by C. Martens
He was down to his last few cans in about two weeks. He knew they were some of the first that had arrived on the back of the UTV because the bleach had disintegrated any evidence of what they contained. He washed the later cans as they were removed from the tub and even used a marker to identify contents, but the first cans were a crap shoot.
After opening the second container of pumpkin pie filling in a single day, he determined that it was time to move on.
The pinto was ready and waiting. His unshod hooves had toughened as they pierced the beach sands and climbed the hill every day. He was up to his normal weight, sleek, and feeling good.
There was not much to take. A small pack and sleeping bag, the tiny one-man tent, and the pistol completed the burdens to be carried.
The big question in Emmett’s mind was whether the plague was still a factor. Surely at some point there would be an end, if for no other reason than there would be too few people in proximity to one another to be contagious. The last report he heard on his comlink had given some numbers and dates, and if they were correct, the plagues would be in the last stages of contagion about now. The big die-off had already happened. All that was left were the residual effects. Two more months should see anyone infected dead. So in Emmett’s mind, if he could avoid people for the next three months, he should be in the clear.
Conversations with Andy had informed Emmett of the situation in the housing development. Emmett knew that the houses with open doors were likely to contain bodies, and he would stay well clear of them. Andy had said there were few, so that should not be difficult. The roadblock had not been tested, as far as Andy knew, and Emmett felt pretty good about staying for a while in the environs close to where he was.
The only thing that bothered him was the house and bodies of those he loved being so close. Andy had described the area, and Emmett knew he would find it easily. In his continuing state of mind, the young man knew he would have difficulty refraining from entering the house.
As he loaded Joe with his light possessions and then walked beside him away from the beach cabin, Emmett decided he would burn any houses with their doors ajar. If the fire destroyed them all, he would just have to find other accommodations.
§
“God, this game is so realistic.” Mumbling to herself in the basement as she used the gamer-works, the girl that had spied on Emmett since the other two had died focused on her survival within the scenario.
The quality of the equipment had been why she picked this house. State of the art, the game bubble was one of only a few she had ever seen. And those few had been displays in stores. No one she knew could have afforded one in their home.
After several months of getting used to the massive unit, she was proficient. Even now the realism sometimes surprised her. Right now the olfactory capabilities were really kicking in, and the fires burning the village in the game were getting very strong.
Strong? They should not be this strong. They should not be so intense that it choked her.
Coughing, the girl exited the bubble as she turned off the power. The room was dim and hazy. She looked at the connections and the console, feeling it with her hand for heat. It seemed fine.
A light breeze entered the basement from the open window, and she could see the smoke billow in with it. Something was on fire, but it was outside.
Upstairs, she moved to her observation post at the kitchen sink and parted the curtain carefully.
A crazy man danced and spun within the smoke as tears streamed down his face.
The house across the court was on fire, not yet fully engulfed. Smoldering yet, smoke poured from the structure with little evidence of flame. The wind, as usual, was from the west and strong enough to lick the smoke along the ground toward her.
The dancing man breathed it in, making him cough and gag as he gyrated in what appeared to be a poorly performed imitation of a Native American ritual.
Recognizing the inhabitant of the cabin, the girl watched as he ran from the smoke. He fell to all fours on the uncut lawn to the side of the heavy fumes. Hacking and drawing great gouts of air into his lungs, he coughed again. Then he threw up, lightly, as he gagged. After several minutes, he put his forehead to the ground and breathed deep through his nostrils several times.
The wind had changed slightly, and the fire had intensified. Between the two, especially with the heat rising more intently, the smoke was passing overhead. It boiled from the building as the windows started to crack and burst. The open doorway glowed furiously with flame.
The horse that was always tied close to the cabin shied and whinnied as he moved about nervously. Attached to a porch railing, he had jerked one end free and looked to be well on his way to escaping.
Noticing, the man walked toward the pony. He spoke with low tones and approached keeping his hands down at his sides. The pinto perked his ears toward his master and calmed visibly. Obvious that there was trust and a bond, the gelding lowered his muzzle to an open palm and snorted. He did not like the odor of fire, but he recognized his friend.
Untying the horse, the young cabin dweller led him into the center of the court. Then he stood contemplating the fire and slowly raised his arms, hands open and palms up, toward the sky. His head tilted back, and he appeared to be communing with the heavens.
His owner between him and the fire, the little horse was nervous but secure. He trusted the man.
The girl watched from behind the curtains.
§
The fire died down, and with it Emmett’s grief dissipated into the skies. He eventually made his way back to the overgrown lawn and sat watching as the house was consumed. Streaks lined his face from the smoke and tears but none fresh. He was drained.
The adjoining houses were untouched other than a light scorching that discolored the siding on one.
Finding a place to stay was now a priority, and he looked around at what was available. Andy had said they did not investigate the houses on the court. Emmett had intended to torch them all tomorrow, but now he thought better of it.
A curtain moved slightly as he panned the buildings. Thinking nothing of it, a motion due to a slight breeze, he paid no attention.
The first house he kicked the door open on seemed fine. Emmett was too tired to look any further.
§
On waking in the morning, Emmett found a heavy weight pressed against his chest, small and warm and insistent in its pressure. Trying not to move his body, he peeked down to find a grey, tiger striped cat. The animal must have wandered in through the open doors. The cat lay with front paws tucked under its chest, eyes closed to slits, and a loud purr rumbling from deep inside.
Recognizing that the feline must be the cat that Chloe had mentioned, Emmett felt a surge of emotion. He did not even think about the possibility that the feline could harbor pathogens and need not have.
Stomach growling, Emmett realized he had not eaten since his morning at the cabin yesterday. The rest of the day had been filled with too many distractions and too much angst. It was time for breakfast.
As he climbed from the strange bed, Emmett inspected his new environment. Rich surroundings compared to his beach cabin, the house took him back to what he considered as normal. More plush than his normal, but still within the range. He felt like he had returned from a long camping trip.
The kitty followed him to the kitchen. Emmett was surprised that the cat stayed on the floor. He was familiar with ill-mannered cats that jumped onto counters and were allowed to, but this cat only got in the way by entwining between his legs. As Chloe had described it, the cat was fearless and acted as though she owned the young man as a replacement to those she had lost.
The operating refrigerator revealed nothing Emmett would trust. Perhaps some of the salad dressings in the door would be good, but why bother with nothing green to put them on? The cupboards contained some canned goods, and Emmett selected a can of tuna and an unopened container of mayo. Emmett searched the fridge again. Pickles j
oined the rest on the counter. A frozen loaf of bread completed breakfast.
After washing a small bowl, Emmett dumped in the tuna. The cat gently reminded him of its presence by rising and pawing at his leg, and Emmett refrained from cleaning out the can thoroughly, placing it in a corner on the floor. He remembered that Chloe had mentioned the cat was willing to eat practically anything and that had led to their name for it. Tum Tum crowded his hand away before he could retract it.
Bread in the nuker to be thawed, mayo and chopped pickles in with the tuna, and breakfast was served.
He found some paper plates and carried his meal outside to eat with Joe. The little pony was content staked on the front lawn and nickered as his friend emerged.
As Emmett ate, he considered his options.
Joe would need water, and Emmett saw no hoses or outside faucets, so the horse’s water would have to be carried from inside the house.
As with most new construction, this neighborhood had subsoil irrigation only for those plants that required small amounts of water in the heat of summer. Otherwise, any landscaping was done with plants that required nothing. Even the lawns were bred to exist well with only natural precipitation.
Electricity kept the freezer cold, water still flowed from the taps under pressure, and if he wanted to turn the furnace or the stove on, he was sure there would be natural gas. He could live here comfortably and subsist on what he found.
He thought about the gardens and the chickens that Andy had informed him of. They would supply some welcome relief from canned goods at least for a short time. The carrots and other root crops were still good this late.
As Emmett thought of the advancing season, he gazed over the roofs and recognized the tall tree that Chloe had mentioned. The colors were still magnificent but were starting to fade. Reminded of the spirits of the dead, his eyes were drawn to the smoldering, charred wreckage of the house he had burned yesterday.
There were other houses in other locations. He did not have to stay here. His only priority was staying away from people. No matter where he went, Emmett suspected that people would be few and far between and probably still dug in. This vacation neighborhood, his present location, was likely less populated than many that were occupied by year-round inhabitants. But Emmett was tired of hiding. He wondered if he should move on. The smoking ruins a few houses away made him uncomfortable, and he did not expect that moving to another street would help.
Suddenly feeling guilty, cat wrapped around his calves, Emmett realized that he would have to leave his new friend behind. Well, maybe not. He had seen people with traveling cats.
In an unexpected epiphany, Emmett had another cog slide into place. He matured again with another small step toward wisdom. He suddenly realized that his life could not be controlled over concern for a cat, that he could choose attachments, or they could choose him. In this case, the decision would be the cat’s. If he decided to leave, the animal could stay with him or not.
In making that leap, Emmett realized where his path led. He would leave. Having made the decision, time slowed down for Emmett. From here on, without any feeling for time, Emmett entered the new age of the post-plague apocalypse. There was a new world with new priorities, and time was not one of them.
The first thing to do was find a saddle for Joe. There had been no way to sterilize a saddle that was handled by Andy or Chloe, so they had never brought him one. But they had described the barn that the pinto came from, and the general direction in which it lay.
Choosing to walk, Emmett led Joe. The little pony had savored his drink of fresh water before they left and had tanked up. Now he was feeling frisky as they exited the community and entered the green pastures. He bucked and snorted as Emmett gave him as much rein as he could. Then Joe did as he had with Andy and Chloe and found a spot to roll.
The pony made Emmett laugh. He was such a cut up. The young man had been familiar with horses in his youth, mostly through his scouting, but he had never had a close relationship. Over the past weeks he had come to understand that these large animals had real personalities. The gelding would be a good traveling companion.
By mid-morning they found the barn, not large, but red, so easily spotted. Emmett turned the pony out in the corral as he investigated the interior. There were two saddles. One was worn out from much use and age. Emmett did not know it, but this was Joe’s saddle and because of its size was obviously a child’s. The other saddle had been bought used and had some slight wear. The adult that had purchased it used the tack on the little pinto rarely. Intended to go on the buckskin mare as she was gentled, that had never happened. The mare was not amenable to anything they tried, so the saddle collected dust. It would now do nicely.
He had not saddled a horse for some time, and Emmett took a few tries to get the rigging correctly fastened. Once it was on, his memory was refreshed.
The ride back was better than Emmett expected. His legs and butt had toughened in riding bareback on the beach, and the saddle just added to his comfort.
They would leave in the morning.
§
Now that there was something to tie stuff to, Emmett had decisions to make. The tent was small and light and fit well behind the cantle. Instead of a bed roll, his newly laundered sleeping bag hung from the horn on one side. The lariat was coiled and hung from the latigo, his backpack over it.
Now the big question that Emmett had been agonizing over loomed. He had provided a bag on one side for the cat. Tum Tum was comfortable in the bag and seemed fine as it was hung on one side behind the sleeping bag, her head sticking out. She seemed a little nervous as the man walked the horse toward the road, and she looked around, slightly agitated. She did not leap out of the bag until they started toward the buses. Then she ran several steps toward her normal environs, stopping and looking back at Emmett for several seconds as though she was making up her mind. Finally deciding, she turned and loped back to the road that entered the court. That was the last Emmett saw of her as the cat sat and watched him mount the horse and ride off.
The girl in hiding behind the curtain had missed the young rider leaving. She was busy in her basement lair. Eventually she would allow the grey cat into the house, and she would feed her. Never before comfortable with cats, she would learn to appreciate this one.
Chapter 18
Keeping to the sides of the road in order to preserve his pony’s hooves, Emmett studied the landscape. He would often dismount and walk. They were in no hurry on their way north. The days were beautiful, the air quiet with the scent of life. There was no traffic. None.
The fencing pliers he carried were used in any places he saw animals. If there were people, they could gather their animals and repair fence as necessary. Otherwise, the animals needed to be able to find feed and water.
Coos Bay lay ahead. At one time the city was a bustling fishing center, but it had ups and downs over the years as the ocean changed, as well as the rules governing the ocean and how it could be used. The crabbing was still marginal, and for a while the salmon made an effort to return in reasonable numbers. The first die off of the krill, however, had damaged many of the ocean-related industries on the coasts. A few boat tours along the coast for sightseeing were the only thing that held on. At least until the plagues. Now the tour boats joined the fishing boats, many of which were straining at their cleats as they filled with water and tried to drag their moorings into the harbor. A few had already made the journey to the bottom, having snapped their lines or torn the cleats from the dock or just settled in shallow water. A neglected boat never takes long to find the bottom.
There were also plenty of neglected dwellings as Emmett and Joe moved north. The economy and heavy influx of population had not been kind to the west coast, and it had filled with the out-of-work.
Each night of the days spent on the road as Emmett and Joe wandered was spent in a different kind of place. The first in a barn, the second in a small house.
The third night they spent
in a tiny saloon. The door was open, so Emmett entered expecting people. There was no one home, and looking around outside, he found nothing to make him think there would be anyone. He cleared a spot on the dirty carpet and set up the tent. Joe seemed comfortable behind the bar. The area was much like a stall, but toward morning Joe grew agitated and woke Emmett. He was used to being staked at night and eating.
A late start after allowing the pony to graze for a couple of hours led them to a big house, set off the road with some corrals. The house was boarded up and broken into, and from the outside it looked like a demolition project that squatters were using. Emmett decided to take a chance and enter. He put on a fresh surgical mask and began searching the structure. Four bodies in four different rooms drove him out before he investigated further. Keeping his mask on, he led Joe to the stables and toured them. They spent the fourth night there. The horse spent the night in a big stall with good hay. Emmett slept in the loft. The hay was nearly as comfortable as a bed.
Evidence of a city began to accumulate as Emmett and Joe moved north. Small shacks in discreet locations, handmade structures made of foraged materials in the underpinnings of an overpass, said more than the road signs. Pulling out his comlink, Emmett brought up a GPS location and found that they were nearing the official boundaries of Coos Bay.
Amazed that he had not seen any human beings in the days since leaving the beach, Emmett was only now beginning to suspect the truth. Even taking into account that there would be people holed up and trying to remain free of contagion, this journey had been strangely lonely. He had expected to see people. At least a few people. Now, entering town, he would get a more realistic idea of what was happening.