by CW Crowe
Lucia leaned over and when she did, her sweater rode up to reveal a small patch of skin on her lower back. Jason felt himself respond to that sight. He had a sudden vision of her; face down in bed, her ass in the air. His hands were locked onto her hips as he thrust into her from behind, again and again. He heard her cry out for more.
In his vision, her body had lost that extra weight; it was taught, strong. As he pounded her harder and harder, she changed into Regina. Suddenly Regina begged for him to stop. She cried out that he was hurting her. He thrust twice as hard until he saw blood run down her legs.
Lucia stood up and turned at the sound of his entrance. The vision disappeared in an instant.
She smiled at him. "She said she was hungry! Jason, I think she's going to be all right!"
She was excited, feeling joy. It was an almost forgotten emotion with them. He went to her, arms outstretched and she met him. They embraced over the little girl.
Sam’s Gift
Mary Hammel sat at their table and cried. Samantha had her arm around her shoulders, providing support, but a tear ran down her cheek too. The news was beyond horrible.
Every night after dark, after the kids were long asleep, Vic and the two of them would scan the airwaves for news. Yesterday, the station in Bozeman didn't come on the air and hadn't been heard from since. Emril Perkins had been faithful in his broadcast ever since the initial EMP event, but he'd announced he had the flu and then, three days later, he and the station were off the air. All three of them knew he was probably dead or dying.
Tonight, they found mostly ham radio operators on the air. Before SHTF, there were over a million of them, most with their own transmitters and with technical skills to run them off a car battery. But since they all had antennas that fed the destructive energy of the EMP event back to the radio, the great majority of those radios had been damaged beyond repair by the pulse.
A few hams managed to get on the air using older radios that had been stored away, often running on vacuum tubes. One guy told how his two thousand dollar DSP rig with its dozen microprocessors was now a doorstop and his old Heathkit SB-100 was still working fifty two years after he built it himself, piece by piece.
A few of them tried to carry on conversations, but most were just reporting what they saw or heard. Victor scanned the airwaves and found stations in Little Rock and Denver and Pittsburgh. The news was the same everywhere - people were dying from the flu. They were dying quickly and in large numbers.
Eerily, they all reported two things in common from every city. First, there were fires all over. They burned until they burned out on their own. That was because of the second thing - there were no people to fight them. People were either sick or they had locked themselves in their homes or apartments, hoping to either not get sick or to ride out the flu. Either way, the streets seemed to be relatively empty.
Victor knew that would not last long. The time would soon arrive when large numbers of people would have eaten all the food they had stored away in their pantries or refrigerators. The military had distributed emergency rations to just about everywhere, but now it appeared that most of them were sick too. No one reported any new deliveries of supplies. The streets would have people in them again soon enough - hungry people.
The news from overseas hams was, if anything, worse. By now, it was clear that both Russia and China and perhaps others had exchanged nuclear attacks. No one knew what the conditions were in most of those places, but the silence was telling.
Hams living well outside of Paris and London reported mobs roaming the streets, looting, raping and killing. Armed warlords were forming groups using weapons stolen from military warehouses. Groups were declaring war on other groups. Some new disease, not the flu, had sprung up and was raging throughout the continent. So far, it hadn't killed many, but Victor suspected that was coming. Densely populated cities with no pickup of trash would quickly become breeding grounds for rats. The rats had been responsible for infecting and killing millions in the past and now likely would again.
Samantha wiped her eyes and sniffed, "It's not supposed to happen like this. It too quick, too many people dying all at once."
Victor nodded, "Yeah, It's hard to explain. For the flu to spread this fast, it must really be highly contagious. I don't think anyone saw that coming. Most people thought we might have a triggering event and then weeks of gradually declining civilization, followed by mass casualties. But I don't know of anyone who thought the world with get hit with three things at once - the EMP attack, the flu and the wars overseas. It looks like civilization has just disappeared and the dying is starting in earnest after less than two weeks."
Samantha shook her head in wonder and sadness, "Those poor people. Most of them don't have a chance, do they?"
She looked at Vic and then Mary for an answer. They both looked away.
***
Vic tuned the radio to twenty megahertz. This was the frequency of WWV and was the only government owned station that seemed to be reliably broadcasting. Normally, it broadcast the time, but yesterday it had started to ask listeners to check back for an important announcement. Vic had checked it a couple of times today, but the same message was being repeated.
Tonight, however, the message was different. "Due to the present emergency, station WWV has expanded its operations to include public safety information. Tomorrow, January tenth, the President of the United States will address the nation at 8 p.m. eastern time. Please alert all citizens who are capable of hearing this broadcast to tune in at this time. All radio operators with working equipment as strongly encouraged to receive and then rebroadcast this important message. That is all for now. This message will repeat until the President speaks."
That was enough bad news for today. Victor turned off the radio and went into their little bathroom to get ready for bed.
Mary was surprised to see Samantha pull on her heavy coat. "Where are you going?"
"It's clear tonight with a full moon. I thought I'd got out and see if I can find my Indian spirit guide. I haven't been chosen by one yet. I think it's time. I'll just be watching the moon over by the kid’s tree house."
Mary's frowned at her. She wasn't buying this for one second.
Samantha smiled and hugged her, fully encased in her warmest coat. "Here I got this for you. For your anniversary."
She took a silver thing out of her pocket and placed it in Mary's hand. It was a picture frame and in it was a picture of Mary and Vic. It had been taken in the garage. Samantha must have taken it with her phone and without any flash because Mary didn't remember having her picture taken at all.
Vic was scowling at a car. His hands were dark with dirt, his biceps bulging beneath his t-shirt. Mary was standing off to the side, watching. The expression on her face was one of contentment, of love. It was unmistakable.
"Sam, I . . ."
She cut her off. "Mary, I know we don't have a lot of privacy in here. That's my real gift to you and Vic. You go on now and tell your husband you love him on your anniversary. I'll be back in a couple of hours. Who knows, I might really be called by a spirit guide. It could happen, right?"
Mary started to object, but instead she hugged Samantha, this time even harder. "I love you," she said softly. "And don't be out there freezing for two hours. One will do."
Sam laughed and said "Love you too," as she left.
Victor head the door close as he came out of the bathroom. He looked around. "Where is she . . .?”
Mary's look stopped him in mid sentence. She went to him and kissed him gently. "Happy anniversary," she said.
Hypothermia is Easy
"But I am better. I'm a lot better." Hoppie had a whine in her voice.
"No you're not." Your fever is still coming and going. I can feel you are hotter today, and your eyes are red and you're still coughing all the time."
Hoppie looked away, like she didn't hear what her friend had just said.
"I'm going down to Ketchum to see if t
he priest has anything that might help. We've both been sick for days, but I've been pretty much back to normal since yesterday and you're not."
Hoppie continued to look into the distance, "They won't have anything," she said quietly with resignation in her voice. It was like she was giving up.
For the first time, Sarabeth felt really, truly scared; deep in the soul, heart aching, dread-building-by-the-second scared.
"You don't know that!" she yelled. It was either yell or cry. "They've got to have something!"
The noon radio broadcast had reported that the flu was killing people all over the country. Lots of older folks had died from it, but some younger people had died too. The station had been off the air for a few days, but that report still reverberated in Sarabeth's mind. Seeing her friend decline, day by day, made her remember it all the more. She pushed it away, but another thought kept trying to intrude on her, to push itself into her consciousness - the thought that Hoppie might die.
Sarabeth felt herself starting to lose control, so she stood up ramrod straight and started to put on her coat. "I'll just be an hour or so. You try and rest. Nap if you can."
Hoppie lay on the couch in front of the fireplace. "I'll wait for you SeeBee. Just don't be too long, okay?"
As soon as Sarabeth was outside, the tears started. They didn't stop all the way down to the town.
***
It had been more than a week since Sarabeth and Hoppie had been to town and returned with their wagon load of supplies. When they had talked to Father Francis before, he had seemed to be doing a good job distributing food supplies. Sarabeth found him sitting on a bench on the outskirts of town. His head was in his hands.
She sat beside him. "What's wrong, Father?" she asked.
He studied her, obviously trying to remember where he had seen her before. He seemed to have aged a lot over the last days. "Oh yes, you and your friend . . . you were the ones who got the wagon full of supplies. You were lucky. You were the last ones."
She was puzzled. "What's happened?"
He sat up and looked her in the eye, "It's the dying. It seems that everyone has the flu. Some are getting better, but a lot have died. Most of the older people - the most faithful in their church attendance - are gone. The mayor and Mr. and Mrs. Bumgardner died within hours of each other yesterday. Ryan Rogers and Sue Bumgardner and some of the young people have taken over. I just got out of a meeting. They're running things now."
Sarabeth didn't know most of those people, but she did know the mayor and that bastard pervert Ryan Rogers.
She was disturbed at this news, but Sarabeth didn't let it distract her from her mission. "Father, my friend . . . you met her. Her name is Hop . . . Emily Ingram. We both were sick, but I'm better now and I think she's getting worse. She's coughing and her fever goes up and down. She's real weak, Father, and I'm so worried. Can you give me something for her?"
Now he looked at her with pain in his eyes. "We tried antibiotics on eight people. All of them died anyway. We're almost out now and Ryan isn't allowing anyone else to use it for flu. He thinks it's a waste."
Sarabeth felt a sharp pang. It was like a knife slid gently into her gut. "I don't give a damn what that pervert says. Can you get us the antibiotics, Father? Please, I'm afraid . . . I'm just afraid for my friend."
He looked at her with sad eyes and shook his head slowly. "No. I can't get it. They've got everything stored - the food, the drugs, fuel - just about everything is locked away in the library. It's a big building with only two entrances and lots of windows for light. They have it locked up tight and only open it once a day to give people just enough for that day. Everyone had been ordered to bring any supplies they have and turn them in - if you don't bring something, clothes or drugs or batteries or something, they won't give you any food. Ryan ordered it."
He looked away from her. "I remember now. Your friend used your name; it’s SeeBee isn't it? I tried to object. I told them it was wrong. But I can't stop them, SeeBee, not by myself. Most of the people don't mind. After the lights went out, and the flu came, they just want to be warm and dry and know they'll eat tomorrow. He's offering them that. I'm sure they won't listen to me. I'm sorry."
He was the second person in the whole world who ever called her SeeBee. Tears formed instantly, but she pushed the sadness away. "Where are they? I'll talk to them."
"I don't think it'll do any good, but you can try. They're in the municipal building with the mayor's office and the sheriff's. The sheriff was an old man. He dressed like a western sheriff with the big badge and the cowboy hat - the tourists loved him. He died two days ago."
Sarabeth got up to go. Before she could take a step, she felt his hand take hers. The expression on his face was one of anguish. "I always thought that I was doing God's work on Earth. I thought I was helping people, making a difference. Maybe I did, SeeBee. Maybe I did help a few. I hope so."
He paused and squeezed her hand. "But now, when people really need help, when evil needs to be challenged, I'm too weak. I can't do anything. It's a blasphemous thing to say, but I wonder if God has abandoned us. Or maybe he's just abandoned me."
She wanted to offer him words of encouragement, but nothing would come. "I . . . I'll go talk to them now. I'll make them understand."
He nodded, and as she took her first step, his hand fell away from hers.
***
The first place she went was the library. There were drugs there and food. Perhaps she could find a way in and help herself.
When she arrived, there were two men sitting on the steps of the library, smoking. One of them had a baseball bat. Sarabeth could feel their eyes on her as she walked by on the opposite side of the street. She wanted to just keep going, but she stopped and turned to face them. "I need something from in there. Can you get it for me?"
One of them, a dark haired boy that could not have been more than sixteen, grinned and blew a smoke ring. "Won't be open for another three hours. You can come back then or wait over here with us."
"Do you have the keys?" Sarabeth asked the question knowing that if they did, the price for getting them might be high. She was almost relieved when they told her that only Ryan and Ms. Bumgardner could open the building.
"Better bring something back with you to trade. And not some mickey mouse shit either - something we can use."
His eyes leered at her as she walked away.
***
The sign on the entrance to the mayors off said "Closed," but the one on the door to the separate entrance for the Sheriff's office said, "Come on in!" Sarabeth knocked and opened the door without waiting for a response.
Inside, he found Ryan Rogers sitting behind a large wooden desk. In his lap was a large woman. His hand was up her blouse.
"Hey, don't you know to wait for permission to enter?" The woman rose and smoothed her clothes, "Looks like we've got some training to do, Ryan."
She looked Sarabeth over starting at her boots and working her way up. She smiled. "I don't recognize you. I'm Sue Bumgardner and this is Ryan Rogers."
Ryan leaned back in the chair and put his feet up on the massive desk to the side of a two- thirds full bottle of Scotch. "We met already, Sue. This is Ms. Hepburn. She's the one who knocked my poor old granddad to the ground. That's how she paid us back after I went up to her fancy vacation home and chopped wood for her and her . . . friend. I told you about them, remember?"
His words were sneering, insolent. Sue nodded and continued to smile. "Come on in, sister. Sit down. What can we do for you?"
Some primal instinct honed over millions of years of evolution prodded Sarabeth to leave this place right now. It's not safe.
She ignored that feeling and sat in the chair across from the desk. The chair was bolted to the floor and had a metal ring screwed into it. She guessed it was so that a rowdy prisoner could be handcuffed to the ring. There was a filing cabinet, a table with a coffee pot on it and a hat rack that held a white western hat and a leather belt with a gun and h
andcuffs. The belt buckle was a large gold star.
Sarabeth was careful to look only at Sue. "My friend . . . she's sick. I'm afraid for her. I think she needs antibiotics. Can you give me some for her?"
Sue seemed to think carefully. "So you want some antibiotics. They are scarce, you know. And they don't seem to work against the flu; we tried, but it didn't work."
"But . . . but I've got try. If I don't she might . . ."
"Might what? Might die? Listen to me, Ms. Hepburn, and listen good. People are dying. My father and mother died just yesterday. I cried for them, but then Ryan's grandfather died and another old woman in town died after them. If your friend dies, she'll just be the next, the one who will be mourned until the one after her kicks the bucket. Get it? Dying has become the normal thing. Get used to it, girlfriend. This is the new world you're living in and it's time you started to understand how it works."
***
Sarabeth felt the first tiny bit of red enter her vision. When she was nine and in the third grade, she and Hoppie rode the bus to school. One day, Hoppie had a doctor's appointment and didn't ride along with her. She remembered feeling alone, kind of sad, when a girl named Sylvia from the fifth grade sat on the seat beside her. Sylvia was bigger than her back then, several inches taller and much heavier - the same way Sue Bumgardner was to her now.
Sylvia put her backpack on the seat beside her, forcing Sarabeth to scrunch up against the side of the bus.
For all her life, Sarabeth had been easy going, calm and deliberative. However, as a child, if something set her off, she would have an epic tantrum, screaming and crying and hitting.
But that was from when she was a baby. She was able to control herself much better now that she was older. Still, she felt the beginnings of that feeling - that feeling where everything turned red and anything was possible.
Sylvia reached into her backpack to get something when a carefully wrapped sandwich fell out of the opening onto the floor of the bus. "Now look what you've done, stupid! Get down there and get that."