The No Where Apocalypse (Book 2): Surviving No Where Page 11

  Alone I worried that this was the beginning of the end. That was how it would happen, I surmised. We’d all die in bed sometime. Defeated by something that didn’t slow down most healthy people. Unfortunately, we were anything but healthy.

  Daisy followed with the same symptoms, with Nate bringing up the rear. We quarantined more than a third of our group due to the common cold. Worry for me became panic. Something had to be done.

  We needed fever reducers: aspirin, acetaminophen, or ibuprofen. Canned fruit wouldn’t hurt, Marge added one afternoon. “I think I can make it to Covington,” I said to what remained of my group, minus Libby. No one reacted. “I can take as many 12-gauge shells as I can carry and see if they have anything left to trade for.”

  Violet shook her head wildly. “Covington’s too dangerous,” she insisted. “You need to try Amasa. It’ll be safer.”

  However, Amasa had two strikes against it already. First, it was twice as far as Covington. In three feet of snow that could mean the difference between making it or not. Second, travelers had warned us by the dozens that Amasa was a ghost town, with nothing but empty homes and corpses. “It has to be Covington,” I insisted. Even Violet’s tear-filled eyes couldn’t change my mind on that.

  “And what if they don’t want to trade for shotgun shells?” Marge asked. “What if they just laugh at you and send you back? What good will that trip accomplish? I say you stay, Bob. We’ll get through this somehow.”

  All she needed to add were the words, ‘By God’s Grace,’ and I would have lost it on her. But she didn’t and neither did I.

  “I’ve still got some extra 45 shells,” I added. “I could take those. We know they have that caliber of weapon up there.”

  Dizzy displayed his reluctance with the plan with a scowl. “You’re talking about carrying a lot of weight there. You’re not as healthy as you were last fall, you know.”

  He was right, but also wrong. “We need this trade,” I continued, irritation filling my words. “We got to have this trade, but it can’t be a wasted trip. You’re all right on that.”

  “I know what Matt Weston wants.” The extra voice startled us all. I looked up to see Daisy standing in the stairway, wiping her nose with a Kleenex. Her expression, tight-lipped and sad-eyed, told me she really knew. But I didn’t think I was going to like what it was. Not one bit.

  She took a spot next to me and reached for my hand. Squeezing it tighter than usual, she inhaled deeply.

  “Brendan was about one,” she began in a quiet tone, just over a whisper. “A man 10 years older than me took an interest in me. Made me feel special, not so alone.

  “He was quite a talker, had a way of making everything sound so sweet and nice. Never pushed himself on me, nor made me feel cheap or used up. I loved the attention.”

  She lifted her head and allowed her tired eyes to float amongst the group. “I gave in one night. Just one night. No big deal, right? We’d been seeing one another for three or four months by that point. He even told me he loved me; he said he loved Brendan too. I thought I loved him as well.”

  Pausing, I noticed the pain on her face. “Just me being stupid me. Like some well-to-do young guy really felt that way. Well, I turned up pregnant and he told me it’s over. I pushed back; told him I was going to go to the County people, force him to own up to what he’d done.

  “A few nights later a woman pays me a visit. Big diamond on her finger, she tells me Matt Weston is her fiancé. I’d better leave him alone, she claimed. Otherwise she was gonna tear me apart, do things to me I’d never dreamt were possible.”

  I shuddered at the familiar words. Susan Weston hadn’t changed a bit in five years.

  “Matt came and visited me and Libby once, when we were living in some dump with a girlfriend. Played with her a little, said he was sorry how things turned out, and gave me a couple hundred dollars. I was so desperate for the cash that I kept it. But that money made me feel so cheap, so trashy. Just like the whore his woman said I was.”

  We sat silent for a few moments, each digesting Daisy’s tale. For all appearances, she was a confident, head held high young mother. Yet her demons still nipped at that outward shell.

  “You are anything but,” Lettie announced from the doorway, her isolation also ended. “You are a decent human being and you need to always remember that.”

  I saw Marge reach for Daisy’s shaking hands. “And you’re a good friend, Daisy. To all of us.”

  Trying to smile through tears, Daisy looked at me. “Matt Weston would trade anything for five minutes with his daughter. Can’t say Susan will be too thrilled. But I really believe it will soften him up if everything else fails.”

  My eyes glanced around our group. “So that means me, and Daisy, and Libby need to make the trek to Covington. Does that bother anyone else here?”

  Dizzy and Marge nodded, Lettie remained stone-faced.

  “Desperate times,” Lettie crowed. “Desperate times.”

  Yes they were. The old gal was certainly dead on about that.

  Year 4 - early spring - WOP

  We needed two days of planning for our seven-mile excursion. Nothing about this trip was taken lightly. Everyone had a say; and all said their piece.

  “No, please, no.” For the fourth time in less than an hour, Violet stood before me. Each time she begged me not to take what she deemed to be an unnecessary risk. Each time I turned away, ignoring her pleas.

  “If something happens to Daisy, or God forbid Libby, I don’t know what I’d do,” she continued on her last effort. Funny how she left me out, I thought.

  “Please, Bob, please. There has to be another way.”

  I’d had enough whining for one day. “We need simple medicine, Violet,” I scolded. “We don’t have the luxury of sitting back on our hands right now. We can’t.”

  “Maybe I should go,” she added, rushing her words, “since everyone seems so worried about me. I should be the one going.”

  Turning briskly, I grabbed her by the shoulders. “Absolutely not. Never!”

  Somehow she thought tears would help, fat chance, young lady.

  Watching her stomp away, I knew I hadn’t heard the last from the teen. But my mind was already set.

  Dizzy and Marge approached me mid-afternoon on the second day. I could tell just by the posture and faces they had a wrinkle for the plan. Little did they know I wasn’t in a debating mood.

  “Dizzy will go with you,” Marge insisted in her polite way. “That way you’ll be safer. More people means less potential trouble.”

  “I can even tail you by a little bit,” Dizzy added. “Bring up the rear; watch your six, so to say.”

  I stared angrily at the pair. “And who’s watching home then? Who’s protecting Lettie, the kids, and you, Marge? Violet? I don’t think so. You, Marge? You’ve never even fired a weapon.”

  I leaned closer to them, lowering my voice. “The whole point of this is to help us, and protect ourselves. If we put too many people on the road, we open ourselves up to danger at home.”

  Not overly convinced, the pair wandered away, holding hands. They weren’t done, I knew, but they weren’t coming either.

  Lettie stared out the back window of her home, craning her neck.

  “Ten degrees warmer than yesterday,” she crowed, glancing back at me briefly. “Course that only makes it all of five above today.”

  With a great amount of pain, she made her way to a hard kitchen chair. “It’s a bitch being old,” she continued. “Being old in all this crap is even harder.”

  Sipping on a half-glass of water, I took an open spot across from her. “Finally warm enough to head out. Hopefully the clear skies will hold tomorrow. I figure three hours up and three hours back. That gives us two hours of daylight to spare in Covington, which should be enough.”

  “Way I see it…” A single finger rose on her thin hand. “…You’ll freeze to death.”

  A second finger rose. “Or you’ll get yourself killed in
Covington.”

  A third joined the first two. “Or you get killed by a gang no-goods somewhere between here and there.”

  I snickered at her depressing wisdom. “Any outcome where we make it back alive?”

  She nodded, her face showing some tenderness…some. “One in four chance, sonny. Don’t seem like very good odds to me. But I suppose that ain’t gonna stop you.”

  I leaned on the table on my arms. “We need these supplies, Lettie. We’re vulnerable. We all know it.”

  A small finger lifted her frail lips. “Truth is, if you don’t make it, we’re probably all dead come spring.”

  And that was the reason I had to go. Plain and simple.

  Year 4 - early spring - WOP

  Eight degrees; eight stinking degrees. Add the slight northwest wind, moving the snow from limb to limb on the pines, made it feel a lot colder.

  But the weather didn’t matter. It was go time.

  Warm coats found, Libby and Daisy each dressed in layers. This would allow whatever sweat they created to be wicked away from their bodies. Thus, extinguishing their chances of freezing to death, for the most part.

  I gave Daisy my pink boots because Dizzy lent me his winter footwear. And yes, they were many sizes too large on someone as petite as my girl. But that allowed for an extra sock layer or two.

  Hats, mittens, and scarves were added just before we stepped into the crisp northwoods air. Dizzy had even managed to come up with half a dozen paper hand-warmers we would use as needed.

  The set up was far from perfect. A sensible person would have waited until spring; waited until some of the snow disappeared. A sensible person, me, knew the odds we faced. It was time to go.

  There was no way Libby, much less Daisy, could walk the entire 14 mile round trip. Hell, I even had doubts that I could. So we improvised.

  Dizzy came out of Lettie’s garage with the long wooden toboggan held over his head. He’d found it, right where Lettie said it would be. Good, it was the only way we’d make it.

  Marge arranged several wool blankets as a base before my girls crawled on. Over the top of the two, we added several more layers. Bundled as they were it was hard to imagine them feeling cold. But I was.

  I stuffed ten boxes of 12-gauge shotgun shells into a paper sack before placing them at the very front of the sled. Ten additional boxes of 45-caliber ammo received the same treatment.

  I carried Dizzy’s 20-gauge and stuffed another box of shells loosely in my pockets. As a final precaution, Dizzy set my 45 at Daisy’s side, wrapped loosely in some colored fabric. We wanted her to feel safe, yet have the weapon noticeably available if needed.

  Hopefully, both the guns would be dead weight, never once drawn or used. Hopefully.

  Pulling forward with the toboggan rope wrapped over my waist, I ascended the first of three slight hills between home and Covington. None were large inclines, this was actually the worst of the three.

  We were only an hour into our trip and several times Daisy had had to dismount her ride and walk behind the sled. Any thoughts I’d had about freezing to death were gone. My inner clothes were so soaked with sweat, I worried they might have to go. But I knew winter had other plans.

  I heard the snow crunch as Daisy dashed ahead to be by my side.

  “How we doing?” she asked, moving the scarf away from her lips.

  “I’d say two miles down, four or five to go,” I replied, not panting with the extra weight relieved from behind. “As long as we stay on the west side of the road, we don’t have to fight the snow too bad.”

  With God smiling down on us, we discovered that the worst of the snow piled up on the center and east side of the road. On the west shoulder, we had less than a foot to deal with. Some places only had six inches.

  Daisy tired easily. I wasn’t sure if it was her cold or our general malaise from lack of nutrition. A few hundred yards by my side and I tucked her in behind her daughter once more.

  “How much further?” Libby whined as I retouched the blankets around her.

  “Are you tired, sweetie?” I asked, kissing her hood covered head.

  “No, I’m bored. I want to get somewhere so I don’t have to wear all these clothes.”

  I resumed my pulling. “Almost there, sweetheart.” Like she knew how far we are going. “Almost there.”

  Year 4 - early spring - WOP

  Pausing in the early afternoon sun, I tried to catch my breath. That had been the struggle the past mile or so. Three steps forward, the snow almost knee deep, and stop. Three more steps, stop, and pant. Three more, repeat.

  At the far reaches of my blurry vision, I could see the outline of Covington. At least it was still there, hadn’t burned down. That was a good thing. The only thing worse than the trip would have been getting here to discover it was all in vain.

  Looking back, I watched Daisy struggle through the snow some distance behind my resting spot. She couldn’t stand to watch me struggle, she claimed. Once again, she dismounted the sled and walked beside me for a while. But with each small step she fell further behind. Now with our goal in sight I waited for her to catch up.

  Boredom finally overtook Libby and she fell asleep. Tucked in amongst a dozen blankets, her rosy check and small nose were the only things visible. I knew she hadn’t frozen to death. I checked, like any concerned adult would have. And she was plenty warm in her woolen cocoon.

  When Daisy reached my side, she fell against my chest. She didn’t even bother to wrap her arms around my waist; she simply leaned in with what little weight she had left.

  “Remind me next time to keep my ideas to myself,” she looked, panting as she did. The steam from her breath condensed on the front of my jacket. Every fifth or sixth exhale she reached to wipe it away.

  “Almost there; get back on the sled,” I urged, leading by a shaky arm. The way I saw it, she was done for the day. We may have to spend the night, I told myself. If they gave us what we wanted, and not the noose.

  Strangely, no guards stood in the spots they had on my last visit. Peering into town, I noticed no activity. No people, no animals, no vehicles. Nothing but more snow. Apparently, that snow plow they had was out of gas…or out of drivers.

  I paused to check our load. That was something I had meant to do earlier, but lacked the energy. I worried that if we arrived and had lost some of our trade we’d go home with little, or perhaps nothing. Seeing the bags still tightly closed gave me a sense of relief. This was going to work; it had to.

  Another ten minutes of slogging through drifts that rose to my waist and we had made it to the first homes. Another ten minutes and we’d be downtown. Still, no one had approached us to question our presence. Perhaps Covington had died, or more plainly stated, its residents had all died.

  That option was fine with me. It allowed us to rummage through what would be left of their stores, hopefully finding what we sought. At least we wouldn’t have to fight anyone for them.

  Fifteen more steps and a bundled figure appeared at a crossroad. The gun slung over his shoulder warned me the Westons’ still ran this place. Or someone equally evil. Or desperate.

  I pulled further, my strength gone. My legs screamed for me to stop, to lie down in the snow, and give myself back to nature. But I refused, pulling forward to meet the armed person head on.

  “State your business,” the man called out when I was within earshot. The gun was still on his shoulder. I wasn’t in trouble yet.

  “I’m here to meet with Matt Weston,” I replied between pants. “I got a trade to offer him. A good trade. He’ll be interested.”

  The winter air made the man’s exposed skin red. His dry lips twisted as he considered my offer.

  “What you got?”

  I shook my head, my hands now on my knees as I sucked for air. “I want to meet with Matt. No one else. He still run the place?”

  I noticed his expression soften, but only a little. “Yeah, he does.” He waved us forward. “This had better be good. Been a
lot of losers offering a whole bunch of horseshit trades this winter. The boss lost his sense of humor months ago.”

  Oh great, a pissed off Matt Weston would certainly be less open to meeting his daughter, I worried. If we lived that long.

  “His wife still around?” I called ahead to our guide.

  “Yeah,” he laughed. “And she’s as friendly as the last time you saw her.”

  Okay, he remembered me; even though I couldn’t recall his face or voice. That had to be a good sign.

  Daisy sat silent, clutching Libby before her. This was the plan; she was to say nothing until needed. If somehow Weston traded me what we needed for just the shells, she never needed to show her face. Only if he hemmed and hawed were she and Libby to make their way in front of him.

  Another five minutes and I felt as if I could walk no more. There was no way to make the trip back in the late afternoon. We’d surely end up dead somewhere between here and home. Either I’d have to ask Matt and Susan to extend us their hospitality, or we’d have to sneak into an open home and hope to remain undetected for the night.

  The first option was possible, the second a mere pipe dream.

  The warmth we found inside the building wasn’t what I expected. It hadn’t rushed us at the door, licking at our chilly faces, warming our half-frozen fingers. I could still see my breath.

  Our host wandered away, pointing at a smaller room off to the left. “Wait in there. I’ll go get the boss, and come and get you when he’s ready. Might take a few minutes though.”

  We pounded the snow from our boots and white frozen hunks skidded across the floor. After we removed our layers, I inched the door almost closed.

  “Okay,” I began, helping Daisy remove her second coat worn beneath the first. “I’ll take the stuff in. You and Libby sit on the bench outside that doorway I pointed out. I’ll call you if I need you. Hopefully, I won’t.”