Cost of Survival

by B.R. Paulson

  ***

  The hammer was harder to wield than Bodey made it look. Swinging the tool toward the nail I pinched between my fingers, I flinched. The metal head wasn’t the best target and the hammer glanced off the small surface.

  “Go ahead and hit that sucker hard. It’s never going to go in, if you get scared. You can do this.” Bodey winked at me, his face red and glistening as he struggled under the weight of the plywood board he pushed against the window hole. “Last one to get and then I can help you.” He grunted, pushing harder as the board slipped in his fingers.

  I closed my eyes and slammed the nail with the hammer. Thunk. I opened my eyes and squealed. “I did it!” Grinning, I admired the crooked circle as it protruded from the plywood.

  Bodey stood, slowly releasing the board to the support of the tack nails. He held out his hand and I passed him the hammer. In seconds he finished placing the last of the nails and grabbed my hand as we stepped back to consider our work.

  “That was the last one, right?” He wiped his forehead, releasing my hand to put the hammer on the ground by the door. We had boarded up every window in the place – which thankfully because of the warehouse status of the flooring store, only included eight across the front and a small one in back.

  John had asked us to secure the place better after he scoped out the rest of the small town. The warehouse was the strongest with cement walls and double-paned windows. The only garage door access in the back was easily locked. While we did as John asked, he went out and sought necessary resources for ourselves.

  Finding the plywood and pallets in the back had been a no brainer. All we had to do was put them up.

  I couldn’t wait for John to bring something we could eat. Even jerky would be welcomed again.

  We returned to the room we dubbed the bedroom. John kept us all sleeping there because it was the safest room in the safest building in the smallest town around.

  Like a kids’ book.

  The door opened and John walked in backwards carrying a large bucket of something. I couldn’t tell what until he turned.

  Firewood. We had firewood, but no fireplace. I couldn’t eat wood, either. I was tempted, but the fibrous material probably wouldn’t do what I needed it to.

  “Where are we going to burn that, Dad?” Bodey took the bucket from John’s hands while his dad stepped back outside. When he returned again, his arms full with brown paper bags, my interest piqued again.

  John pushed the door closed and dropped the wood block he’d placed that morning across the jamb. “Bodey, can you grab the metal filing cabinet up front, please?”

  Bodey disappeared and John turned to the wall, removing the vent cover. Sticking his head in, he glanced up and to the sides. “This should be good ventilation, here. Kelly, if you’ll grab some of the paper over there, we’ll get our fire going and eat something.”

  Eat? Did he say eat? I couldn’t move fast enough. He wanted paper? I grabbed an armful of paper and rushed back to John’s side. Anticipation warred with hunger. I could dig through the bags, but I had to trust John. I could do it. I could wait. I could.

  I think.

  Bodey returned, dragging the two-drawer metal cabinet to his dad.

  John removed the drawers, emptying out the hanging folders and papers. He placed the first drawer in front of the vent which sat a few inches above the top of the drawer’s height. He lined the inside with thick logs and covered those with multiple layers of aluminum foil he pulled from the bags. Then, he placed some kindling into a tight teepee in the center. He crumpled some paper and tucked the wad into the middle of that.

  From his bag still on his back, he pulled a lighter. After a few moments, the pages crinkled into black leaves.

  Tendrils of smoke wafted toward the vent, like it knew where it was supposed to go and couldn’t wait to get out. If we could keep the fire small enough, there wouldn’t be enough smoke to draw attention as it exited the building through the vast ventilation system.

  While the fire worked on becoming more stable, John turned to the grocery bags and organized bags of chips, two cartons of eggs, cans of soup, cereal, rice, and cans of vegetables against the wall. “This should last a couple days while I go look for more.”

  “Wasn’t the store looted?” Bodey retrieved our bags and handed me the dishes and silverware from mine while he handled his. John did the same and we stacked them beside the food.

  “Yeah, but the Monaghans at the end of the street are still in their home. I saw Tim and we got to talking. Seems the looters hit up two of the stores, but they aren’t around anymore. Two of the Monaghan kids didn’t get home, but the other four are there and they’re all hunkering down while they wait for the rest of their family to return.” John watched the small flames, his face devoid of emotion. “We made a deal they would watch their end of town and we’d watch ours. As far as they know, no one else is around here. But…”

  I waited. He had a habit of pausing while he sorted out his words. I hadn’t met a smarter man, and he was deliberate, took his time, did things right. The more time I spent with him and Bodey, the more respect and gratitude I had for my situation. And them.

  John sighed and looked us in the eyes, one at a time. “The Monaghans have a radio. Some of the information they’ve garnered includes an attack on this surrounding area because of the town of Bayview and the Naval grounds up that way. Apparently, it’s a huge draw for attacks. Fairchild was obliterated during the last bombings.”

  Panic seized me, clenching me in its fingers. I blinked multiple times in quick succession. “You think we’re going to get attacked again? When?”

  Reaching out for my hands, Bodey squeezed my fingers. “It’s okay. Dad’s putting a plan in place. We got you.”

  Not for the first time did it occur to me both men were so busy reassuring me while no one worked on making them feel better. I needed more confidence in them. Start drowning my fears better.

  So what if we got attacked again? Maybe surviving wasn’t the best thing.

  “They said tomorrow night was the best guess with all the information out there.” He rubbed his eyes.

  “We’ll keep watch in shifts. People won’t break in. At least not at first. Even if there is an attack, the chances of it being on foot are slim. The only thing that would draw people to our hideout is knowledge we’re here. That’s the appeal – they would want what we have. So we work on keeping ourselves inconspicuous. Make ourselves invisible.” John chose a soup with a removable lid. “Is this okay? I figure once we eat this we can use the can to cook other things in.”

  Bodey and I nodded, our eyes focused on the label’s picture. Yeah, we would eat that. He hadn’t released my hand yet and I didn’t want him to. What if John noticed? Would he regret bringing me along with him?

  More importantly was Bodey being platonic? Or could that be a spark he harbored for me too? I wished I could ask my girlfriends to ask his friends to ask him.

  Too much had changed. I didn’t even have my phone to text him and ask if he liked me.

  We waited patiently for John to put the can in the slow burning fire. Yeah, I lied. I wasn’t patient at all.

  Things were a lot easier with my hand in Bodey’s. Even the fact we most likely were going to be attacked again was easier to deal with.