los Angeles, nestled within the neat and well-kept portion of Eagle Rock immediately surrounding Occidental College - a private university often tagged as one of the most exclusive centers of higher learning in southern California.

  Only now, the garage was no longer a part of the five-bedroom, two-story monster of a home the Department of Water and Power had helped her father purchase months ago. No, she wasn’t in Eagle Rock. She wasn’t even in Los Angeles, not even close. She wasn’t even sure if she was anywhere close to planet Earth.

  The previous morning, after she’d come to with her eyes way too close to her own vomit upon opening them, she’d spent those first few hours searching the garage for anything edible. She found only meager fare, not nearly enough to sustain her for an extended period.

  Of course, this was after she’d scurried outside, yelling for the members of her family only to find her house, all of her neighbor’s houses, even the street itself had vanished. She’d been shocked senseless, seeing herself in a forest, covered in snow so deep it was as though a strong winter storm had ravaged the land the night before. She had stood there dumbstruck, mumbling to herself in stark disbelief, trying to understand what had happened. She had blinked as the landscape for a long time.

  What had happened?

  She remembered she’d been in the garage, looking for the pot her mother had asked for her to find. She recalled not finding it, realizing the pot was actually in the large two-door hutch in the dining room. She could still see herself turning, reaching for the doorknob when a strange reverberation echoed about her and through her body, then she remembered the nausea. Another awful sounding vibration peeled within minutes, more sickness, a final gong. She had thrown up next and everything had gone black…

  She likely would’ve stayed outside quite a while longer if her stomach hadn’t growled at her. So, hunger had driven her back inside where began her search for food within the small confines of the garage. She hadn’t found much to eat after an exhaustive search. By then, the twist in her gut was so severe she had ripped open one of the two boxes she’d found containing food, of a sort. They were some type of energy bar, strawberry filled no less. Quickly, she had eaten two of them without thinking, washing down the granola and fruit filling with a long pull from the beat up container of water she had scavenged. It was the one her father used in case of emergency, should his radiator leak too much water. Over the years, he had probably filled it a million times and because of that, the water had tasted a little funny to her. It wasn’t fetid nor did it smell, so she had drunk it. Still, it was flat and almost brackish.

  She had set about rubbing the overnight residue from her teeth with one of her fingers when she had drunk her fill. Feeling somewhat satisfied at the moment, she had glanced around. The chill of the air began to surface in her mind. She realized she had only been wearing a thin sweater, a pair of old jeans, and her old, scuffed-up Reeboks when she’d left the house. She hadn’t planned on being outside the warmth of her home for long. She’d been dressed in her “homeless” clothes, because she had been helping her mother in the kitchen.

  She told herself she needed to find something to keep her warm. So, she had begun to search about the garage again, now with a different purpose in mind. She had rummaged through the jumble of boxes, trash bags and various other junk her and her family had piled within the structure after they had moved from Arizona. It was mostly stuff that was either old or had broken over the course of the move. It had been her mother’s intent to go through it all, throw out what she deemed trash and organize the rest for storage. That had been over three months ago and still the huge pile of crud remained.

  I guess it worked out for me, she had thought as she combed about the throng of castaway rubbish. A half an hour later, all she’d unearthed were clothes that were too small for her and a bright blue canvas tarp looking like its’ best days had been during World War II.

  Probably, it was grandpa’s…

  She had looked around a bit more, before she decided on the tarp. She had folded it in half and wrapped it around her shoulders. It was big and bulky, and made her look about as misshapen as the Blob, but after a while, it seemed to have captured some of her body heat underneath its thick, waterproof layers. She began to warm up.

  For the rest of the first day, she had gone through her family’s refuse thoroughly. She organized various items, hoping against hope, she could find something else that might improve her status. She willed herself through physical activity, forcing herself not to think of what was outside, of what had happened to the wondrous city her family had recently moved to. At the time, it had been too difficult to comprehend, too mind boggling. How could an entire megalopolis the width and breadth of Los Angeles be lost in a single night? How could she possibly have lost everything? It didn’t make any sense to her whatsoever.

  Instead, she chose not to “go there” and decidedly to put her mind to something else, something useful. There was little she could do about her circumstances. She might as well try to make them better in any small way possible.

  More hours had passed.

  By then, she had the junk separated into four distinct groupings, ones that she could readily identify. Clothing (all garments for little kids, except for three pairs of men’s boxers), various items (which was basically junk), things that were broken (which was broken junk), and things she might be able to use. The fourth pile, by far the smallest, consisted of a small container of matches, a large bag charcoal briquettes, a few beat-up, metal bowls, a tin of kerosene, about thirty feet of rope, three dusty boxes containing fifteen fire-logs each, and another tarp (although this one was torn and in even worse shape than the one she was wearing). She had also found a set of mismatched wooden spoons, a thick needle already threaded with some type of old yarn, one sharp, but bent kitchen knife, and a box full of paper towel-like wipes. The kind used in automotive shops.

  She had sat there for a few minutes mulling over what she could do with the items before her when the first idea came to mind. She quickly got up from her sitting position, scooted over toward the clothes. She began tying the arms of the larger, long-sleeved garments, and began to stuff smaller garments into them until they were about to burst. Next, she grabbed the needle and sewed up the bottom edges of the garments. She kept at it until she had run out of materials, but not before she had eleven of them lying before her. Satisfied, she grabbed the other tarp and folded it into quarters, placing the newly made pillows of discarded clothing atop it. With a brief nod, she had stared down at her new bed. She had made a decent place to sleep. The concrete of the garage had proved quite hard and unyielding, not to mention ice-cold. Since she didn’t think she would pass out this coming night. It had been prudent to make a bed of some sort. Otherwise, she’d toss and turn the entire night. Sleep would never find her if she was uncomfortable. Never.

  She had stood then, rubbing her hands together, bending to grab a hold of the largest of the metal bowls. This she filled with some of the briquettes and carefully sprinkled some kerosene on them. Content to let the oil seep into the charcoal for the time being, they would burn thoroughly and warmly if properly soaked. She would need such luxuries once the sun went down and the real cold of this new place began to seep into her shelter. She had put the rest of the briquettes, the matches, the kerosene, and the boxes of fire-logs together off to one side. In her mind, these were the items she would use to stay warm and, if she proved lucky, s
he could use them to cook.

  She smiled to herself as she grabbed the second largest of the bowls and made her way outside, looking for a pristine drift of snow. She found one almost immediately. There seemed to be nothing else around the immediately area but perfectly white snow. This made her feel all the more isolated and alone in this cold, desolate place. She had scooped up enough snow with her hands to fill the metal hemisphere too capacity and went back into the garage. She knew she would need more water as time went on. The snow would eventually melt in the warmer environs of what was left of her parents dream home. She could drink it then, if she became thirsty.

  When she had returned to the “useful” items left, she placed the three remaining bowls next to the large one she had designated as her barbeque pit. Then, with the knife, she had cut off a two and a half foot length from the rope and wrapped it around her waist, effectively synching the tarp she wore about her person. Tied thus, it was better configured for movement, gave her limbs freer motion. Besides, when she gazed down at herself, it looked more like a weathered serape than what it actually was. Almost immediately, she had felt warmer as less of her body heat escaped into the air about the garage, which was becoming increasingly cooler as the day waned and the sun began to dip toward the horizon.

  Later on that night…

  …Last night, she thought as she began to groom herself with some of the warm water she had left on the charcoal fire and the rough paper towels…

  …She hadn’t done much else. She had kept herself occupied by continuing to force herself to think of something, anything, other than the fact her family was lost to her, that she was all alone. She had watched the blue-yellow flames of the fire dance before her eyes as she sat on the sweatshirt pillows she had made hours earlier, having moved her “bed” closer to the metal bowl. It was emanating the much needed heat to counter the wind and the snow as they began to blow outside in earnest. Already, the temperature had dropped dramatically.

  She’d thought of Fernando, wondering what he was doing at that very moment back in Holbrooke, Arizona… Did he still miss her? Or, had he moved on? She hadn’t talked with him much since her family had left Arizona at the end of the summer. His anger at her departure had put her off and she had decided to keep her distance instead. Already friends on Facebook, they’d messaged back a few times as well, but only in a generic sense, lacking depth and detail. In the end, she really didn’t know what he was doing or what he thought about her.

  He’s probably already dating someone else by now, she had figured with a shrug of her shoulders. She wasn’t even sure if she was felt hurt by the thought or saddened by the idea whatever he did, none of it mattered, because she was no longer special to him anymore. Why did everything have to get so messed up? Everything had been going perfect. We had kissed... She had really liked his soft lips, the light touch of his hand on her arm as their heads came together. He had always been so gentle with her. Knowing not all boys were like that made her more than a little nostalgic over losing out on the chance to experience him for a longer time.

  She must’ve succumbed to exhaustion at that point, because she didn’t remember anything more after and awoke this morning, lying somewhat comfortably on her “pillows”. Her were arms beneath her head. She had actually felt refreshed, after a night of solid, uninterrupted sleep.

  Marianna White Horse finished her morning ritual by running her fingers through her hair a hundred times, hoping she was able to get most of the tangles she’d developed overnight. She wished she had a comb of some type, any type. It was a pet peeve of hers to make certain her head was free of knots at all times. The Native American blood in her had produced long, coarse hair, a rich chestnut. It tended not to snag too much, so she didn’t find too many knots.

  She stood finally. Her hair was the best she could manage until her situation changed for the better. She came to her full four-foot, ten-inch height. She was quite small, beyond petite, though her body was curved and filled-out like any other teenage girl her age.

  Her stomach growled as her abdomen stretched. She glanced around looking for the energy bars, pulling forth two of them from the ever-emptying box. She sighed as she did so, knowing she only had a few days of “food” left. Then she would be “shit out of luck” as her father would’ve termed it.

  She washed down the strawberry and granola mixture with some of the remaining warm water she had left on the coals. She scooped it out with the smallest of the metal bowls, taking large gulps of the pure, sparkling water. At least there was that, the snowfall. When it melted, it produced the purest water she had ever tasted. If she wasn’t going to be eating properly, she might as well make sure she was good and hydrated, so she drank her fill. She emptied the dinged-up bowl and smacking her lips like a ruffian, sated at the filling of her belly, even if it was melted snow.

  Gotta be thankful for what I have, she intoned to herself, silently thanking God she’d spent a good deal of her time camping with her friends and family. Because of it, she was more than capable of taking care of herself, meager fare to boot.

  She realized of a sudden, squinting with realization, the entire time she’d been awake she had been hearing, at the lowest level of her auditory sensory, a keening of sorts. It was a deep and drawn out thrumming. She frowned at first, glancing around, the only light coming into the garage was from the side door and three small windows inset at equal intervals upon the garage door itself on the far end of the structure. Her frown turned to a grimace of concern when she gazed through the plexi-glass. She was just able to make out the wind-driven the snow, streaking nearly horizontal, from left to right. At once, she understood what she’d been hearing the entire time.

  The wind!

  She crept over to the side door - the portal she had come through, from the house, a day and a half ago. Already, it seemed like a lifetime. She pushed the thin, cotton curtain to one side, looking beyond. She was astonished to see the landscape was virtually a roiling mass of chaos. Huge gusts shrieked just feet from her face and the pane of glass, hurtling snow, tearing bushes from their roots, stripping small branches from the surrounding trees. Everything unsecured was there one second, then gone the next, with such incredible force it made her eyes widened in shock.

  It snowed every year in Arizona. Holbrooke being in the northern portion of the state, she was accustomed to seeing powerful storms batter the land, but nothing in her life could’ve prepared her for what she was seeing at the moment. This was something entirely different. She half-expected to see a few Emperor Pigeons huddled in a circle out there in the forest, large eggs balanced on their feet. The tempest howling before her was something straight out of Antarctica. This was impossible storm, especially for southern California.

  Or, what used to be southern California…

  Another thought hit her, and instantly, the fear that had gripped her so thoroughly when she woke two mornings past, clutched at her heart. She glanced around almost in a near panic. If the storm keeps up like this, how in the hell am I going to find food? She brought her hand to her mouth in fear. Oh, Jesus, I’m gonna die in here!

  She strode quickly to the box of energy bars, dumping out those from the one box she had opened already. She immediately ripped open the next and repeated herself. She knelt upon the ground, brushing back tears so she could count them.

  Sixteen. Sixteen! Oh god, what am I going to do?

  The number pounded inside in her head like a judge’s gavel proclaiming her death sentence. She physically shook her head to rattle of the imagined sound. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! You are to die, Marianna White Horse! She almost cowered, but the rational side of herself came screaming back so loudly, her thoughts scattered. Think, god dammit! Think this through, Marianna! If she only ate two of the bars at mealtime, she would only be able to have eight more meals. That meant, although she was rationing, two nights from now she would be out of food… If one could call energy bars food. They were barely enough as it was…

&n
bsp; Shit, how long do blizzards last? she thought frantically. Even without Google, she knew sometimes they could last for half a week – three maybe four days. Could she go without food for two days? If the storm was that bad, could she survive forty-eight hours without eating? She turned to peer at the items she needed to keep her warm, feeling confident she had enough to last for that amount of time, but after, she would have nothing. All of her supplies would be depleted. What would she do then? No food, no warmth, no ability to melt snow… How could she survive?

  You have to try, Marianna. You cannot let yourself die, not now, not after everything that has happened! You have to be strong and hope for the best… That is the only choice you have, girl. Get used to it!

  “The hell else am I going to do!” she exclaimed to no one in particular, her hands balled at her sides, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Damn this god-forsaken place!!!”

  Get your shit together! Now! She shuddered, piteously. The escaping breath deflated her.

  Marianna knew then she was in a fight for her life. She knew it was real. Deep down, she realized she should be brave and put down all foolish thoughts and feelings, steel herself to whatever fate may bring.

  I’m not that strong.

  As was typically the case, the conditions of life became more pressing and again her thoughts blew away with the wind. With what seemed like the whole world working against her, all she really needed to do, in that crazed moment, was pee. The urge always came when she was scared - really and truly frightened. Her bladder would grow a mind of its own and it would inevitably try to let loose.

  Ah, find a place…

  …A blizzard… My god, what am I going to do…?