The No Where Apocalypse (Book 2): Surviving No Where Page 10

  Marge wept into her hands and Lettie gave her a soft hug. I knew I should have kept that last part out of the conversation, but frustration got the best of me.

  “We’ll be fine.” It was a lie, but Marge needed to hear it from me. “We’ll just have to be prudent about our meals for a while. But it’ll work out.”

  Of course, I didn’t believe any of my own sales pitch. Even if I brought all of my rations to Lettie’s, that would only provide us with a month’s worth of food, maybe less. And what I saw here wasn’t lasting more than two months. And that was if we all went on a diet.

  We had problems. Even more than we realized.

  By dinnertime Nate and Dizzy returned, once again completing our not quite as happy as before family. As I predicted, dinner was a solemn affair. If you counted fits of weeping, the conversation dragged.

  Except for Lettie and Libby, most of us only picked at our plates. Lettie hadn’t taken more than three mouthfuls. Libby ate as if she hadn’t been fed in months. Daisy only had a glass of water but encouraged Violet to eat as much as she could. Two forkfuls later and the girl proclaimed she was done.

  “We’re going to die, aren’t we?” Violet moaned, her tears beginning anew.

  Daisy and Marge rushed to her side, jointly reassuring the teen everything would be all right. But would it?

  If another attack happened tonight, we had two guns for protection. Dizzy had a sawed off 20-gauge with limited ammunition, and Lettie’s 30-30. And even her ammo had dwindled. The bandits had taken my Glock; my 45, Frank’s old weapon, sat in a drawer back at my cabin — three miles away. Problem one.

  Food was now in short supply. If the people who held us up at gunpoint had had any common sense, they would have seen that the food they took wasn’t everything we had. Thankfully, they hadn’t. Since Dizzy had returned without a deer, and even went as far to say he hadn’t seen much sign, the pressure built in my mind.

  The harvest was down to squash, potatoes — what was left —, and the tomatoes we had already canned. Frankly, we all realized that wasn’t enough for the coming three seasons. Problem two.

  Violet was pregnant and would give birth in the early spring, according to Marge’s calculation. If she didn’t put on more weight, the baby would have no supply of mother’s milk. We had no other source of milk. Perhaps there was a stash of baby formula in one of the nearby towns. But that was problematic as well.

  Amasa lie 13 miles south of us. And from all accounts, there wasn’t much left of the town; not according to all friendlies that passed my cabin from the south. To the north, some seven miles, was Covington. I could only assume there were enough strong-armed men and women left up there to chase the marauders our way. Either that or these people had turned the place upside down and found nothing. In the end, Matt and Susan Weston sent them to us. And I’m sure they shared a good laugh about it.

  Pregnant teen, no milk, and no prospects for another source of nourishment for a baby. Problem 3.

  Once we became malnourished, every last one of us, disease leapt to the top of our issue list. Aside from several half-full bottles of pain relievers, we had no medicine. Almost two years of nothingness had left us empty, in oh so many ways.

  For the first time since Daisy had entered my life, I felt depressed. Watching her comfort Violet, now on the living room couch, my normal smile wouldn’t come. That alone spoke volumes.

  I leaned close to Dizzy. “If we don’t get some stuff figured out, what that girl said is dead on truth.”

  In a small way, checking Marge first to be sure she wasn’t watching, he nodded.

  “And we need to figure it out soon. Before we know it, winter will be here. And if we don’t have some solutions in place, at least one of us won’t see spring.”

  Year 3 - early fall - WOP

  Several hours later, Marge came back from checking on the children.

  “They’re all asleep,” she reported.

  “Even Violet?” Lettie squawked. “I thought she was so bent on being part of this discussion.”

  Shrugging away Lettie’s straightforward approach, Marge glanced at me. “She fell asleep reading to Libby and Nate. They’re all nestled together in her bed.”

  I rose and began to circle the white-painted kitchen table.

  “Here’s the way I see things,” I began. “And everything is available for comment and making better. I don’t want anyone to hold back.”

  One by one, they nodded their acceptance, Daisy last.

  “First thing I got to do is get down to my place and grab the 45.” Several nodded but Daisy gazed at me startled.

  “I don’t think that’s safe,” Daisy replied. “Let me or Tom go with you.”

  I knelt beside her taking her trembling hands.

  “I need to go alone,” I said. “Dizzy, Tom as you so lovingly call him, needs to stand guard, just in case they make a second attack.” I could see the disagreement rising in her face, but I cut it off. “And you need to stay here with the kids. I don’t want to take the chance of us both getting hurt.”

  “Well I don’t want either of you hurt,” Marge added, reaching for our hands. “But if someone has to go, it needs to be Bob and Bob alone. He’s better prepared.”

  Slowly Daisy acquiesced with a slight nod and I rose.

  “Dizzy,” I continued, turning to him. “Do we have a 12-gauge anywhere nearby?”

  He took a deep breath, pondering the question. “Aside from my 20, I don’t think we have a workable shotgun at any of our places. I got an old one, half torn apart that was my grandpa’s. But it won’t fire; something about the pin I think.”

  I stroked my bearded chin, an idea hatching in my mind. “I’ve got two cases of 12-gauge shells in the closet in my bedroom. I think I need to grab them and haul them down here. If we can’t fix your grandpa’s gun, we could find somewhere to use them as trade.”

  “There are probably a few people around with a 12,” he added. “Old man Wilson has one I think.”

  I nodded, staring at a calendar on the wall. One that showed December of a year and a half ago. The last time anyone bothered to worry about the date.

  “What does Wilson do for a living?” I asked, wondering what he might have for trade.

  “He’s got some sheep and goats. Chickens, pigs, even a couple of cows last time I was past there,” Dizzy replied. “I was just out back by his place maybe a month ago. It all seems to still be hanging together for him and his boys.”

  He had milk. Wilson had the potential of providing two kinds of milk. That was good news, great news.

  “Is there a Mrs. Wilson?” I asked.

  Lettie snorted in him spot. “She ran off with the insurance fellow, ten years ago now.” She grinned at me. “So it’s just him, his twins, and Grandpa — his old man. Three generations of Wilson men under one roof. And they’re a surly bunch, let me tell you.”

  “Yeah, but he has a heart I bet,” I stated, resting my hands on Daisy’s slight shoulders.

  “Not much of one,” Lettie countered.

  I winked at the crabby old woman. “I bet enough that when he finds out his grandbaby needs milk, he’ll offer help. Especially if we sweeten the pot with some additional shotgun shells.”

  Dizzy and Lettie shrugged at one another, but that didn’t slow me down.

  “We need medicine, Marge,” I said, moving forward. “We can’t afford for anyone to get sick. Especially if a simple aspirin or something could nip it in the bud.”

  She agreed; I could see it in her eyes. “Dizzy and I have been talking about rummaging through a few of these houses on the north side of the lake Warren and I were on,” she said as Dizzy slid his arm over her shoulders. “Now would be a good time.”

  “I agree.” I peeked down at Daisy. “Maybe you can take this one with you. That way Dizzy can keep an eye out for trouble while the two of you make quick work of it. We cannot get caught with our pants down ever again.”

  “Covington or Amasa may still
have people with aspirin,” Lettie added. “Maybe a box of shells is worth a container of pills.”

  That made sense, a little at least. Everyone, I decided, had needs nowadays. All it took was the right person and a trade for our needs could become a reality.

  “I’d like to stay away from other people right now,” I said, circling the group again, “aside from trading with Wilson. And even that I’d like to put off as long as possible.”

  Lettie and Dizzy nodded, again. They sure weren’t anxious to have old man Wilson in their lives. So I followed their lead.

  “Dizzy, for the next little bit,” I said drawing his attention away from Marge. “For the next few weeks we need to try and kill every deer we see. Nothing is too small or too old. We need the meat, the protein. We can’t afford to be picky heading into winter.”

  He looked like he understood. Still, I knew he didn’t agree. “Like I told you before, Bob, we start shooting everything is sight, they’ll become mighty hard to find. At least my grandpa always told me that, and I never knew the man to be wrong.”

  Grandpa’s wisdom: hunter’s tale or reality? Yes, Grandpa survived the depression, but that was high living compared to now.

  “We don’t have a choice, Dizzy,” I said quietly. “We got to have the meat. It’s the only way we see spring.”

  And with that happy news faces fell to their lowest. Even Daisy no longer looked hopeful. But that was our new reality. We just needed to survive winter.

  Year 3 - mid winter - WOP

  All fall we watched the road. We watched all the way through the time where the wind chill became thoroughly brutal in early winter. Then we watched from the living room window. At no time did we not watch. At all times, there was someone awake and their eyes glued to the road. We were ready for anything. But anything never came.

  I shouldn’t say nothing ever passed our place. However, three people hardly count as a threat.

  A few weeks after our encounter with Clyde and his gang, a woman and a small child passed, heading north towards Covington. Daisy and Marge ran after them, imploring the pair to stay with us, at least for a few days. I told them later their plan, while admirable, was plain stupid. We couldn’t afford the luxury of two non-producing strangers. Thankfully, the woman said she had relation they were heading to, north of Covington.

  About a month after that first snow, a single man passed our driveway. He paused, studying the house; no doubt noticing the smoke rising from the chimney. When he saw me stand in the living room and cock the 30-30, he left without even so much as a wave.

  Another few months later and winter took hold in full force. It was similar to my first winter alone. Either snow fell, or the wind howled, or there were clear blue skies and the temperature never bothered to push the zero degree mark on Lettie’s outdoor thermometer.

  As best as we could tell a good three feet of snow covered most of the scene. In places where the wind collected it, snow stacked up as high as ten feet. The road was impassable. Even on foot, no one could make their way through.

  Still we remained vigilant.

  Violet began to show by midwinter. Her mother and Daisy noticed the first bump back with the early snows. Within a month, Lettie stopped each time the pair passed one another, smiling and patting the new life growing inside the 15-year-old…or was still 14, Daisy seemed to be mixed up and refer to her as both. By the time another month passed, she became uncomfortable — as did we all.

  “I’ve never been so fat,” Violet bemoaned one afternoon, checking her progress sideways in a mirror. “Did you always get fat, Daisy?”

  It wasn’t a new question, so Daisy was ready…again.

  “You’re not fat,” she sighed, letting a smile warm where her words no longer could. “You’re healthy. Completely healthy and normal for someone your size that’s having a baby.”

  Violet glanced at her skeptically. “You always say that,” the teen replied, going back to staring at her growing mid-section. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

  “Holy crap,” Lettie shouted, entering the warm living room. “Who let the hippo in?”

  Daisy’s eyes and mouth shot opened as Violet spun towards Lettie. Before she could counter, the old woman began to laugh.

  “Well, that’s what you want to hear, ain’t it?” Lettie questioned. “You want someone to tell you how big you are. Just so you can feel sorry for yourself.”

  Violet shook away the words empathetically. “No, that’s not what I want to hear at all. I was just asking—”

  Lettie took her hand and rubbed it tenderly. “You look fine, darling. Even your thin face has filled out a little.” She let go of the teen and grinned at Daisy and me.

  “You should have seen my sister when she was pregnant with her third child. Or maybe it was her fourth.” Lettie raised a hand to her chin and stroked absentmindedly. “Doesn’t matter. The point is Virginia was the size of a water buffalo by the time Ralphine arrived. And she never lost an ounce of that weight before she died.”

  I didn’t know what was more shocking in the old bird’s story: That her sister had died, or that she had a niece named Ralphine.. I mean, who would ever do that to a baby?

  “I think I like Daisy’s answer better,” Violet replied, coming by us to sit on the couch.

  Lettie laughed once and tossed a hand at her. “Have it your way then. You’re still the same skinny little shit that walked up my driveway more than a year ago. And with your genetics, you probably always will be.”

  Watching Daisy stroke Violet’s stomach, I heard her speak. “Has she been active today?”

  Violet nodded, stretching her back. “The past couple days actually. I think the vitamins are helping, if that makes any sense. But I still feel bad about the food.”

  She had good reason for her remorse; Violet was the only one of us eating three meals a day. And the only one still on full rations.

  Year 4 - late winter - WOP

  Our food supply ended up horrid. Dizzy and I killed six deer before the cold forced us to give up hunting for the season. The six deer were yearlings, which were terribly small with so little meat to offer.

  Two of them were actually fawns. Those were the worst. Not because of the quality of their meat. No, they were the best eating. The cold truth was that a fawn lasted two, maybe three meals for the eight of us.

  We cleaned our plates well, each and every meal. I used my fingers, or a small hunk of flatbread Lettie crafted. The women used forks and spoons to be sure they got every speck. Libby and Nate simply lifted their plates and used their tongues, as did Dizzy. Marge wasn’t pleased at first, but with each passing meal, she seemed to understand more and more.

  Violet wept openly at most meals, seeing her plate heaping with as much food as she could squeeze in, noticing ours were sparse of the same. Words of encouragement from everyone but her little brother did little to slow the tears. Usually it was a hug or a kiss from Libby that helped her. Some nights even those acts of kindness failed.

  We ate two meals, a late breakfast and an early supper. Every third or fourth day, as often as we could stand it, all but Violet ate one. Lettie placated the little ones with dry sugarless cookies she made every week. As Violet grew, and remained healthy, we shrank. My stomach growled most days, even after a meal, albeit small. Marge estimated we were taking in an average of 600 to 800 calories a day. Violet, she said, was getting close to 1,500. And even though she was well fed, the only thing that grew on the girl was her midsection.

  We became lethargic, our sense dulled from starvation. Sure, we were eating, but only about half the amount we needed to stay alive. We had to do something, even if it meant an act of desperation.

  “I can’t eat,” Violet stated one chilly evening. This had become commonplace.

  “Can’t?” I asked, tipping an eye her way. “Or won’t?”

  She set down her fork demurely. “I won’t. If you won’t eat, all of you, then I won’t.”

  Dais
y chased to her side. “Come now, dear.” She lifted a forkful of food to her lips. “It won’t do you or that little girl inside of you any good if you don’t eat.”

  How the women of the house had decided Violet’s baby was a girl was beyond my comprehension. It actually gave Dizzy and I a good talking point some days. The crazy antics of the female persuasion.

  “Eat your food, Violet,” I groused, picking at a plate only a quarter full. “This is the way it is. And we all agree on that.”

  “Well I sure don’t,” Nate argued. “I can’t figure out why she gets all the food and we get to starve. That just don’t make no sense.”

  Marge’s chair scraped on the floor as she turned to her son. “Now, Nathan. We’ve been over this many times.”

  “And it sucks,” he protested, stealing a bean from his mother’s plate.

  “It’s the way it is for now,” Marge insisted, rubbing his mop of growing hair. “Things will get better this spring.”

  “By spring you’ll all be dead,” Violet gasped, covering her face with her hands, sobbing harder. “And if none of you are alive I don’t want to be either.”

  As was the usual ending for most meals, the girl pushed away from the table and dashed for the stairs and the refuge of her room. And as always, Daisy grabbed the teen’s plate and chased after her. Marge broke into tears and left the room. Dizzy pushed away from the table and went after her with a sorrow filled face.

  Later that night, the wind blew so hard that it drifted over the only door leading outside.

  All we needed now was for someone to get sick. Then the end would come for all of us…mercifully.

  Year 4 - early spring - WOP

  The first trouble came with a slight sniffle. Within a day a cough developed, followed by sneezing and an all-out runny nose. Lettie had a cold.