“That’s the way I see it.” He began tossing shovelfuls of dirt into the grave, finished with the subject.
Steven hid his smile. He’d made a few mistakes in his lifetime, but he’d also done a lot of things right. He’d been a good husband to Laura, a good son to his parents, even a good employee at Kansas Electric. He could be proud of most of his life’s work, but raising Jeffrey to be the young man standing before him today was by far his finest accomplishment.
###
Freshly bathed an hour later, Steven and Jeffrey sat at their kitchen table. The candlelight created a warm coziness and Steven noticed the way it illuminated the pleasing contours of Natalie Evans’ lovely face. Jeffrey’s puppy-dog eyes indicated similar thoughts about Brittany, who was a carbon copy of her mom. A steaming bowl of new potatoes, green beans, and smoked pork sat in the middle of the farmhouse style table. Steven had covered it with Laura’s best lace tablecloth, a wedding gift from her mother. It was used for special occasions and he knew that Laura would approve of its use now; she’d always been pragmatic. The thought of his wife evoked a momentary stab of pain, but he banished it. As Jeffrey said, we have to live in the present.
“Steven, I’m so impressed. You’re saying all this wonderful food was home canned? Even the ham? I didn’t know canning meat at home was even safe. I think I read something about botulism being an issue.” Natalie’s voice had a delightful raspy quality that suited her smoky gray eyes and long, dark hair.
“That’s a common misconception which stems from the practice of using the water bath method for preserving all types of food. Water bath canning only raises the internal temperature of the food to 212 degrees — the temperature of boiling water — which is not hot enough to kill clostridium botulinum spores. It’s fine to can foods this way if they are high in acid, like fruit, because the acidity is naturally anti-bacterial. Low acid foods, such as meat and most vegetables, including green beans and potatoes,” he indicated the ceramic bowl in the center of the table, “Need some help. Botulism spores are present everywhere — in the dirt, in our food — and are harmless when dormant. The problem occurs in the anaerobic environment of a vacuum-sealed can. That means ‘airless.’ Under these conditions, the spores grow, and in the process they produce a deadly toxin. By heating the food to a temperature of 240 degrees when it’s put in the jar, the spores are destroyed and can never germinate. That temperature can only be achieved by using super-heated steam. Boiling water doesn’t cut it. Thus, the pressure canning.”
Steven felt a pang of embarrassment as he realized his enthusiasm about long-term food storage might not be shared by Natalie.
“I’m sorry for the over explanation. You must think I’m a real dork.”
“No, no. Not at all. I find it all quite interesting. You must have gotten a lot of experience with this canning business when people started panicking over empty grocery store shelves, right?”
“Actually, my interest in disaster preparedness began before the pandemic, but I was mostly just a dabbler back then. I did tons of research while the internet was still working.”
She seemed interested in the subject — one of Steven’s favorites — but he knew he shouldn’t get carried away. Natalie and her daughter didn’t pose a threat, but it wasn’t wise to reveal all the measures he and Jeffrey had taken to assure their safety and survival. Operational Security rules still applied and were more critical now than ever. The location of the root cellar, camouflaged from prying eyes, was the number one reason for OPSEC. People would kill them for a fraction of what was contained there, as illustrated earlier today.
The thousand-gallon underground propane tank that fueled the gas stove was perhaps their second most important secret, since consistent heat for his pressure canner would be crucial in the future. For items requiring less critical temperature control, the fireplace with its adjustable cooking grate worked fine, and as far as anyone knew, was their only heat source. Adding to those treasures was a lengthy list of other assets Steven had procured before the end came, thanks to the heads-up phone call from his sister. He’d bought medicines, firing and non-firing weapons, ammunition, books, a huge variety of vegetable, grain, and fruit seeds, an Aquasana Whole House water purification system in case the well went dry.
And nearly a ton of shelf-stable food.
On top of all the canned goods, he had amassed hundreds of pounds of rice, legumes, quinoa, pasta, spices, salt, sugar, oats, and winter wheat — all placed in Mylar metal bags with oxygen absorbing packets, heat sealed, and stored under perfect conditions in the cool, sunless, dry cellar. It could last for decades.
“I do know what anaerobic means, by the way,” Natalie said with a wink. “I have my masters in English Lit, a subject which is not appreciated nor embraced by my offspring.” She gestured to her daughter who was busy exchanging smitten glances with Jeffrey across the dinner table.
“I’m sure she has other interests, right Brittany? What did you like to do in your old life? Soccer? Photography? Painting?”
Natalie laughed. “I wish. Brittany’s previous life included lots of shopping at the mall, drooling over celebrities, and texting all her girlfriends about said mall and said celebrities.”
Steven raised an eyebrow, curious now about the dynamic between mother and daughter.
Brittany gave her mother an exaggerated eye roll and smiled at Jeffrey’s father.
“I love taking walks at sunset. Now that there’s no television and my iPhone doesn’t work, it’s my favorite thing to do. Sometimes mom won’t let me go because she worries about ‘marauding gangs of rapists,’ but I’m fourteen now, and I know how to be careful.”
Brittany shifted her dazzling smile from Steven to Jeffrey, who almost spilled his water glass. She was a pretty girl, and Steven marveled again at the stroke of luck that females such as these were among the survivors.
“Oh and I play the piano when I’m totally bored. Mom wishes I’d play more often but I have to be in the right mood, you know?”
Her mother assumed a world-weary expression and gave a dramatic sigh.
“Yes, the girl is practically a musical prodigy but unfortunately for me, while she has talent to spare, her ambition and desire are sadly lacking. Ironic, huh, Steven? Well, I guess it doesn’t matter now, anyway. Flawlessly playing Rachmaninoff’s Concerto Number 3 in D minor is not a talent that will serve either of us well in this new world.”
Steven noticed both females had helped themselves to seconds of the green beans. Their manners were impeccable, but they’d been discreetly shoveling in the meal as fast as possible. He wondered about their provisions. He couldn’t imagine anyone having the foresight to fill an entire root cellar with shelf stable food as he had done. If they’d started a vegetable garden, it was unlikely to be producing at this point if they’d waited too long after Chicxulub to do so.
Steven had just harvested his first crop of fall produce: cauliflower, kale, carrots, and cabbage. The pumpkins and butternut squash would be ready soon, perhaps before the end of the month. He hadn’t anticipated feeding anyone other than his family, but could he let other folks starve when they had so much? People like Natalie and Brittany? Doubling the number of mouths to feed would put a huge dent in his plans for canning much of his harvest and refilling those jars that he and Jeff had emptied during the past year. It was October in Kansas, which meant the first snow could arrive within weeks. They would need plenty of food to get through the winter, when temperatures dipped below zero and blizzards could be expected at least once or twice before April. He’d been focused on the future needs of just the two of them, planning expansions to their garden, perhaps adding livestock in the spring. Other than Julia, he’d never considered feeding other people. Was that about to change? Would providing for these two be taking food out of the mouth of his son?
His logical brain said yes, but his conscience told it to shut the hell up. He’d never knowingly let decent people go hungry.
A wave
of relief washed over him, having reached a decision on an ethical issue which may not even come to pass. But as he watched Brittany reach for another helping of potatoes, he realized it very well might.
“That reminds me, I must thank you again for the use of your well. I don’t know what we’d have done without fresh water all these months — our cases of bottled water ran out a long time ago, even though I thought I did a good job of stockpiling back then.”
It was Steven’s turn to narrowly avoid a water glass incident when Brittany’s mother turned the full force of her smile on him. Yes, she was a damn beautiful woman, no doubt about it. Steven could tell she’d taken extra care with her appearance. Her cotton dress was clean and she’d even applied some lipstick. Who wore makeup these days? Did it mean something or was she just happy to have company other than her daughter?
“It’s my pleasure. I only wish my system could do more than run the well pump and the refrigerator, but I bet we’re the only house in Kansas with ice tonight.”
“I think a toast is in order,” she said, raising her glass of pinot noir, her contribution to the dinner. “May your plate be filled, your heart light, your laughter genuine, and your ice cubes frozen!”
The crystal glasses made a delicate clink when they came together. Steven took a healthy swallow and noticed her eyes stayed on him seconds longer than a polite toast required. Warmth flooded his cheeks, and judging by her feline smile, Natalie had seen his blush.
Chapter 13
Near Prescott, Arizona
“Maddie, is that really you?”
Pablo struggled to accept the reality before him, despite his brain’s assertion that it couldn’t be true. Maddie had died...seven months ago in the parking lot of a Walgreens on Highway 6. Now, she was on her knees twenty feet in front of him, the flashlight’s beam illuminating her thin face and the filthy hand that clutched her hair. The man’s other hand held a hunting knife at her throat; the point had pierced the delicate skin enough to draw blood.
Pablo’s gaze fixed on the blood, mesmerized by what it conveyed. Maddie was alive. She was here, right before him. How was that possible? His eyes traveled up to the brute that held her captive.
How she had risen from the dead was a matter that would have to wait. He dropped the shotgun and raised both arms into the air.
“Okay, okay. Let’s just stay calm.”
“Fuckin’ straight, we’re gonna stay calm. Right, girlie?” He emphasized the words with a rough pull of Maddie’s tangled hair.
She groaned.
The man could have been an outlaw extra in a cheesy western. Every inch of him was covered in filth and what teeth remained in the grotesque smile were brown and jagged. A mere twelve months of hardship wouldn’t have created this nightmare. He was the most revolting person Pablo had ever seen.
And he’d captured and enslaved the woman he loved.
Pablo felt the same outrage he’d felt before fleeing Prescott. Miscreants, organized into gangs, paraded their captives and their weapons almost every evening in the square as a way of advertising their prowess to any would-be usurpers. They owned the town — that was their message. Pablo was only one man and he’d recognized the futility of fighting their numbers and their depravity. Something in him, a fragment of his soul perhaps, had been lost when he turned his back on their helpless victims and headed for the relative safety of the desert.
Now, finally, here was a fair fight and perhaps a chance to redeem himself in a small way. Even if the man’s victim had been a stranger, he knew he would still feel the same way.
“Please, let her go. I have food. I’ll give it to you, if you’ll just let her go.”
“Oh, I want a lot more than that. I want everything you got...that little cabin, all your supplies, and that Jeep you got parked next to the road. It’s all mine.”
“Whatever you want. Just let the girl go. Please.” He continued to take small, slow steps.
“Well, ya see, that ain’t part of my plan, amigo. I get to keep her too. She’s a sweet little piece, I’ll tell ya that. Oh man, I ain’t never had sweeter. Tightest little pussy I ever felt.”
Maddie’s dilated eyes locked onto Pablo’s and he could see the truth of the words on her face.
Oh dear god. That thing has violated her.
A red haze clouded his vision. Still, he managed to keep his movements measured, even when rage demanded a rash and violent response.
“Yep, that scream of hers was part of the plan. I lured you out here so I could get you away from whatever stash of weapons you got in that shack. Improvin’ my odds, get it? You fell for it too, ya jackass.”
“So what now? Clearly, you don’t intend to kill her. What’s to keep me from rushing you?”
Keeping the knife pressed against Maddie’s neck, the man let go of her hair and withdrew an ancient revolver from the pocket of his ragged jacket.
“I reckon this will.”
A grimy thumb pulled back the revolver’s hammer at the same moment Pablo whistled: two sharp notes echoed in the desert air.
There was a flash of fur from the right. The next moment gleaming fangs ripped into the man’s forearm and powerful jaws locked onto the arm which held the gun. Pablo sprang toward them.
The man had released Maddie in his need to fend off the dog, but he managed to hold on to both the knife and the pistol in the process. The German shepherd jerked and tugged, neutralizing any threat of a well-aimed shot.
The man fired anyway. The bullet slammed into a cactus ten feet away. He raised the hunting knife; the blade began a downward arc toward Bruno’s vulnerable chest.
Suddenly the rheumy eyes opened wide. The knife fell, dropping harmlessly to the ground. The man crumpled to his knees. Canine fangs still gripped his arm, but went unnoticed now.
Behind him stood Maddie, holding a six-inch glass shard in a bleeding hand. Her second thrust went into the base of his neck. The man toppled the rest of the way to the ground.
Pablo came to a halt five feet away, stunned. The gentlest, kindest human being he’d ever known, had rolled her captor onto his back and was plunging the shard into the still-moving chest. After a half dozen stabs, the glass blade shifted to the genitals.
Finally she stopped. A sob escaped her and she collapsed next to the body of a dead man.
###
Pablo watched Maddie sleep. After the longest night of his life, the sun had risen, blanketing the desert and her delicate features in golden warmth. When they’d arrived at the cabin, she had allowed him to wash and bandage the deep gash in her hand, but nothing else. She flinched when he wrapped his mother’s colorful sarape around her shoulders, which told him he must respect her need for physical space. God only knew what she’d been through these past months, and he might not know for a while — she hadn’t uttered a single word so far.
He tried to get her to lie down on his pallet, but she shook her head. Instead, she sat on the ground by the fire pit and stared into the flames. Within minutes, her eyelids began to droop and she slid down onto her side, the tangled mess of hair coming to rest in the crook of a bony elbow.
Bruno left his spot at Pablo’s feet and trotted over to Maddie’s sleeping form. He sniffed her hair and her bandaged hand then curled up next to her. He didn’t lower his head to doze; the alert brown eyes gazed into the desert while the canine brain analyzed all the information transmitted to it by the sensitive black nose.
Maddie was back with her two protectors again. Judging by her condition — half-starved, bruised and battered — she needed all the protection she could get. He couldn’t imagine what she had been through. Even more curious was how she could be alive at all. He reached for his notebook and flipped back through many ink-filled pages.
Pablo’s Journal, Entry #76
Tomorrow, we have decided to make a run south down Highway 89 toward the national forest. We’ve tried going north, but there’s little in that direction other than death and empty food shelves. Even though i
t’s winter, a warm front has swept through, ushering in temperatures in the seventies. Still, we must keep the windows of the Jeep rolled up as we drive through areas where people once lived; otherwise, the smell of human decay wafts in like an invisible, viscous fog of finality. It is unnatural and unprecedented, this abrupt demise of humankind. I often contemplate explanations for this atrocity, but I suspect I shall never have the answer. The plague raged through my city, my country, my planet, with the wrath of an Old Testament god. For some reason I was spared, but why? Maybe it is not for me to know, and perhaps that is the price I must pay for my life: to never know the answers.
At least there is Maddie. It is wonderful to have the companionship of another person. How fortuitous that she is as sweet and kind as she is lovely. I wonder if our friendship will blossom into something more...I admit to having entertained more than a few romantic thoughts...but I won’t press the issue. If she finds me as pleasing as I find her, then it will happen when she’s ready. In the meantime, I will enjoy her company and the sudden flash of her playful smile which warms my heart more fully than a perfect summer day.
I love to watch her work out the logistics of our continued survival and comfort. She scans our provisions and in seconds she knows how many days it will last, down to the final calorie of food and ounce of water. It seems she has a calculator in that enchanting head. I think we are well-suited for each other in times such as these; our strengths and weaknesses are balanced and in accord. When Bruno found her hiding in the closet of her parents’ house three weeks ago, it was an auspicious day for both of us. She was relieved and thankful that I was not a member of the gangs that have been vexing the city of late. And I was delighted to assume the role of protector; my best friend took to her immediately, which is not his normal nature. In a short time, we have become quite the happy little family unit.
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