The Silent Years [The Complete Collection]

by Jennifer R. Povey

  "The doctors may have some test for it, but you...have a point." Leroy sighed. "I don't think I can live like this for the rest of my life."

  Dorothy responded bluntly, "Your wife is pregnant. You don't have a choice. You will live, and you will raise that child or, so help me, I'll find a medium and chew you out in the afterlife."

  He laughed, albeit a little awkwardly. "Okay, okay. But do you want to risk me coming back to haunt you?"

  "You're a pretty good spook." The pun was out before she even thought about it. It would not have bothered her in her life before. Now she turned an interesting shade of scarlet. "I'm..."

  But he was laughing. "It's okay. You didn't mean it the way most whites would mean it."

  "Two weeks ago, I would have." Two weeks ago, she would not have admitted her racism either. "Leroy..."

  "I guess that when you take everything away from people, you find out who they really are. I'm glad to find out that you're somebody I want to like underneath it all."

  It was the most words she had ever heard from him. "We need you, Leroy. So no more talk of not wanting to live."

  He shook his head. "I don't intend to die. But it's only human to want and to hope. Have you given up?"

  "No!" Her protest was vehement as she secured the tarp. "If I'd given up, we wouldn't be doing this. We'd be sitting around waiting to die."

  "I can't imagine you doing that, Dorothy. But we have to maintain something or we'll turn into..."

  "Uncivilized savages? I don't think so. Try tough survivors. That's what we have to be now."

  "And if civilization comes back?"

  "We'll adapt." She regarded Leroy. "I think what makes us human is the ability to adapt, to change. It's the people who are stuck in their ways who won't make it."

  Except that the virus was arbitrary. Was she already infected? Was she already dying, not even knowing it? Was Leroy? She shivered.

  "Dorothy?"

  "I'd say I hoped the scientists who designed this bug ended up in Hell...but I suspect they already are."

  "No, the ones I want to see there are the politicians who came up with the idea." Leroy made a face. "I half hope somebody infected did end up in their bunker...and that they're immune."

  She shuddered. "Leroy, you are a very bad man."

  But at the same time she could not disagree with him. Vengeance had its appeal and poetic justice even more so.

  Chapter Six

  Three days later, the refugees showed up. There were three of them, and Dorothy wanted to take them in, wanted to do so badly. Instead, she stood at the gate with a shotgun. Perhaps later, when they were sure that only the immune were left, they could rebuild a community, but not right now.

  The woman cursed her tiredly as she walked past. She used language that would have had Dorothy reaching for the soap if it had come from one of her sons. It did not make her feel any more charitable.

  "That sucked," Thomas said, glancing at her.

  "Yes. I feel terrible." Dorothy felt like she had lost part of her humanity, turning away people with no place to go.

  For some reason, she suddenly wondered about Galatea Crow. Was she alive? Dorothy might never know. In any case, people outside the family had to be 'them' for the next few weeks or months. Us and them. The oldest of divisions. Tribe and not tribe.

  "We'll be able to start letting people in in probably three months," Jason mused. "By that time, the only people who can talk are likely to be immune."

  Dorothy was not sure he was right, but it made sense. The incubation wasn't that long...unless it changed? But at some point, they would have to. They could not quarantine themselves forever.

  Thomas nodded. "Makes sense to me."

  "They grey make..." Jason stopped mid-sentence.

  Oh no, Dorothy thought as he tripped over his words, struggled with them. Her hand tightened on the gun. Not Jason. Jason could not be infected. They needed him.

  He started again. "They may make it."

  She felt relief flow through her. He had just stumbled over a word, the way one did when thoughts were going faster than vocal chords. Everyone did it, but it had given her a start. The cold that ran through her did not go away even as she released her grip on her shotgun.

  Panic. None of them could afford to panic. Breathe, she told herself. Breathe.

  Jason shook his head and went indoors without a further word.

  "He just tripped over a word," Thomas said.

  "I know. We need to get a bit less hair-triggered." That was Leroy, who then followed Jason inside.

  Dorothy wondered if she could possibly be more hair-triggered. Well, no, she hadn't actually shot Jason. Just considered it for a moment.

  Jason’s death wouldn't help the rest of them, would not slow the infection. It would be a release for him, nothing more and nothing less. She would want to die while she still had her mind. Except, what if they then came up with a cure? No. She could not rely on that. She had lost all trust for anyone except herself and those closest to her.

  The refugees vanished into the distance. She watched them go, knowing that that could have been her.

  Finally, she understood what the Black Death had done to people. What that plague must have been like. The cold enveloped her completely now, devouring all human feeling, freezing it into nothingness.

  Dorothy could no longer afford to show any weakness, to care about anything other than survival. She had to be ready to do whatever it took to keep the family alive, especially her children. She loved them best by being unsentimental. They would never get the college education. They would have to marry; there would be no choice if the population had dropped so low, and the children would probably have little choice as to who.

  It would be worse for the women. She had read enough women's history to know; people might even have to resort to polygamy, depending on survivor ratios, just for a generation or two. That was probably why the Mormons had done it. More women than men and a need to get everyone breeding.

  "I hate this."

  Thomas glanced at her. "What's not to love about it?" he said sarcastically.

  "I hate what our kids might have to do. I hate the idea of living like pioneers."

  "You're doing fine. It's Janine I'm worried about."

  Dorothy was more worried about Leroy but stayed mum. "She's too small," Dorothy pronounced. "And too..."

  "...dependent. If Jason dies, I hate to think what she might do."

  "She's got kids. She won't do anything stupid."

  "I wish I could be sure of that."

  "Women don't leave their children." Dorothy was firm on that. She'd seen how Janine was with her girls. "Speaking of children..."

  "All four of them are feeding and grooming the horses. I trust them to do that right."

  "As long as nobody decides to go for a bareback ride and breaks his or her neck." Dorothy frowned. "Jason's girls can ride a little."

  "We should all learn," Thomas said, "to ride them and to drive them. If this lasts much longer..." He paused. "We have one tank of gas left per vehicle."

  "Do we have a wagon?"

  "Yes. Jason was planning on showing the mares next year. He has a nice one. It'll almost be a shame to fill it full of hay and stuff."

  Dorothy nodded. "I hate to say this, but...we're going to need more horses, including a colt or stallion. And a bull."

  "And we're going to have to steal them." Thomas sounded grim. "Well, not steal, exactly."

  "I was thinking of taking them from people who have no more need of them. Anyway, it would be better for the animals than winding up locked in a barn starving."

  "The question is when and whether we can do an expedition to find them."

  "I just hope. Look, if we all get nailed, the last person should set the horses and cows free. That way the animals have a chance."

  "I know. The dogs, too."

  She hadn't thought about the dogs. "Yeah. Hopefully somebody will take them in."

  "I'm
glad we're on the same page about that."

  "Is Jason?"

  Thomas frowned. "I don't know. Jason doesn't want to admit that we might not make it."

  "I don't want to admit that either. Who the heck wants to admit that?" She turned back towards her husband, a smile starting to quirk her lips.

  "What worries me the most is what if only the kids survive."

  He had a point. They were all too young to manage on their own. "We can't worry. We can't afford to worry. We have to focus on what we need to do." She glanced at the road. It was empty now. There should have been the occasional car, the occasional pedestrian.

  Dorothy had a vision of a world emptied of humanity, all of their works crumbling and returning to the earth. It would not stay silent forever, she was sure of that. Yet, what came after mankind did not matter to her, only her survival.

  "I know, but I can't help but worry." He glanced up and down the road himself. "Too much to worry about to fully let go."

  "Let it go, Thomas. We'll make it or we won't. It's out of our hands."

  "That's the worst thing about it."

  She did not want to let him have the last word, but he was so right.

  -#-

  Winter was settling in. They had enough hay stockpiled for the livestock. But for next year? They would have to grow their own. Jason and the other men were bent over a sketched map of the land, working out what to do about the hay.

  Dorothy decided to leave them to it. She would only be a cook too many. Three days ago, the grid had finally failed, contributing to her empty feeling. There had been more and more brownouts and then the power was gone. She took it as a sign: things would not go back to normal.

  Their preparations had kept them alive so far. And their luck was holding out. They seemed to be immune, or just out of the pattern of infection.

  She stepped out onto the porch. The air was still and quiet. It was just like one of those apocalypse movies where the survivors were shown at the end staring into space. Except, this was not the end. Or maybe it was; the last page of the story had happened, and all that remained were a few surviving characters. The author was no longer writing, the characters left in that moment, not moving forward...

  Thud.

  The sound interrupted her thoughts, tore at them. What was that? There was a gun just inside the door. She grabbed it. There was another thud.

  Finally, she realized what it was. What they were. Three Silents, and they were knocking down the well-kept garden fence, tugging at the rails. The thuds had been part of the top rail hitting the ground.

  Now they realized they could step over the lower rail. She found herself unable to shoot. They came closer.

  She pulled the trigger. The shot would be a signal, a warning. She felt the stock slam into her shoulder, just as if she was shooting a deer, not a human being. Or something that had once been a human being. But there was no choice. The house door opened, Jason emerging with a second weapon. "Tore many." He was tripping over words again.

  She fired a second time. This time the shot hit, striking the Silent in the midsection. She saw the woman double up, going down with a wordless scream of pain. Too human. They were still human.

  Jason shot once, twice, taking the other two down, but there was an odd look on Jason’s face. "Red."

  "No..." she whispered. She turned towards him, leveling her gun at his chest. But she could not do it, the barrel lowered.

  He looked at her. "Bleach tower red."

  "Jason..." Had he realized? Perhaps, for he dropped the gun and abruptly ran past the bodies of the dead victims and into the night.

  Dorothy could do nothing but let him go. It was over. They were all infected for sure, perhaps had been for a while. Most likely the incubation period was longer than they had thought.

  "What happened?" A male voice from behind her, but in that moment she could not focus on who it was.

  "Jason's gone." She should have killed him. She knew she should have, but she had not been able to.

  "What do you mean, gone?"

  Now she remembered the owner of the voice. Leroy. There was nobody else it could have been, but...

  "Infected. He ran off." She leaned the gun against the wall, glanced at the bodies. It did not matter. They were either immune or doomed. Taking the bodies away was still necessary, but it did not carry with it the fear of contamination. Touching them could not make things worse. Nothing could make things better.

  "Hell. What if he comes back?"

  "I can't do it," she whispered.

  "Then I will."

  It was an odd relief to feel that responsibility taken away from her. "Assuming it isn't you next."

  "More likely to be Janine," he said softly.

  She did not want to think about that, but it was more likely her, closer to Jason physically. And Janine, so fragile... "I think at this point we have to assume we're all well and truly exposed. Immunity is our only chance."

  "We have that chance. No point giving up just yet."

  "Or a cure, if they come up with one." Maybe that was it. Maybe she could not give up on Jason.

  "Distribution would be a problem, but..."

  "Write another virus. Spread it the same way." Dorothy sighed. "Or maybe that's too dangerous. I don't know."

  "We'll rebuild no matter what, but...dammit. I thought this would burn itself out and everything would be fixed by Christmas." Leroy glanced at the dead. "I guess I was naive."

  "No. There's nothing wrong with having your glass half full."

  "Depends on whether it's wine or vinegar."

  "Hope is a good thing, Leroy. It's the only thing we have."

  "Not the only thing. We have courage."

  She had lacked the courage to pull the trigger. Was that strength, or weakness? She did not know.

  -#-

  Jason's disappearance set them at a disadvantage. The boys were too small to do a man's job and, frankly, so was Dorothy. She was the largest of the three women, and she did not want Laura to put any real physical strain on herself. But they managed the work, barely.

  Until Jason came back. He appeared to remember where the fence was already weakened and that was the place he chose to enter the garden.

  The first thing Dorothy knew was Janine’s screaming. She was a moment behind the two men, so she only saw what happened instead of participating in it.

  They both shot at the same time, and Jason went down, no crying out, no human sound coming from him in that moment. Dorothy had hoped he had found a way to kill himself, but...apparently not.

  "Jason!" Janine started towards him, then thought better of it and fled into the house. Thomas walked over and put another bullet straight into the Jason’s head, just to make sure. Dorothy swayed against the doorpost. She reminded herself that Jason was already dead, had been for days.

  "We'll bury him on the back forty. Dorothy, see if you can calm Janine down."

  She nodded to the men and stepped inside. It was already too late. A moment later, she heard the harsh report of a pistol shot from upstairs.

  Janine had closed the bedroom door, perhaps to make sure none of the children saw this. Then she had put the barrel in her mouth and pulled the trigger. There was remarkably little mess.

  "For the sake of...Janine...how could you?" Dorothy's first reaction was anger, not grief. How could her sister-in-law leave the kids like this? What kind of mother was she? If Thomas died, then her boys would need her more. None of this co-dependent crap. She straightened out the body and picked up the gun. There was no note and no point to a note. It was obvious why she had done shot herself, painfully so.

  Dorothy was still angry as she stomped downstairs.

  Laura stepped out of the bathroom. "What was all the shooting?"

  Oh God, how did she tell her? "Laura. Umm. Sit down."

  "Jason came back, didn't he?"

  "He was pretty far gone. Thomas and Leroy dealt with it."

  "Crap." From the way Laura's m
outh worked, she had bit back a stronger word.

  "And Janine took one of the pistols and blew her own brains out."

  This time, Laura did not bite back the stronger word. "I hate to say it, but what a bitch."

  "She may have assumed she'd be next. Which is stupid. She could have been immune."

  "Or experiencing the first symptoms."

  That had not occurred to Dorothy. "As she was too rude to even leave a note, we'll never know. Can you handle the girls?"

  "I'll...I'll talk to them."

  "Tell them their mommy was sick," Dorothy decided after a moment.

  All four children piled into the room. "Hey, kids." She knew that her worry showed in her voice. Their reaction said it all...four suddenly somber, pale faces. What kind of childhood did they have left?

  None. "Jason and Janine are dead." She might have avoided the word for the sake of the girls, who had always been more sheltered. She had never minced it around her boys, had made sure they understood the concept.

  Junior's voice sounded even younger than normal. "We heard the shots."

  The younger girl, Mary lifted her hands to her mouth then lowered them. Too much like miniature grownups. That hurt Dorothy more than watching her brother gunned down like a rabid beast. The kids were supposed to have some innocence, especially the girls.. "You're allowed to be upset."

  Miniature adult Theresa said, "We don't have time to be. We have to stay alive."

  Dorothy recognized the echo of her own words. She talked like that, so the children picked up on it. "Let us worry about that."

  Us. She had almost said 'your parents.' It had taken everything in her to bite that back. For a moment, all of it felt unreal, a dream she would wake up from and return to the world as it had been, with a working television and Thomas eating breakfast with her before he left for work. He still wanted breakfast with her, but they spoke less than they had, an odd distance growing between them. Until they knew they would both survive, affection seemed empty.

  Had it really only been a matter of weeks since all of this had started? It felt like a lifetime. Maybe the day of the plague would become humanity's new Year Zero. It felt as if she had died that day, without even knowing it.