Shoot Like a Girl_A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller

by L. L. Akers

  As they passed Grayson and Jake on their way to the house, Gabby called out, “Grayson, we found some of what we were looking for, but we couldn’t find the tampons or ramen noodles.”

  Jake was now taking a turn at the pump, while Grayson stood with his hands on his hips watching. “What? We have some. It was missing out of the totes? Did you dig to the bottom?”

  “No,” Gabby yelled back over her shoulder. “The entire totes were missing.”

  Grayson watched in confusion as they walked away. What did they mean the entire totes were missing? He glanced up to the kitchen window to see his wife standing at the sink, with the window open, looking nervous.

  A sick feeling punched him in the gut, and he turned and jogged to the shipping container, spewing obscenities under his breath.

  14

  The Three E’s

  Edith stood at the kitchen counter in her brightly-flowered muumuu dress and pink bunny slippers, buttering a homemade biscuit. A pot of coffee sat percolating on the antique wood stove, and a plate of cold chicken lay freshly deboned in front of her.

  She intended to make Elmer some of her home-made chicken salad biscuits before the last of his Duke’s Mayonnaise was too far gone to use. Hopefully he’d be home by supper-time.

  A loud rap on the glass window of the door startled her. A glance that way told her nothing; the red-checked curtains were closed.

  Blinking her eyes rapidly, she thought, Is it Wednesday already?

  She wiped her fingertips on the tea-towel tucked into her apron and patted her head, making sure her loose bun was still in place, puttering her way to the door. She fully expected to see Rose, her neighbor, from a few miles down the road. She and Rose normally got together the same day of each week for their ‘book club.’ It only consisted of the two of them, as neither were keen on computers, and no other neighbors lived close enough to join in.

  The book they were reading this month was The Goldfinch, a New York Times Bestseller, which was Rose’s pick. They were nearly three-fourths of the way through it now, and each discussion thus far ended with the two of them mad as wet hens. They fussed about everything from the plot to the chapter length to the style of clothes the characters wore.

  Edith would be happy to finally get through it, and she’d make sure to be the one to pick next month’s read, too. For now, she was severely behind on reading, but maybe she could play it off.

  She wasn’t surprised Rose would make her way here—even in an apocalyptic event—Rose took their little book club seriously. It was the only social time the elderly ladies had.

  Edith straightened her apron and reached for the door knob. “I wasn’t expecting you yet, Rose!” she exclaimed as she pulled the door open wide.

  When her mind caught up with her eyes, she gasped.

  “Howdy, ma’am,” a tall, handsome man—in a bad-boy sort of way—said with a slow drawl and a big smile.

  Edith took his measure. The dark-headed man leaned against the post on the porch wore faded jeans on his narrow hips, topped with a heavy black belt, and a leather vest covered in patches over a rippled tattoo-covered chest. His muscular arms were also covered in ink.

  “Can I help you?” Edith asked, her head swayed with a slight tremor back and forth, as was usual for her at her age. She forced a nervous smile.

  The man smiled back even wider at her. “You sure can, darling.” He tilted his head at her and winked.

  Edith looked over his shoulder to see two more shady-looking men walking around the yard, one of them poking at things and being nosy, the other strolling behind a pig in a purple skirt, tied to a make-shift leash. The second man was huge; at least six-foot five, and probably three-hundred pounds. He looked ridiculous walking the little pig.

  Trunk looked over his shoulder to see what had caught her eye, and laughed. “That’s Smalls walking our pig. Not so small, is he?”

  In astonishment, she looked back at Trunk, blinked rapidly and asked, “Are you…is that…?”

  Ignoring her unfinished questions, he said, “My, my, Grandma. What big eyes you have.”

  He looked past her and sniffed loudly, sticking his nose into the air and slowly weaving his head back and forth, exaggerating the aroma. He stepped into the small farmhouse kitchen, gently pushing Edith aside. “Is that chicken and biscuits I smell?”

  Giving her his back, he strutted over to the food she was lovingly preparing for Elmer. Using his bare, dirty hands, he shoved wads of shredded chicken into his mouth with one hand, between bites of the biscuit he held with the other.

  A rather large handgun stuck out from the small of his back, tucked into his belt.

  Edith stood back, mouth agape, at this man invading her kitchen and eating their food. Her eyes darted out the door to the backyard, noticing one of the men was no longer in sight.

  She put her hand over her fluttering heart.

  Mei’s grave was back there. She wasn’t sure how much trouble she and Elmer could get into for not reporting a death, and especially for handling the burial themselves, but they hadn’t had any choice. With no communication, they weren’t able to reach emergency services. What else were they to do?

  She looked back to the man in her kitchen, and stood up straight—as straight as her turtling back allowed. “Pardon me, young man!”

  He turned and gave her a wink. “Oh? Did you poot?”

  Edith turned red. “No. I mean excuse me…that’s my husband’s supper you’re eating. Can I help you…er…I didn’t catch your name…”

  He tapped a patch on his chest.

  “Trunk. Nice to meet you.”

  He stepped over to stand directly in front of her. She could feel his breath on her face. Looking down his nose at her, her gave her a long stare, and then reached behind his back with one hand.

  Edith’s heart skipped a beat and she grabbed the door for support. Her fingers gripped it tightly as her legs went weak, nearly toppling her onto the floor.

  Truck reached out and firmly grabbed her arm. “Easy there, Grandma.”

  When his other hand came into view, she nearly yelped. But it wasn’t a gun he pulled out. Instead, he slapped a folded map down on the counter. “Seen them?”

  Edith looked at the picture paper-clipped to the map.

  While the ruby-red colored Chevy truck wasn’t a bit familiar… the set of twins standing in front of it were.

  15

  Grayson’s Group

  Grayson angrily flung the notebook across the shipping container where it awkwardly fluttered to the floor. Around him were open totes and buckets, lids all askew. He’d gone through each one, checking and double-checking the contents against his notebook, looking for missing stuff.

  Best he could figure, a good third of their preps weren’t here.

  Just gone.

  His blood boiled.

  For years, he’d tried to the best of his ability not to push this prepping stuff down anyone’s throat. He’d spent countless hours in thought, trying to construct ways to prepare his family without coming across as an all-consumed far-right-winger or an overboard tinfoil hat-wearing conspiracy theorist. He’d tried to make it fun. Or adventurous. He’d tried to make it a family affair, instead of just putting his foot down and telling her they—she—had to do it.

  He’d bitten his tongue so many times with his family, especially his wife. He loved her… He didn’t want to lose her. He didn’t want any fussing or fighting going on over his hobby—as she liked to call it.

  When she’d finally agreed to learn to shoot a gun, he’d done his best to teach her. But it didn’t work. He couldn’t teach her. When she was with him, she was all thumbs. She couldn’t remember basic safety rules. Once, she’d nearly shot him! She limp-wristed the pistol and jammed up her firearms. She tried to put her bullets into the magazines backward. She forgot to put on her ears—and her eyes—at the range. She muzzled him and everyone else. She was actually a hazard at the range; at least with him there.


  They just made each other too nervous. She’d given up and asked his little brother, Dusty, to teach her instead.

  Grayson hadn’t said a word about it, even though it had stung a bit. He was just glad she’d get more training. But she hadn’t been serious about it. She didn’t practice. She didn’t want to shoot. She checked off the minimum number of boxes and said she was done. Now, she seemed even more scared of guns than she was before they’d spent valuable time teaching her.

  She probably didn’t remember a damn thing.

  And the gardening… he’d let her plant whatever she wanted. True, some of the stuff in her Herb Hills—as she called them—could be a benefit, but he could’ve used more help growing real food. If she’d given her efforts to the main garden they’d be in a lot better shape right now than they were. Especially with one-third of their food preps missing.

  Instead, he’d let her putter around in her floppy hat and red gingham-checked apron, tending her herbs, looking like something from a fashion-shoot for the cover of Southern Living Magazine. Meanwhile, he toiled at the big gardens for hours and hours, with sweat creeping down the crack of his ass and his knees nearly giving out.

  He never complained. She was cute in that outfit after all. But he could have used more help.

  Lots of little things about prepping, survival and preparedness would have been easier if Olivia had been on board, instead of quietly bucking him. Her twin sister, Gabby, had jumped in with both feet, doing her own research, watching YouTube videos, joining online prepping groups and really learning how to handle a gun. He kept hoping Olivia would follow in her footsteps; usually they did everything together.

  But it never caught on with Olivia. So, he’d been very careful what he’d asked of her when it came to prepping and preparing…and because of that, she rarely went against him on it.

  Until now.

  This…

  He blew out a breath and looked up at the ceiling. He could feel a vein ticking in his forehead. His tooth-ache also throbbed loudly, reminding him that he couldn’t ignore it forever.

  This was…

  He clenched his jaw and shook his head slowly, from side to side. He couldn’t even begin to imagine where the hell the stuff was. Bottom line: It wasn’t here.

  Pulling back his arm, he hesitated, trying to control himself.

  But then he let go and power-slammed his closed fist into the side of the steel container once.

  And again.

  Pow.

  And again.

  Pow.

  He shook his fist in the air.

  Ouch.

  That hurt.

  But he felt better.

  He rubbed his bloody knuckles, swearing under his breath.

  He’d been right. No one had said it…yet. But they had to know. Why wasn’t anyone speaking up? Just a ‘Hey Grayson, sure am glad you had the foresight to start prepping since there’s no more food or gas to be had anywhere. Thanks SO MUCH for making sure we don’t starve. And thanks for making sure we’d have water. Hot water at that…’

  He shrugged. He didn’t really need anyone to say it. He wasn’t that shallow.

  Just a simple thank you would be nice.

  While he did regret that the grid went down, he did felt a tiny bit vindicated. Finally, there was a real event. One they didn’t know how long would last—maybe forever?—and no one had even heard a murmur from the officials, or the government. Nothing on the radio. No cell phone communications. No knock on the door from the National Guard. No guys riding by in military vehicles with bullhorns screaming, ‘hey, hang in there, the power is coming back on soon…’

  Not a whisper.

  Finally, everything he’d prepared for was here.

  He’d be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t been just a bit excited once the women arrived safely home. He’d thought about it for years and suddenly, just like that, it was here.

  Now the wind was out of his sails.

  After this discovery, he wasn’t as ready as he’d thought he’d be.

  Thanks to his wife.

  With his own family: Graysie and Olivia, that was three mouths to feed. Adding Jake and Gabby made five. If Dusty and Emma returned with Rickey, that made eight. Then he had to add Puck in…he couldn’t let the boy starve, and Gabby’s friends, Tina and Tarra. He wouldn’t turn them away either.

  Eleven people.

  One dog.

  And a donkey.

  Thirteen mouths.

  Not counting the chickens.

  He looked around and sighed.

  Sure, they had plenty right now, even with the loss, but for how long? Just the eleven people were a lot of bellies to fill. Especially with the hard work they’d all be doing to survive, and burning more calories. And Ozzie had to be fed, too.

  At least the dog-food tote was still there. Maybe they’d all have to eat that. And a damn donkey! That just beat all. That was just what he needed when the shit hit the fan. And he had no clue what to do about Jenny—

  “—Grayson?” Olivia whispered, and poked her head through the door of the container.

  Timidly, she walked in, guilt written all over her face.

  Gabby and Jake walked in behind her.

  Emotional support or back-up?

  Olivia looked around at the mess, and then at Grayson’s bloody fist. “What’s wrong?”

  Grayson raised his eyebrows and lowered his head, looking down at the old wood floor, biting his lip.

  Silently, he counted to five.

  Five.

  Olivia wrung her hands.

  Four.

  Her shoulders slowly raised around her ears.

  Three.

  She quickly looked behind her, making sure Gabby and Jake were still nearby.

  Two.

  She blew out a slow breath.

  One.

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  Grayson slowly lifted his head and walked the few steps over to his wife. He took her hands in his. So much smaller…and looked into her shiny eyes.

  He gave her a small smile; very small. “Honey, where is the rest of our food and preps?”

  Olivia sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It was a food drive just a few weeks ago… and we had all this stuff we never used. I… I…I never thought we’d…” She paused and looked around to Gabby, hoping for her support. “I donated it to the church…for the needy.”

  She cringed in anticipation.

  Grayson squeezed her hands gently and nodded his head three times. “Well, news brief. We are now the needy.”

  16

  Grayson’s Group

  Jake finished pouring gas into Ruby, praying under his breath that he was right…that the old mothballs and Seafoam had worked, and that the gas would run in his truck. Gabby stood beside him, for moral support and encouragement.

  The guys had discussed the risk and decided to take a trip to Jake and Gabby’s house to gather any food and supplies that were there. With Olivia’s big screw-up, they just may need it later…not that it would compensate for what she’d given away. They didn’t keep a whole lot, but anything he and Gabby had at the house would help soothe things between Grayson and his wife.

  They were also on a mission to find help for Grayson’s toothache, and Tullymore did have a doctor that lived next door to Tucker.

  Jake screwed the gas lid on. “Let’s give her a try.”

  Gabby stood on her tiptoes and pecked his cheek. “She’s gonna work. Ruby wouldn’t let you down. So, please be careful. Turn around if it’s not safe, but if you get there, the long-term food buckets are just under the house behind the double doors, and don’t forget the two rectangular plastic totes in the back of the closet that say, ‘farm clothes’ on them.”

  At the house, she had two rubber totes full of clothes and shoes, using Spacesaver Vacuum Storage Bags. These bags were great for getting a lot of clothes into a small container, when used with a vacuum to suck all the air out.

  Nearly a
year ago, she’d spent a day shopping at the thrift stores and finding several sets of seasonal clothes on the cheap. For the low price, she’d paid—less than five bucks per outfit—she could pack them away and not have to feel guilty about not wearing it for a long time; maybe never. She’d always known she could borrow her twin sister’s things if ever they had to live at the farm for an extended time, but having a long memory for the feuding over clothes they’d done growing up, she’d prepared the tote to hopefully avoid a repeat of that.

  Her tote contained everything from blue jeans to yoga pants, as well as shorts, shirts, and all manners of underthings. There were also comfort items and winter wear, such as sweatpants, sweatshirts, a coat, gloves, hats, and scarves. As was the way with most women she knew, she had no idea what her size would be if ever she should need them, so she chose stretchy, comfortable, and sometimes baggy things that would work whether she’d gained or lost some weight.

  Under all the clothes were two pairs of sneakers, a pair of flip-flops, and several vacuum-packed bags of feminine products, to include tampons, lotion, and a multi-pack of Burt’s Bees Rejuvenating chap stick—acai berry—her guilty pleasure.

  She’d also packed Jake a tote, buying surplus army pants and shirts, as well as regular clothes and undergarments. It had sweat suits and winter gear, including two sets of expensive Under Armor compression shirts and pants for extra warmth in extreme cold. The only thing Jake wouldn’t have would be extra shoes and boots, so she’d reminded him earlier to look through their closet and grab some from the messy pile he kept there.

  Jake hugged her tight. “I won’t forget anything,” he promised.

  He climbed in, checked that everyone was ready, and turned the key, holding his breath. Gabby stood at his open window, her fingers crossed.