by S. Ison
“Well, for the most part all good, but we did see some dudes farther away from here. They shouldn’t be a problem. It’s cold as hell, though. Glad we layered up. My friggin’ hands are almost numb,” Stephen grouched, his eyes closing tight as he shook his gloved hands to warm them.
“Come on over to the fire and get warm.”
“Here, found some boxes of baby cereal,” Mike said as he offered her a large box holding odds and ends mixed in with four large boxes of baby oatmeal cereal.
“Oh, very nice. You guys did good,” Alisa chirped.
“Sorry, no diapers,” Mike said, looking down at the happy baby. He squatted and picked the child up, raising him over his head.
“I think you grew while we were gone, little man,” Mike said, turning Zack this way and that. Zackary squealed with agreement, and Mike laughed.
“He’s been missing his buddies, and so have I,” Alisa said, walking over to Stephen and slipping her arms around his waist.
“Yeah, no worries. We won’t be going out for a while. The group we saw are about ten miles from here. It was a good thing we had the binoculars, and the bikes. They didn’t see us, and were on foot, so we could have gotten out of there even if they had seen us,” Stephen said.
Alisa knew her face showed worry. She tried not to bitch about their leaving. It was dangerous. But life was all about dangerous now.
“Do you know if they were good guys or bad?” Alisa asked.
“Bad, definitely bad. They had a woman with a rope around her neck. They were towing her behind them. Looked like a couple of men had some rifles. A few had bats and pipes,” Mike said, shifting Zack from one arm to the next. Zack had found Mike’s nose and was trying to pull it off.
“Yeah, it was pretty shitty. There wasn’t anything we could have done for her. They would have killed us if they’d seen us. I think there was about ten of them. We won’t go that way again for a long while. No need to poke the hornet’s nest.”
CHAPTER THREE
Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina
Pearl poured Clive another cup of coffee from the camp coffee pot, its red enamel body dented from years of use. Randal cradled his cup, warming his hands as he blew on the steaming brew. He looked over at his wife. Worry lines creased her brow.
“Do you think they’ll come here?” she said, referring to the three men Randal had seen.
“They may, but from what I could tell, the other men in the boat wanted to go farther up the coast,” Randal said after taking a sip.
He’d sent Greg to his room to play while he and Clive discussed the problem with Pearl over coffee. He picked up a chocolate chip cookie. He didn’t know how Pearl did it, but she even managed to bake on the makeshift fire pit in the back yard. Though just a tad singed around the edges, the cookies were wonderful. The days of chocolate chip cookies would come to an end too soon.
“I think we should ride down to the blockade on Isle of Palms and meet up with Johnny Lee and his men. We can see if they’ve been having any problems or strangers showing up beach-side,” Clive suggested.
“I think that’s a good idea. Johnny Lee always has good intel. Maybe we can take some of these cookies as a bribe?” Randal grinned at Pearl and winked. She rolled her eyes at him and got up from the table, a frown on her face.
“Lord have mercy, sounds like trouble’s startin’. I’m gonna go check on Greg, make sure he isn’t frettin’,” she said, and left the kitchen.
Clive reached over and got another cookie. He closed his eyes in bliss as he bit into the crispy confection.
Randal smiled at his friend. He gathered up three cookies and wrapped them carefully in a paper towel. He would put them in the bike basket. They’d had to resort to bicycles, as their supply of gas was low. Now they only used the truck for hauling big items the group had scavenged. The inlet gas station still had gas, but it was expensive in trade goods. It was just as easy to ride the bikes to get where they needed to go.
Down in the garage, Randal pulled out Pearl’s bike. He checked the chain and tires. All was well. The rooster crowed, and he looked up. Several hens were in the front yard, scratching around. The rooster was over by two hens, who were industriously bathing in the sand, their necks wriggling in ecstasy as they threw sand over their prone bodies. To Randal, it looked like they were having seizures.
In the fall, he, Pearl, and Greg had spent much time gathering grain from the sea oats along the beach, shaking the dried heads to dislodge the grains for chicken feed. They had gathered quite a bit, going up and down the beach, but left some plants alone, ensuring that more would grow. The grain was now stored in the back-bedroom closet.
Bugs were always plentiful, but Pearl was sure the grain from the sea oats would be welcome. And when she popped popcorn, she always saved some for the chickens. It was their favorite treat. They were fat and glossy – Rhode Island Reds, Randal thought June had said. They’d have to pen the chickens up when they planted out their gardens, as they couldn’t afford to have the chickens get in and destroy their food source. For now, though, the chickens were let out daily to roam around, and locked up at night in a coop Roy and Jimmy had built, safe from racoons.
Now fat racoon, that was good eating.
Roy was planning on building a large enclosure for the chickens to scratch around in. The chicken poop would come in handy for fertilizer. Nothing could go to waste now, as one couldn’t go out to buy either food or fertilizer.
Randal pulled his bike out toward the road, and the chickens came running. They thought he had food.
“Who do you think I am? I’ve got no food. Maybe ya’ll should go ask Pearl,” he said to the chickens. No response, except unblinking, expectant stares. Laughing to himself, he mounted the bike and headed towards Clive’s house.
Clive was a little unsteady on his late wife’s bike, but was getting the hang of it. Reed and Jimmy had ten-speeds, and patrolled the island’s intertwining streets.
There were very few people left on Sullivan’s Island. June Bellville, the woman they’d traded for chickens, her family and extended family had taken over a group of houses. They boasted six grown men, strong and capable, and kept to themselves.
Martin Karee and his wife Cathy, a young couple with no children, lived near the inlet bridge, right on the beach. Randal had met them just after Christmas, when he and Greg had gone bike riding around the island. They seemed to be doing okay, and were not inclined to be very social. Randal respected that and left them to themselves.
Other homes were occupied, but whoever lived in them refused to answer to any hello’s he’d called. He left them be. He figured that was being a good neighbor.
He and Clive arrived at the blockade about a half hour later, Clive sweating profusely, the too-small bike helmet cocked jauntily off to one side. The pink flowers set off his eyes, Randal thought with amusement.
Johnny Lee Pratt was lounging against an abandoned car, his rifle slung over his shoulder with a homemade strap. He held a cigarette absently in his fingers as he watched the new arrivals. Randal saw his lip twitch ever so slightly when he took in Clive’s decorative helmet.
Randal rubbed his mouth to cover his own grin, then reached out and shook Johnny Lee’s hand. “How ya’ll doin’ today?”
“Ah, you know, same ol’ same. Got some news ya’ll might be interested in,” Johnny Lee said, straightening up from the car.
“Oh yeah? We got some news too, but you first, young man,” Randal said easily. He could smell the faint odor of decay; the wind was coming from the west. As the temperatures warmed, the smell of death would be once again on the breeze. A small voice at the back of Randal’s brain wondered how long they were to smell death for.
“Well, heard tell that there virus is back and active again,” Johnny Lee said, his mouth pulling down and his ginger brows knitting in thought. “Heard tell some idgits over yonder went nosin’ round in abandon homes, found corpses, and didn’t leave. Afore yah kwow’d it, those
dumbasses got sick and now it is spreading again. Everythang’s all catawampus.” He nodded his head to the west, toward Charleston and Mt. Pleasant.
“Holy Christ, that isn’t good. That could end up wiping the rest of us out,” Clive said, his dark eyes looking around as though a sick person would walk up to him. He raised a hand to rub his mouth absently.
“Not only that, some folks from up north a’ways is makin’ their way down south. Bad sick with radiation poisonin’. Reckon nobody’ll take ’em in, everyone’s strapped for food and supplies,” Johnny Lee continued. Once more his mouth pulled down in a frown, and he leaned over and spat into the sand.
“No, that’s not good a’tall,” Randal agreed, his mind racing. Remembering the cookies, he reached over to the basket and picked up the small paper towel bundle. He handed it to Johnny Lee, who was curious.
Upon opening it, Johnny Lee’s face lit up and he grinned widely, showing several crucial molars missing. He did a little jig, shuffling his feet.
“Hot damn! I ain’t had chocolate chip cookies in a coon’s age!” He grinned again at Randal. Taking a bite, his eyes rolled up into his head in total bliss, a low hum vibrating from deep within his chest.
Randal smiled. He was glad he’d thought to bring a few. It was a very rare treat. “Enjoy them; we’ll not have that again, I’m sure.”
“Thank you! Hot damn! Thank you,” Johnny Lee said once again, still dancing a jig. He tucked the other two cookies, still wrapped in paper, into his jacket pocket for safe keeping. He wiped away the crumbs from his face and beard, the wide grin still in place.
“So, what’s ya’ll’s news?” Johnny Lee asked, back to business.
“Saw three men, off the shore in a low boat, up near the end of the island,” Randal said. “Me and my boy were crabbin’, and gone into the dunes for a break. I heard some noise sometime later, and when I looked, I saw three men. They were armed and didn’t look happy. I wanted to give ya’ll a heads up so you and your people can keep an eye out.”
“Well shit and shinola, that don’t sound good,” Johnny Lee said his brow furrowing. He started to chew on his thumbnail. “Shit,” he said again, with more anger. He looked over to a young teen, about fourteen, and called him over. Pulling the kid close, he spoke softly. The young lad’s dark skin paled a bit, and Johnny Lee sent the kid off running after giving him the rest of the cookies.
“That’s Ted Shelby’s boy. Shelby was our police chief here on the island. He was shot an’ killed in Mt. Pleasant for the groceries he was carryin’. The kid’s momma died of the virus, so he’s all alone. I takes care of him now. That kid is the fastest dang runner you ever saw,” Johnny Lee said, his eyes filling with pride as he watched the boy haul ass down the road.
“He’ll spread the word, an’ afore long make sure the island’s on alert. He an’ his friends knows where everyone lives, left on this here island.”
Randal nodded, satisfied. He reached out and shook Johnny Lee’s hand again. “Good. Best be g’tting home.” He nodded to Clive, who hadn’t said much.
“Johnny Lee, you get any walky-talkies, you let us know?” Clive asked. “We might want to set up an early warnin’ system if we can. Or a shortwave would do too.”
“Good idea, Clive. Might ask around, and when our scavenging group goes out, we’ll see what we can find,” Johnny Lee promised.
San Gabriel Mountains, California
The wind howled outside, and Larry watched as the huge conifers swayed, their tops rocking wildly. It made him a bit nervous, but when he looked over to Charmain’s bright red head, he saw that she was calm, and reading a book. It was late afternoon, and they’d eaten an early dinner of macaroni and cheeseburger mixed into the pasta. It was surprisingly good, and both had enjoyed the simple, filling meal. He could hear the soft hiss of the radio in the background; she normally kept it on during the daytime for any news and updates.
The large Pondarosa in the kitchen squeaked as it rubbed against the padding in the roof. The thick padding kept the tree away from the roof, while still giving it the ability to grow without damaging the cabin. The padding kept the elements out as well.
He had hoped to be able to do more target practice today, but the storm had put an end to that idea. Whenever they went out for practice, they went to a clearing about a mile away. Charmain only did this when she was pretty sure there were no other people near, as she didn’t want to draw strangers to her home. She’d so far taught Larry how to handle a long rifle and a handgun. She’d also taught him the art of archery.
“Do you think we can do a little target practice in the morning, if the storm has passed?” Larry asked.
Charmain looked up from her book and closed it, using her finger to hold her place. “Sure, I don’t see why not. I’d like a little practice myself. You can practice some with the Marlin,” she said, and grinned.
She’d started him out on the Marlin 336, wanting him to get used to gun function. She also had plenty of ammo for that rifle, and practice was essential. Once he was proficient with that weapon, she’d moved him on to the Ambush 300, which reminded Larry of something he’d seen on a movie set of a war movie.
“Okay, but I’d also like to practice some more with the Beretta,” he said, his eyes pleading, and a grin tugging at his mouth.
He really liked the Beretta M9. It felt comfortable in his grip. She’d even let him fire her SIG Sauer, which she said was her baby.
“I guess so,” she said, sighing heavily. But he could hear the laughter in the soft tones. She liked to jerk him around.
“Thanks. You know I like that piece,” Larry said.
“Do you have a name for her?” Charmain asked, her eyes wide and unnaturally innocent.
Larry snorted, and shook his head. Larry had been impressed with her arsenal, and she kept everything locked in a large gun safe. The gun safe itself was disguised as a bookshelf, on hinges. He’d been stunned when he’d seen the boxes and boxes of different ammo and weaponry. She was very pragmatic.
“Well, you should, you know. Your gun is your best friend.”
“I’ll have to think about it then,” Larry said, humoring her. “Does this mean you’re giving me the Beretta?” he asked hopefully.
“Sure. It suits you. Though I like the weapon, it just doesn’t sit right in my hand. The grip isn’t as comfortable as I’d like.”
“Thanks Charmain, really. I’ve never owned a gun. Thank you,” Larry said, touched, and grateful.
“Just take care of her. Remember, it’s for both defense and offence; in other words, for killing people,” Charmain warned.
“I know,” Larry said solemnly, the humor going out of his face. Life was so different for him now. Having a gun of this kind was for killing humans, not game. He remembered a conversation they’d had about hunting game.
“I mostly use the bow and arrow to hunt large game. It’s quiet and doesn’t draw attention,” she said, as though she’d read his mind. “The guns and rifles are for home defense, though Rubin and I’ve gone on hunts with our guns. I just prefer the bow; I think it is more sporting.” She grinned. “For people, you don’t want to be sporting. You want to kill them quick.”
Rubin Bell, or Big Eyes, as was his call sign on the radio, lived farther south. He’d heard her talking to him on the radio in the evenings. Sometimes the conversation would edge to personal, and then Larry would leave the room, giving his housemate some privacy.
Larry had to admit, he was getting quite good with all the weapons she’d introduced him to. He no longer felt the crippling helplessness that had been his constant companion since the world went to hell.
“You should start carrying the Beretta at all times. You don’t know who’s out there, and you sure as hell don’t want to be surprised when they come for a visit,” Charmain said.
“You’re right, I know,” Larry said, nodding.
“This is a different world, Larry. Anyone out there now is trying to survive. You are standing in
their way. Do you think they will let you live?” she asked, her bright green eyes glittering with something he couldn’t define.
“I guess. I just don’t think about it,” he said, knowing as he did so that his face was turning bright red.
“Well, you’d better think about it for both our sakes, and don’t hesitate to shoot ’em. Trust me, you’ll be dead fast if you don’t,” she concluded.
He knew she was right, and he knew he needed to adjust his way of thinking once more. He’d seen all the devastation on his way through Los Angeles. People had turned crazy and mean, and that was before the computer virus had hit. He knew he needed to keep that in the forefront of his brain.
“Okay, well, I’m going to head to bed early, maybe read a little. I’ll see you in the morning. Thanks again, Charmain, for the Beretta. And for teaching me,” Larry said softly.
“Night kiddo, and think nothing of it. Just think of a good name for your gun.” Charmain said, a smile curving on her face.
He got up from the chair and climbed the stairs to his room. He might just nap for a bit first, and then read. Kaluchia was lying on her back, paws up in the air. He curled in around her and joined her in slumber.
CHAPTER FOUR
Topsfield, Maine
Tim lifted the heavy shovel full of wet snow. He was slowly working his way toward the barn and chicken coop. The dogs were making their own trails through the deep snow. He was hip-deep in the white stuff, and Tim guessed it had snowed a solid two feet. In some areas, where the land dipped, the dogs disappeared from view. The storm had lasted two days, and he’d already spent hours shoveling paths the previous day.
He hoisted the shovel to the left and swung it out. The snow didn’t go far, and fell with a heavy plop. It was silent out, and cold, the air crisp and sweet. It had been five degrees out at sunrise. Now it had risen to ten, and was sunny with no wind. Quite nice, he thought.
Kelly would be out in a bit with hot water for the chickens, Butter, and Lonesome. Their water troughs would have frozen overnight, but the hot water would melt it and keep them warm for most of the morning.