“Morning Aunt Betty.”
“Good morning Miranda. I have some bacon going, along with eggs and toast.”
“Didn’t mom tell you that the doctor said I have high cholesterol?”
Eggs and bacon had been banished from their house following her last checkup, which Miranda thought rather drastic. No medication had been prescribed, just a warning to watch what she ate. The numbers were only a little above average.
“Of course she told me, about nine times. I suppose I can make you oatmeal instead, if you want, or you can have real food and we’ll just tell her that I gave you the oatmeal.”
Miranda laughed. “I’ll take the eggs and bacon.” She was on vacation and would indulge.
“Hear from them yet?”
“Nothing,” she replied, easing herself into a chair by the small kitchen table. “Do we get reception here?”
“You can get calls on your cell, sure. I’ve had it iffy in some of the outlying parts of the forest, but I think that’s interference from something since I get it all over the region, probably from a radio tower or whatever.” She shrugged.
Betty could tell you anything about plants but was close to helpless when it came to electronics. The woman had an old television in the house, but Miranda couldn’t remember her aunt ever turning it on. Most of her entertainment involved sitting down with a book, usually a trashy romance novel, or hiking around in the wilderness for fun, often right after having walked miles in the same spots doing her work.
“My cell’s in the den if you want it. I never turned on the normal phone in the house. There is 911 service, but that’s the only number you can reach.”
“I have mine upstairs.” Miranda stifled a yawn. “I’ll call them later.”
“Here you go.” Her aunt set the plate on the table, along with a fork. “Scrambled eggs are on the left, bacon on the right. I’ll get you some juice and napkins.”
Miranda let her fingers drift across the plate and picked up a slice of crisp bacon. It had been cooked in a frying pan and still had plenty of grease on it. Delicious.
“Want some toast too? I have plenty, butter and grape jelly as well.”
“The jelly please. No butter.”
Betty complied and then joined her niece. They chatted a bit, the plan being to go outside and take a long walk. Her aunt had to check some instruments scattered about the forest. It wouldn’t take long, and the route was easy enough for Miranda to accompany her.
“Done?”
“Yes.” She got up, plate in hand, and headed to where she remembered the sink being. “Is it nice outside?”
“Two feet to the left.”
Miranda corrected and found the edge. “Thanks.”
“Very nice, but it’ll get hot before lunchtime.”
“I don’t mind.”
* * *
The dishes done, the pair headed outside, after Betty detoured briefly to grab a daypack from the den which held her notebook and some tools she might need. It was sunny – Miranda could feel the warmth on her face – with a decent breeze. That should finish drying her hair quickly enough. Hopefully it wouldn’t get frizzy.
“Huh.”
“What is it?”
“A couple of people, not sure who they are. They’re coming this way. Look funny though.”
“How so?” Miranda shifted her head but didn’t hear anything. “Where are they?”
“About thirty yards ahead of us, coming down the drive, but they don’t look right.”
“How about being a little more specific.”
“Oh?” She blushed. “Sorry about that. They’re walking funny, short steps and their faces are kinda blank. I’m leaning either toward extreme intoxication, or being stoned, or them being sick with something. I’ll go ask.”
“Aunt Betty!”
Miranda’s aunt had already left her to move forward. She’d never been one to let a mystery, of any sort, go uninvestigated, but the abruptness of leaving her behind did annoy Miranda, more than a little.
“Are you folks okay?”
There was no answer.
“Hey Miranda, there is definitely something seriously wrong with them.”
“Be careful,” she cautioned.
“Come on. Say something, or I’m calling the rangers over. They’re allowed to arrest people you know.”
A few seconds later Miranda heard a shriek.
“Aunt Betty! What’s happening?”
“They grabbed…” She screamed in pain. “Miranda! Get in the house. Get back in the house now!”
Miranda was torn. Part of her wanted to help, a strong part. She’d always tried to overcome her blindness, to make it as tiny a handicap as possible, but she was unfamiliar with the area. She didn’t know what, if anything, obstructed the path between her and the sounds of struggling. Miranda didn’t even have any idea how large the two attacking her aunt were, or if they were male or female.
“Miranda.” The call was weaker, pained. “Get inside and lock the door.” The woman was almost gasping the words.
Miranda hesitantly took a step back. “What’s happening?”
There was no answer, but she heard a faint thump as if someone had fallen, then nothing beyond some shuffling noises. In the distance birds were chirping, but that was all.
“Aunt Betty?”
There was only continuing silence in response.
She turned and then stopped. Wait. Where was the house? Miranda had to think. They’d come out the door and walked forward for… for ten to fifteen steps. It wasn’t more than that. Then her aunt had shifted the angle to the left, heading for the drive. They hadn’t stepped on concrete or paving stones, only grass and pine needles, so she couldn’t follow a walkway back. How far had they turned? She struggled to remember. They’d been talking. It hadn’t seemed important.
“Damn,” she muttered. Her heart was racing.
Re-orientating so she faced the direction they had been going when they stopped, Miranda took a deep breath and turned around. Then she slowly retraced their route. After that first turn they’d gone further, about thirty steps. Miranda walked that distance and stopped. Was she correct? Was that how far? She listened carefully. Still nothing. Wait! Was that a groan?
“Aunt Betty?” Her voice was little more than a whisper.
She slowly counted, waiting, hoping for a response. Ten, twenty, thirty, a minute passed. Tears began to run down her face, and Miranda turned to the right, praying she was facing the correct direction. She took a single step and paused, sniffing the air. Nothing, not even a trace of the breakfast they’d just eaten. Where was the house? Another step, then a third. At step twenty two, Miranda was certain she’d made a mistake, that she had gone the wrong direction and missed the house entirely. Two steps later, her outstretched hand struck a window.
Relief surged through her. All that remained was to reach the door. Now, had she gone too far to the left or right? To the right. That was the most likely. Dragging her fingers along the wall, she headed left, but Miranda unexpectedly stumbled over a coiled garden hose and fell. Her hands flew up, and she hit a patch of gravel. Wincing in pain, she bit her lip to keep from crying out and forced herself to keep moving.
The door! She had found the door! As her right hand reached for the knob, a new terror filled her. Had her aunt locked it behind them? Could she get back in? She could. Aunt Betty had left it open. Miranda moved inside and closed it behind her, carefully locking and testing the bolt. Then she made her way to the kitchen to ensure the back door was secured as well. After taking a moment to find the roll of paper towels sitting on the counter near the sink, she crumpled to the floor and used them to staunch the flow of blood.
Gingerly, she flexed the fingers of her left hand. It hurt the most. With her right she was able to feel the gouges, some deep, most dirty. She had to clean it out. Miranda reached for the sink, then stopped and moved up the stairs instead, heading for the bathroom. She used the bar of soap by the faucet to
wash the wounds as best she could, trying not to cry as it stung and burned. Then, among her own bathroom stuff, she found a tube of anti-bacterial lotion. She rubbed this into both palms.
How to call the police? Aunt Betty said there was 911 service, but she hadn’t mentioned where the phone was. The den she used as an office, that had to be it, but where exactly, mounted on the wall, sitting on a desk? And why hadn’t she tried to call for help first thing? What had she been thinking? Not thinking at all, she realized. Miranda needed to calm down. She had to work this out logically. Okay, her cell phone was in her room. It was on her suitcase which was sitting atop a chair. She had plugged it in to charge, and the electrical socket had been next to the chair.
Miranda made it to the bedroom, but in her haste grabbed the edge of the suitcase too hard. It tipped over, and she heard things fall out, some rattling as they scattered about the hardwood floor.
“Damn it!”
On hands and knees, she tried to find her phone. Miranda located the charging cord fast enough, but the cell had popped off. She found plenty of clothes, extra jeans, a bra that had ended up beneath the bed. With that thought, she dropped to her belly and stretched out, feeling carefully. There! Her fingers brushed something hard, and she got enough of a grip to pull it toward her. It was her cell phone.
Miranda sighed in relief and pressed the speed dial button to call her mother. It went directly to voicemail, the same for her father. Then she dialed 911 but got a busy signal. That… that wasn’t right. She tried again, but the results were no different. Finally, Miranda hit the button to reach Bobby. He was one of the others who volunteered to help the newly blind adjust. He answered on the second ring.
“Who is this?”
“Miranda,” she answered, relieved to have gotten hold of somebody.
“Miranda! Where are you? Things are happening.”
“I’m at my aunt’s in Nebraska, visiting. Some people attacked her. I got back inside and locked the doors…”
“Okay,” he said, interrupting. “Stay there. Stay away from the windows too. The people are not right, all over the world. They’re attacking and killing each other. The news even said that maybe…”
Bobby was cut off.
Screaming, Miranda tried to get him back. Nothing. It didn’t even ring. An hour later, as she sat on the floor in her room, she heard a click as the power went out and everything turned off.
* * *
Miranda finally moved sometime in the afternoon. She went to the bathroom to relieve herself and get a drink of water. Then she went downstairs to see if she could find the house phone or her aunt’s cell. She never found the cell. Aunt Betty had likely taken it with her when they went out that morning. It took twenty minutes to locate the land line. It had been mounted on the wall, high up, beside the desk. There was no dial tone.
Hungry, Miranda made her way to the kitchen, trying to stay low and out of sight of the windows like Bobby advised. Her hands were still throbbing, making crawling particularly difficult, but she didn’t let that stop her. Reaching the refrigerator, Miranda finished off the strawberries and blueberries, along with an apple she found.
The water went out that evening.
* * *
Miranda spent three weeks alone. She took every bottle of water and can of soda she could find and stacked them in one corner of her room. Likewise, she took the food that hadn’t gone bad, mostly boxes of crackers and croutons and cans of who knew what and put them in the bedroom as well. She did have the foresight not to use the toilet in the bathroom next to her, being unable to flush, and started using the powder room downstairs for that. But other than those trips, she hid in her room with the door closed, sitting on the floor most of the time, praying, thinking, and despairing.
She wanted her parents to come and get her. They knew where she was, so why hadn’t they arrived? Had something happened to them, like with Aunt Betty? There’d been no sign of her since the struggle. With the phones not working, Miranda was unable to call for help, and she didn’t know what else to do. She supposed she could try to reach the house next door, the one where the forest ranger lived, but Miranda didn’t know the layout of the two structures and wasn’t certain if she would be able to find it or if she could even get back to her aunt’s house. And she was terrified of getting lost in the forest or, worse, having the people who attacked her aunt find her as well.
* * *
After hearing Miranda’s story, Briana told me that this young woman was one of the strongest people she’d ever met. I have to agree. Miranda went through so much, all alone, without any inkling of what was happening. Her mind should have cracked. I believe mine would have under similar circumstances. Yet, she hung on and even bounced back within days of being found. Miranda did not want to be alone for any reason, and I now understood why, but other than that she was as close to normal as any of us in this shitty world. Or perhaps she was just good at hiding the hurt.
Chapter IX
We rejoined Pastor Thomas Wills and his flock on the twenty sixth day. Everyone was in a good mood, although this was dampened slightly by the knowledge of what Miranda had been through. It was impossible not to sympathize with her, even considering the suffering everyone else had experienced.
“It is good to see you again,” said the preacher.
Julie was in the background. She glared at me. Briana glared back. I ignored her, and she soon turned away.
“We found quite a bit,” remarked Timothy. “All this, in the back of the pickup, is for you.”
That got the attention of the others. The couple had donated most of the food we gave them, their share of our looting, along with those items we had specifically set aside for the lake camp. This latter portion consisted of all the creamed corn, plenty of beans, and most of the other vegetables no one liked. The only good stuff we gave away were some bags of candy, and those went to the children.
“We have guns too,” said Susan, “a shotgun and three rifles. Good for hunters. More fishing gear as well.”
Along with the long guns, we’d also come across a few pistols, mostly revolvers. Susan remained consistent and refused them. With no input from Timothy, Lizzy and I ended up taking the lot. Since they weren’t anything we needed, I would offer them to the pastor or Simon later.
“And you must be Miranda,” said the minister, walking up to Cherie and the young woman standing beside her.
“Yes,” she said, holding out her hand.
He took it gently in his own. “I am so glad you survived this ordeal my dear. Don’t worry. You are among friends.”
She nodded her thanks.
As the pastor came up to me, Cherie handed Miranda off to Mary saying there were a few people she wanted to talk to. Mary seemed more than happy to stay with her, and they began a discussion about singers and boy bands of whom I had absolutely no knowledge. Nor did I care to learn. Dreadful music.
“Tell me of this new area you found,” he requested, very politely.
“Let’s park ourselves, if you don’t mind.” I gestured at one of the picnic tables.
He nodded, and with Briana, Lizzy, and Lois in tow we sat down. A few others drifted in close. They didn’t join us but were obviously curious as to what we had to say. Pastor Wills didn’t seem to mind in the least. He was the type that’d share with them anyway.
“It’s well off the service roads, out of sight of them actually, and about as far from US-385 as you can get and still be deep within the forest.”
“There’s a stream behind the rise where we want to build houses too,” said Briana. “Might be fish in it. We didn’t look, but there’s lots of water for planting things. If it’s flowing this late in the summer, it probably has water most or all of the year.”
I hadn’t thought of that. Good for Briana, outthinking me, but then I was old and decrepit, nearing the point of decay. Okay, that was a bit much, and I’m sure she would agree. Still, I was certainly glad she was intelligent and noticed such t
hings.
“Large open meadow,” I continued, “where we can plant crops or keep livestock. Won’t have to clear any trees or, God forbid, stumps.”
“While the phrase is not necessarily appropriate,” smiled the older man, “I do remember digging out tree stumps. It is not enjoyable.” He paused. “I see no reason why you should not establish yourselves there if you find it satisfactory. I, however, think I will remain by the lake. We have grown attached to this spot. It is safe, and we are close enough to the roads to be quickly discovered when help comes.”
“Help is not going…”
I cut Lizzy off. “Your choice pastor.”
She glared at me. Normally it’s lunch time before two separate women give me such looks in a single day. I was on a roll.
“Have you found any zombies?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Not in the forest, yet, but there were some. Miranda encountered a few, as you did that first night.”
“Very true,” said Pastor Wills, “yet none since that time. They have been guided from us by the hand of God.”
“Possible,” I agreed, “or you might simply be lucky. That happens. People win the lottery, despite the odds against it.”
“I prefer to think it is the work of God, although we have been keeping an eye out for anything unusual. There has been nothing.”
“Good enough, but our spot is better. It’ll take a lot of work to get it set up of course, but if we’re to get through the winter in any sort of comfort, we need real structures. Tents won’t cut it, not as cold as it’s likely to get, not to mention the snow.”
He sighed. “I have been considering that as well. We may start working on something ourselves, in another month perhaps, if we are not rescued first.”
I ran the calculations in my head. That was probably doable, but the weather would be getting bad by the time they finished. There might even be enough early snow to cause real difficulties.
Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 1): Sanctuary Page 24