by Susan Lowry
“I’m going to try to eat a little something,” she mumbled, hobbling past his unresponsive body to the kitchen. Huddled in the warmth of her blanket at the table, she sipped some water until satisfied her stomach was going to cooperate. Then, from the power-deprived freezer, she took out a still-frozen slice of bread, and toasted it over the coals.
Nibbling a small bit of it, she then set the toast on a plate and tackled the fire again, building it up to a roaring blaze. After finishing the entire slice with a full glass of water she lay back down, dozing for most of the day.
A beam of afternoon light was creeping across the floor, nearly touching Jon’s head when she woke. She waited for it to reach him, and then watched his blonde stubble light up, glimmering over his round cheeks and angular chin. His wayward brows shone like strands of gold and the crimped wisps on his head were standing up, ablaze.
Finally, she leaned back in her chair with her hands pushing inward against her skull. “I have a bad feeling about this,” she squeaked.
When the sun was low again, she prepared another piece of toast, this time spreading some peanut butter on top and pouring herself a glass of orange juice. She ate in her recliner, while continually observing Jon, and a few hours later she forced herself up.
The bathroom was warmer now. She sat on the toilet reviewing her reflection in the mirror. She sniffed, pulled her sweater to her nose, and stared at the tub beside her for a moment, before hanging her head in despair. Eventually, she dragged herself to the front window and gazed out at the driveway. No vehicle could possibly budge in snow that high.
“There’s no way out of here,” she screamed at Jon. “What the hell am I going to do?!”
That night, she sat under a blanket in the recliner, with her knees tucked up to her chest, eating cold ravioli from a can, as the flames sent surging heat over her. She glared at Jon the whole time, while the shadows gyrated across the wall and ceiling above him. She could no longer stand the silence.
“I’m okay. Are you okay?!” she snapped.
The pasta, which she’d pressed against the roof of her mouth, suddenly tasted disgusting and stuck in her throat like a wad of cotton. She lifted the can high and hurled it abruptly over his head, where it crashed into the wall and conveniently landed in a blue-bin, which had been left in the corner of the room.
She turned away from him. The tall flames were seething as they licked the base of the chimney. Noticing a bloom of red, seeping through her sock where she had picked off a scab, she dragged her bloodied finger across her jeans.
Then she glared back at Jon, waiting, as if he was going to finally respond, and pulled a coil of hair — stiff as dried glue — away from her eye. The darkened glass doors behind him reflected the potent, oscillating flames and took her attention away from him for a moment. But soon she gazed past them, out into the yard. And then she jumped up.
Striding past him, she pushed the door, rumbling along its track. Breathing the pine-scented air that drifted inward, and focusing on the silvery shadows at the back of the yard where their tall maple tree strained to be seen beneath the stars, she made a decision.
The sun was well above the horizon. Kate sat in the kitchen, tears dripping past her chin onto the table. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, gazing over to the cocooned bundle on the floor by the couch. She stood and pulled on her coat, then walked solemnly over to him, gripping a flap of blanket.
She dragged Jon’s wrapped body across the floor and stepped outside, sinking deep into the bright snow. The sun was so warm on her face, it almost felt like spring.
“Who would have thought this would happen?” she huffed, hauling him through the door, where he glided easily, over the untouched drifts. “I just don’t believe it’s true,” she grunted, and then released a long, hacking cough as she dragged him along. After several yards she needed to catch her breath.
“You were healthier than me!”
She stared at the unresponsive bundle. “You told me I could die first — that you'd be here for me 'til the end. Do you remember that?” She was beginning to wheeze. “Fuck this apocalyptic shit Jon. I wasn’t supposed to be the one left all alone. It isn’t right. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do now. Just fuck it.”
She fell back into the soft snow and squinted up. Then she covered her eyes with her arm and began to sob. “We had plans… so many plans. We were just getting started.”
The sun radiated down on her in soothing waves and she wanted to stay there, it was the only comfort she had felt for a long time. She took a deep breath, spread out her arms and legs, and made an angel in the snow. Then she turned her head and gazed at Jon. “Nobody knows me like you do.”
The cold was going through her coat. She began to pull him again, inch by inch, until finally reaching the maple tree in the corner by the back fence, where sitting down on top of the wood pile she waited to catch her breath. It was peaceful there — though the sight of so many dead birds peppering the snow near the trees was like a cruel fist crushing her heart.
She knelt beside him finally, pulled the blanket back and peered at his handsome face. With her palm on his cheek she began to whisper.
“I sense we're not alone Jon. That’s how I feel right now, even though I can't explain it. I know, you would laugh at me, if you could. But things have changed in a way you will never know.”
She turned behind her to the provincial forest on the other side of the fence and gazed through the trees, searching; it had been a conservation area and a sanctuary for the animals. Then she stood and looked all around her as far as she could see.
“This stillness is unbelievable. Even the animals Jon. I don’t know how I’m going to deal with this.”
She knelt down again.
“Bless you sweetheart. I’ll love you forever and… I suspect I’ll be joining you soon.”
She pulled a small jewelry box from her pocket, opened it, and held a locket in her fingers. Inside she had placed a picture of the two of them together. She slid off her wedding band and put it in the box as well. Then she tucked the package over his heart and wrapped the blanket securely around him again, covering his face.
“Don’t you laugh at my sentimentality Jon — under the circumstances, it really isn’t funny.”
Chapter Five
As the Crow Flies
(January 15th, Year One, PA)
Kate trudged through the shallower, knee-high drifts wherever possible, aware of the trickle of melting snow streaming into the gutters, the handle of a hammer sticking out of her coat pocket. She pushed across her front yard and up the curving steps to Wendy’s garden, finally jiggling the latch to her neighbour’s front door. Then she pulled out her hammer and shattered the glass.
It seemed extraordinarily hot in there; a horrible stench hit her immediately, and she backed out onto the porch, gasping, and coughing a hacking cough. Holding her coat collar up to her nose, she re-entered, devastated that her friend was on the floor close to the entranceway. The gas fireplace was still burning.
“Oh Wendy,” she cried. “Somehow, out of everyone — I thought you might have survived this.”
Stepping around the body she proceeded to the kitchen and opened the fridge. There was jam, almond butter, cranberry juice, a package of processed cheese slices, carrots, onions, and potatoes; everything else was not worth the risk. She laid the items out on the counter and began to search the cupboards, selecting canned beans, instant soup, salsa, and an assortment of crackers, cookies and chips.
While packing the food into bags, a sudden clang of metal left her standing still, trying to figure out what it was; it had come from another room, not too far away. Then, after a second abrupt twang, she slowly pulled a knife out of the cutlery drawer.
Kate was not small in stature, almost as tall as Jon — who had not only trained her in self-defence, he’d been fairly impressed by the manoeuvres she’d proven worked on him. But, in her sapped condition and a gazillion unknowns still t
o be resolved she regretted even leaving the house.
Dashing past Wendy to the entranceway, she was nearly out on the porch when a disparaging peep stopped her in her tracks. She sighed with relief and gazed across the room. How could she have forgotten? Keeping the knife just in case, she crept around the corner past Wendy’s bedroom and peered into the office doorway at the end of the hallway.
“Oh God… you’ve got no food or water,” she exclaimed, gaping into the tall cage that was sitting on top of a table. “Where has my mind been?” Two sparsely feather cockatiels, one white and one grey, stared at her with eyes that bulged in desperation. She promptly opened their door and they staggered out onto the table.
She put water down for them immediately, and while they drank, poured out a generous amount of their seed mixture. “As soon as the weather permits, the three of us are heading south, my friends — and not stopping until it’s warm! Not until we are on the beach and under the sun. What do you think about that, eh? As the crow flies my friends.”
As the two of them dug into their food, she regarded them thoughtfully. “I’ve got a load of groceries to drop off — but I’ll be back for you soon, okay?”
As she turned the corner they both peeped.
“I’m glad I found you too,” she called back to them. Then, thumbtacking two sheets of cardboard over the broken window to help keep in the heat, she finally went back for her groceries, throwing in a couple of candy bars Wendy had stashed in a drawer.
Chapter Six
The Phone Call
(January 15th to 16th, Year One, AP)
When Kate finally stepped inside with her four bags, she went straight to the fridge and cleared it out, filling a giant bowl with snow from the backyard and sliding it onto the top rack, with her food all around it. But by then, the wind had begun to pick up outside and the temperature was rapidly dropping. Cold drafts puffed in through the cracks around the windows and doors, and she wished they’d had a chance to finish their renovating. The kitchen was already freezing.
She left the other packages on the counter, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion — feeling so terrible, in fact, that she worried about the threat of a relapse. After building up the fire and falling into her chair, she nibbled at a candy bar, hoping it would restore some energy; but her stomach was queasy, her neck glands swollen and it hurt to move. Eventually she shivered, wrapped in blankets by the blaze, her cough growing increasingly painful and she was certain the fever had returned.
She drifted into a fitful night, consumed by a troubling dream that lasted until dawn: some poor child needing to be rescued, pleading and urging her to help him — but trapped in the snow, as much as she wanted to — there was nothing she could do. By morning her wavering spirits had completely plummeted.
It must have been guilt over not bringing the cockatiels home last night, she decided, while struggling to get down some breakfast. But, she was certain they’d be fine for a while, and her returning illness was of far more concern. It was her own fault for pushing herself before she was ready — though she was out of food. But she hadn’t even taken a proper bath and that couldn’t be good for her health.
She slogged to the back of the yard, coughing pathetically. At the woodpile she sat for a while, resting, though it was unpleasantly nippy without a hint of sun. “I’ll dig a proper grave in the spring my darling Jon. I promise.” Then, trudging over to the shed, she dug out a bath-sized container, threw some logs into it and hauled her load back to the house.
When steam began to rise from the stockpot, she carefully slid it from the rack over the fire onto the hearth. After adding more water to make it a comfortable temperature, she removed her clothes and stood in front of the crackling heat, gasping at the dense, crusty bumps all over her and at her protruding bones — shocked to discover how emaciated she’d become.
Fighting tears, she sat down in the container, filled a plastic jug and drizzled the warm water over her head. She lathered her long dark hair and then her body with shampoo, wiping off the excess foam. Shivering, she rinsed with the last of the water. Then, swathed in towels, she sat on the hearth sobbing, while the heat radiated over her.
Finally, she shuffled to the bathroom. Her scalp was also encrusted with scabs and her hair impossibly tangled. She snipped a long, reddish-brown strand close to her scalp, continuing all the way around and then running her fingers through the inch that was left, blowing out a huge sigh. On his side of their closet, she found Jon’s flannel shirt, slipped it over her pajamas and fell into bed under a heap of covers.
She flushed brownish pee down the toilet and looked in the mirror. With her short hair and the bruises around her eyes she reminded herself of a raccoon. She zipped up a sweater, pulled on a winter hat and dragged her scrawny body to the front window.
Still no signs of life anywhere.
No fresh tracks in the snow, no cars arriving or departing, no hovering spaceships in the sky. Nothing, and everything, had changed. She was cold. And she would have to go out to the woodpile again.
But, while preparing for her trek to the back of the yard, just as she was about to open the back door, she could barely believe it — her cellphone was ringing and she had no idea where she’d left it!
“Oh my God!”
She raced around the kitchen. The sound came from the chair beneath the table — it had fallen behind a stack of Jon's magazines. She fumbled frantically to answer it in time.
“Hello?” she gasped.
There was soft, rapid breathing.
“Who is this?”
Whoever was on the other end of the line was panting weakly but didn’t speak after prompting them several times. She wondered if they could hear her.
“Dad? Is that you?”
What if he'd suffered a stroke?
“I can hear you breathing,” she shouted.
It was a miracle the phone had any power left, since it had been days since she’d thought to take it to the car to be recharged.
“Listen, I’m afraid we’re going to get cut off in a minute. Can’t you tell me who I’m talking to? I’m snowed in here… but at least let me know who you are.”
She sat down and took a deep breath.
“Look, I don’t know if you know me. But assuming that you do, well, you need to know that… I’m afraid Jon has passed away.”
Kate waited until she could hear the breathing again.
“I’m the only survivor in the entire town as far as I can tell. The roads are not plowed here. Oh, God… you’re the only one that’s called! I’ve tried so many numbers. So I know what you are going through, okay? You just have to hang in there for a while longer. Until people come looking for us. Can you tell me where you are?”
The person could be dying as she spoke. They were obviously in a terrible condition not to be able to talk.
“You know what, I’ve been extremely sick too… but I’m getting better, and, if you made it this far, I know you will too — I’m sure of it. Anyway, as soon as the snow melts I plan to check on everyone I know.”
The breathing changed, suddenly erratic, with soft inward gasps, like quiet sobbing. Her heart was breaking.
“I'm so sorry. Are you all alone like me? I hope it wasn't so bad for you. I phoned everyone that I know. No-one answered. Maybe you still have power? I have nothing here. It’s cold, but I’m managing. Hang in there, okay?”
She suddenly realized the breathing had the quality of that from a young child. “Can you tap your finger on the phone like this hon? Once for yes and twice for no. See?”
Immediately there were half a dozen taps.
“Oh my God, yes! Now listen. One is for yes, two, is for no. Okay?”
She waited.
“Tap once if you can hear me honey.”
There was one tap.
“Perfect! Now listen carefully. Do I know you?”
Kate heard two taps.
“No?”
Two taps.
“Okay
then… do you live close to me?”
Kate heard two taps.
“So is it just a fluke you dialled this number?”
Two taps.
“No? Then how… oh never mind. Um, how old are you?”
Seven slow taps.
“You’re seven years old?”
One tap.
“Oh… I'm so glad you phoned me! I’m going to do my best to find you sweetie, do you understand? I promise. As soon as I can. Isn’t there anyone else around — like your mom or dad?”
The breathing quickened and immediately regretting having upset them, she said, “I’m so sorry sweetie. You are all alone, aren’t you?”
One tap.
“Listen honey… you have to be very brave. Where do you live sweetheart, in Canada?”
Two taps.
“No? Oh… That’s where I am. Um, what about the US?
One tap.
“You know what? I’m in Canada, but don’t worry sweetie. I can drive down to you. As soon as this snow melts then I can come for you. Is that okay?”
One tap.
“All right. Are you looking after yourself? Is the weather warm where you are?”
One tap.
“Good. Do you have enough food and water?”
One tap.
“So where do you live honey?”
No taps.
“Oh sorry. What about Florida?”
No taps.
“Sweetie, do you live… Hello?”
Softened light sifted through the thick layer of white covering the windshield. The engine turned and a frosty blast emanated from the vents. Static blared from the speakers; lack of communication from such a dependable medium was beyond depressing. She shut the radio off and directed the air away from her.
After plugging in her cell she immediately checked the incoming call history. At least the area code would help her narrow it down. She called the number, checking the gas gauge as she waited. There was exactly half a tank.