by Toni Cox
Chapter 8
Morgan’s company is doing wonders for my spirit. My body is healing well, and I am soon in full project management mode, thinking up ways to make the most of the summer rains.
Makro sells Jo-Jo tanks, but I won’t be able to get the huge drums into the truck by myself, so they are out of the question. My next option is smaller water containers.
There is a plastic shop at Meadowdale Mall, my go-to place; it does have almost everything I need. I help Morgan into the truck, and we take a drive down there.
As usual, the lot is empty, except for birds. I am used to the emptiness now, and it doesn’t creep me out as much, but I don’t let down my guard. Whatever noises I heard that night at Makro is still out there.
I back the truck up to the shop and, switching on my headlamp, enter through the broken door. The glass crunches beneath my CATs and I worry about Morgan’s paws.
“Stay,” I order him. “I’ll be right back.”
He sits, watching me as disappear into the darkness.
As I thought, the shop is stocked with 50L, 20L, 10L, and 5L containers, and I make numerous trips to the truck until the shelves are empty. They stock Milton, too, which is used to sterilise baby bottles, but I know it can be used to make water safe for drinking if used in small doses. I grab a few bottles before I leave the shop.
My next stop is the hardware store across the parking lot. Morgan runs next to the truck as I drive there. The doors to Cash Build are closed and locked, and it takes some effort to break in.
It makes me wonder, though, about the broken doors of the plastic shop. I haven’t been in there before, so why would the doors be broken?
Suddenly feeling apprehensive, I hurry to get what I need.
“Come, Morgan, let’s get out of here.”
I don’t know why the thought that there could be someone else around frightens me. It should make me happy. My forehead creases in thought as I drive home, evaluating my emotions.
As I turn into Kloof Road, I see a pack of dogs running along the road. I slow the truck, hoping they’ll pass my house and ignore my presence.
There are five of them; various breeds; all dirty and tattered. One of them glances back at the noise behind them and stops. The rest follow suit.
“Dammit.”
Morgan looks up at the sound of my voice and sees the dogs. He barks; of course, he would. I flinch.
The pack runs towards the truck, barking, snarling. Morgan goes mad inside the cabin, his spittle flying everywhere as he snaps at the windows.
The truck is high, and the dogs can’t harm us, but my pulse is racing as the mutts jump up on the doors, their nails screeching on the metal, leaving trails of saliva on the windows.
There is no way I can pull the truck into the driveway without the pack following me in. My only option is to drive away and hope they follow, lead them away.
Morgan is still going ballistic as I speed up. The dogs now run next to the truck, barking, snapping at the tyres. The house flits by, and the dogs still follow. I keep to a steady pace, afraid to lose them if I drive too fast.
Only when I get to Van Buuren Road, do I speed up and watch the dogs fall back in my rear-view mirror. I’m about to turn the corner near the police station when I cast one last glance into the mirror to see if they are still following and I think I see a person running along the street after me.
I hit the brakes and stick my head out of the window to look back. Whoever was there is now engulfed in a pack of dogs, and I can hear the screams from here. Morgan is barking beside me, but his bark is as plaintive as the sob that wells up from deep inside my chest.
“I killed him, Morgan. I led them right to him.”
Morgan tilts his head, his pointy ears alert, watching me. I hug him, burying my face in his thick fur. He lets me, sitting still until I have cried myself out. I don’t know what I would do without him.
I have a new routine now. In the mornings, I work in the yard, setting up a network of pipes to fill the containers I have lined up against the wall of the house. I also tend to the vegetables growing in the garden, of which I am quite proud.
In the afternoons, I take the Range Rover and drive around. Where there was one, there could be more. I am not going to give up.
Nights I spend inside, making alterations. My parents’ house is one of the safest I know, with these fancy clear-bar burglar bars on all the windows, and metal gates in front of all the doors.
There is the basement, which has a metal door that can lock from the inside. My father once jokingly called it the panic room. From there, I have control over almost all the electronics of the house.
I minimise my energy consumption by disconnecting all appliances I do not use; they just put a strain on the batteries, and my solar power is all I have to rely on.
There is much I don’t know about surviving by myself, but I do the best I can for now. I do wish I had the Internet, so I could Google what to do when one of the batteries fail, or how to set a broken bone, or how to fix the Rover if it breaks.
On my next trip around the neighbourhood, I stop at the library along Hawley Road. I have to pass the restaurant with the dead couple, but they are no longer there. I wonder what happened to them.
The library is dark inside, and it takes me forever to find what I am looking for. I haven’t been to the library since I was a kid and the smell of books brings back some nostalgia.
I finally find the reference section and pile the librarian’s trolley with books ranging from mechanics to self-sufficient farming. There are medical books, too, including veterinary science, and they end up on the trolley as well.
Satisfied with my selection, I pack everything into the SUV and drive back. At the crossroad by the restaurant, I remember there is a Spar supermarket down the road, and turn right. I may as well stock up on some supplies while I am out.
When Morgan and I get out of the car, I know immediately that something is wrong by the way the hairs on the back of his neck stand erect, and his tail points stiffly backwards.
“What is it, Morgan?” I whisper.
He growls, low, and moves towards the entrance of the supermarket. I draw the 9mm and follow.
Standing in the entrance - the doors are wide open - I listen to the sounds within. It’s faint, but I am sure that is the sound of someone pushing a trolley, and of cans landing inside of it. Someone is here shopping.
“Hello,” I call, and the noises suddenly cease.
Aurora Rose. Of all the people to survive the Apocalypse, it has to be the bitchy tart from college. I don’t believe my eyes when she emerges from one of the aisles, pointing a gun at me.
“Tell your dog to calm down, or I will shoot him.”
I see she hasn’t lost her touch.
“Shh, Morgan.” I kneel and put my arm around his neck.
“What are you doing here? This is our shop. This food belongs to us. Go find your own.”
My mind is racing. There are more? How many of them are there? Where have they been all this time?
“Please,” I say, “you’re the first person I’ve seen since it happened. I’m not trying to steal anything from you.”
“No? Then what are you doing here?” She points towards me with her chin. “I see you got yourself a gun, too. Expecting trouble?”
“It’s for the dogs,” I say.
“Sure,” she sneers, “I can see the trouble you have with the dogs. I bet it was you that led those bloody rabid mutts down to us and got Garth killed, wasn’t it?”
“Garth,” I whisper.
“Ah, so it was you. Maybe I should put a bullet in your brain right now.”
She takes a step closer, and Morgan snarls. She hesitates.
“I mean no harm,” I say, standing up, holding Morgan by the scruff of his neck. “I am leaving now. You won’t see me again.”
I turn my back on her and walk away as calmly as I can. Something about the way she hesitated makes me think she has no
bullets in her weapon. I hope to God I am right.
“You won’t get away that easily,” she yells after me. “Don’t you come back here.”
It makes no sense.
Morgan still growls when I turn the key and drive out of the parking lot. My hands are shaking, and I grip the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles white.
“What was that all about?” I ask Morgan once we’re back in the safety of our yard, with the gate firmly closed behind us. “You’d think sticking together is the best option for us now. I wonder who she’s with.”
Finding someone, and them not wanting me, is almost as bad as being alone. I would never have thought a rejection by Aurora Rose could sting this much. Am I doomed to live this life forever? How many survivors are out there?
I curl up on my bed with Morgan by my feet and decide to forget about everything until the morning. I have come to recognise the signs when my mind wanders into the dark abyss of doom and gloom, and the only way to prevent days of crippling depression is a total shutdown before it happens.
By morning, my mind is made up. I will seek them out, but on my terms. Somewhere along North Rand Road is a shop that sells tactical gear and second-hand army stuff. That’s where I am heading.
It takes me the entire morning to find it, but I eventually do. No one has been here, which is a relief. Breaking in is difficult, as the shop has roller shutter doors. Wedging the crowbar underneath them, I manage to lift it enough for Morgan and me to crawl inside.
Once in, I switch on my flashlight and look around. I’m a little overwhelmed by all the products and my insufficient knowledge on how to use them, but I grab whatever I think I may need.
Definitely the bulletproof vests. I take a gas mask; you never know. They have ration packs; they are probably disgusting, but may come in handy at some point. There are knives, medical packs, flashlights, army jackets, rope … I stuff everything into one of those green army bags.
As I move back towards the door, my light shines on a mannequin in the corner. She is wearing a black uniform; leather-like; with added elbow and shoulder protection.
On a whim, I go over and undress her. Morgan watches me with interest. Stuffing the uniform into the haversack, I push it under the door ahead of me.
The others won’t catch me off guard again. I will be armed and protected. I’m still harbouring the hope that they will negotiate, but, if they won’t, at least I can defend myself.
I take a slow drive back home, scanning the streets as I usually do, looking for signs of life. We’re almost back at the highway, when Morgan barks, giving me a fright.
“What?”
He yelps, excitedly, staring straight ahead. I squint, unsure of what I’m looking at. Are those horses?
Morgan whines as we drive closer. My heartbeat accelerates as my mind recognises the figure sitting atop the chestnut mare. Bronwyn turns around at the sound of the engine, and I stick my hand out of the car to wave.
With Button and Oliver tied to the Rover, and Morgan watching them intently, Bronwyn and I hug. She is terribly thin, shaking, and frightened.
“I got you now,” I tell her as she sobs into my shoulder.
“I tried to save them, Erika. I tried. I did. They’re all dead. All of them.”
“Shh, I know. You can tell me everything once I get you home, okay? We will be safe there. Button and Oliver, too. I have space for them.”
“You do?” She hiccups.
“Come, ride with me in the car. We’ll drive slowly, and the horses can walk behind. Morgan can herd them.”
“Okay.”
I get Bronwyn into the Rover, and I see her relax once the doors are closed to the outside world. She’s a tough one, having grown up on a farm, so I can’t imagine the horrors she must have gone through to be this frightened.
“What happened?” I finally ask as we move off down the road at walking speed. “How did you get here?”
“I didn’t know where else to go. I tried to stay at home, but the animals …” She broke off, anguish on her face.
“What animals? The other horses?”
She shakes her head. “The dogs. And the jackals.” She shudders. “There is something else out there, too, and it’s killed all the other horses. If I hadn’t left with Button and Oliver, it would have gotten us, too.”
“Oh, Bronwyn.” I reach over and touch her hand. “What do you think it could be?”
“I don’t know. It’s big. Bigger than a dog.”
Is there a game reserve nearby that might have had lions? I can’t recall. What else could be out there, big enough to kill a horse? I do know how vicious the dogs have become, though, and that’s enough to frighten anyone.
It’s a long drive home with the horses tied to the back of the SUV, but it is relaxing, and Bronwyn soon laughs at my jokes and oohs and aahs at my stories.
The horses are a bit skittish going through the low entrance of the driveway, but Morgan herds them from behind, and they go in. I undo their tethers and set them free in the garden. It only takes a moment for them to look around before they put their heads down and help me mow the lawn.
Chapter 9
It feels good to have Bronwyn at home with me. She is hungry, and I cook us dinner while she takes a shower. She is amazed at my running, warm water.
“How did you do all of this?” she asks between mouthfuls once the food is ready.
“My dad set the house up so it could run independently from the country’s power cuts. All I had to do was switch it over from mains to solar. No biggie.”
She grins.
“There is enough food and water here for the both of us, but we will need to find a way to feed the horses. How have you been feeding them?”
“There was food at the stables. While we rode, they just grazed along the side of the road.”
The only feed shop I can think of is back in Boksburg. Sighing, I resign myself to the fact that we’ll have to go back there tomorrow. We’ll take the truck.
“Have you seen any others around?” I ask her once we’re finished eating.
“Only dead ones.” There’s a blank look in her eyes.
“I’ve seen a few of those, myself. Buried my parents.”
She nods, and I know she did the same for her mother.
“I saw Aurora Rose yesterday.”
Bronwyn looks up. “What? Where is she?”
“The end of the world has not changed who she is. Still as bitchy as ever. Wants nothing to do with me. Even threatened me with a gun. Apparently, she is with a group of others, and I don’t think they want to share what’s left of the world.”
“That’s stupid.”
“I was going to look for them to talk some sense into them. That’s why I was in Boksburg. I was getting equipment.”
“You think they are dangerous?”
“I’m not leaving it to chance. But, now that you’re here, finding them isn’t urgent. Let’s get food for the horses first and get you settled in here. We can think about the others later.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She grins at me; that big, goofy smile I’m used to.
Getting the horse feed is easy. We take the truck and, with both of us carrying, we manage to load the 20kg bags into the truck, one by one. We even take the dog food.
The shop has saddlery as well, and we kit ourselves out with new riding gear, just because we can. We laugh, and we have fun until Morgan comes running into the shop, barking.
“What is it, boy?”
I’m immediately alert. I know to trust Morgan now and if he says something is wrong, then I better pay attention. We follow him, and he leads us passed cages and enclosures, dead animals in each. They died of either thirst or starvation, and the tears run silently down my face at the sight of their emaciated, shrivelled, and rotten bodies. Thankfully, they don’t stink anymore, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
“I’m sorry, Morgan,” I whisper, hugging him around his neck when he eventually stops at the end of
the line.
“Let’s get out of here,” Bronwyn says.
“Let’s.”
It’s a subdued drive back. All I can think about now is the animals that were locked up in yards, or in houses when all of this happened. If I hadn’t freed Morgan, he would have suffered the same fate.
“Can you imagine what happened to horses that were locked in their stables? And no one came back to feed them,” Bronwyn contemplates.
I don’t want to think about it.
Once inside the house, I switch on the TV. It is a ritual I do every single day, without fail. Seeing the green banner move across the screen keeps my hopes alive that help is still on the way.
I turn around to go to the kitchen, then stop. Something isn’t right.
“What’s wrong,” Bronwyn asks, seeing the look on my face.
“It’s gone, isn’t it?” I ask, not daring to turn back to the TV.
She looks beyond me, frowning. “What?”
I close my eyes for a heartbeat, and then slowly turn to look at the screen. Static. Black and white dots of nothingness. I crumple to the floor, sitting on the steps that lead from the open-plan kitchen to the lounge.
“No one is coming to save us, Bronwyn. The BBC broadcast was the only sign of life from any government I could pick up. Now they’re gone. We’re all alone.”
“Erika,” she kneels beside me, “come on, we’ve made it this far. Don’t give up now.”
She moves my blonde hair out of my eyes, and I look up at her. She’s right, of course. It was a vain hope to think that London would send help to South Africa, but it was what has kept me going all these weeks.
It’s been two months now, and we’re still alive. We have food, shelter, and each other. We have Morgan and the horses. If we can convince the others to join us, we can begin afresh.