The No Where Apocalypse (Book 2): Surviving No Where Page 6

  Lettie, Marge, Dizzy, Violet, and Nate helped fill the void of my missing family. And to be quite honest, they kept me alive. And in more ways than just Marge and Violet constantly patching up my gun wounds.

  But with Dizzy and Marge now connected at the hip, I had no one.

  Dizzy and I had spent countless hours together. We were, in all but blood, brothers. Marge’s relationship with him put all but an end to our carefree days of hunting, fishing, and general goofing around.

  At one point, before the couple was a couple, I had considered Marge a possible mate. Though she was 15 years my elder, she offered a lot of what I missed. A loving touch, occasional sweet words, and the companionship I had previously with my own wife.

  Dizzy and Marge together made sense. They were the same age and Dizzy had no expectations of a female companion. Add to that he followed her around like a puppy and answered most requests with “yes, dear” and some sort of kiss on the cheek. Hell, I would have practically dated the man.

  Violet was off-limits completely in my mind. Even if we waited another five years, she would still be immature, moody, spiteful, and a much younger lady to me. She was the little sister I never had. She was like a younger cousin who spoke her mind freely with me, and allowed me to do the same in return.

  There were no other known eligible women in our area. The few neighbors Dizzy spoke of weren’t appealing. Most of these local gals were tougher than me. Not to mention that most had husbands. And none needed what I had to offer, which was very little.

  The one time I dared to examine my wound closely, on the mirror behind the bedroom door, I gasped at what I found. Not so much the wound as the man staring back.

  I might have been about 210 pounds when I first arrived in No Where. I remembered I was fit; hell, one hundred and twenty dollars a month for a gym membership wasn’t wasted on me. However, the man I found, some three weeks back, was nothing like the man I remembered.

  Most, if not all of my muscle mass, had atrophied. My pants were held up with a belt that had to have another hole punched in it on a monthly basis. What I could see of my face, through my hair and beard, was thin and gaunt. I wasn’t ugly, but I certainly wasn’t handsome. I doubted even my own mother, much less Shelly, would recognize the body that stole my soul.

  I was never getting back to Chicago and home. Certainly not before this coming winter. Once I believed I needed to put on a good 20 pounds before I could risk it. Nowadays that number was closer to 50, or even 60 pounds. That wasn’t something I could do before the first white days crept back in.

  Another winter alone and I’d have no mind left. It was brutal logic, but the truth. There was no way I’d move in down at Lettie’s. That I had decided was just stubbornness. But it was my choice and my stubbornness. And the only possible person from there that would winter at my place was unimaginable to me. I’d kill her if she didn’t kill me first.

  I was doomed, and I was okay with that. That too would pass. As would I.

  Year 3 - mid summer - WOP

  “The road will bring trouble.” — Lettie Hamshire

  “If you’re not going to leave, can you at least try and not die yet?” — Violet Luke

  “I will watch the road… and still fail somehow.” My admission to myself.

  I held the Glock to my head, unloaded of course. Though I tried again to pull the stubborn trigger, I couldn’t. Even though I knew the gun as empty, my finger wouldn’t close the deal.

  Setting the weapon on the counter, I considered my cowardice. I wasn’t ready to do the deed, not yet. That would come in the middle of winter. When the snows piled up and I knew no one would find me for weeks, maybe months. I had also decided I’d leave the front door open. That way my forest friends, “pets” as Violet called them, would clean up whatever mess was left.

  I wasn’t leaving anyone; I was relieving myself of the never-ending loneliness and torture the winter would bring, and the next one after that would bring, and the next decade even.

  But even on the trial run, several runs, I was still unable to pull the trigger of an empty gun.

  I was going to die here, one way or another. I wanted my death, the time and events, to be my choice.

  All I lacked was courage, but that’s something I’d never have. I just didn’t know it at the time…or her.

  My helper worked and talked at different paces. In my past life, it would have upset me. Here in No Where, I enjoyed the entertainment.

  “Mom says she’s gonna feed Violet to the wolves if she don’t quit sneaking off,” Nate said. His high-pitched voice made it sound as if he were reporting something exciting, which this sort of was in a place where nothing ever happened.

  “One day,” he continued as he stacked split wood in criss-cross piles, “she says she’s gonna lock her in her room until she’s 30. The next day, she wants to boot her out. Lettie won’t let her, of course.”

  Nate’s usual jovial mood, and finding delight in his sister’s tormented life, made me smile. Leave it to a nine-year-old to brighten my day.

  “Is she still seeing those Wilson twins?” I asked, unafraid of him judging me for being too interested in the subject. The fight at Lettie’s had been brewing for a while.

  “Yep,” he answered, cutting a piece of wood towards the small pile off to the side. “Violet’s supposed to be weeding the garden, and instead, she sneaks off. Violet’s supposed to be watering the garden, she sneaks off. She’s supposed to be kicking the soccer ball with me, she sneaks off.” He gazed up at me, perhaps for wisdom. “Maybe if Mom tied her to a stake she wouldn’t sneak off. Ever thought of that?”

  I all out laughed, checking the road from the north. I loved his stories, but I needed to keep an eye open for any impending danger.

  With Covington low on food, most likely all out by now, trouble could show up at any time. Lettie told me she had her 30-30 loaded and within arms reach at all times since my excursion late last summer. If they came, they’d receive a wall of bullets from that tough old bird.

  I didn’t think I’d be able to hear shooting from three miles away. I wasn’t worried so much about Lettie losing the war; I just wanted fair warning when the remnants of their gang showed up. Between her, Dizzy, and Marge they had enough firepower to move a dozen or so down the road. Unfortunately, the road fed directly to my place.

  Glancing at the bench, I noted my Glock well within reaching range if I needed it. The resting spot was necessary because I couldn’t have it on me while cutting wood. If it were winter, I’d have a free pocket. But not in summer when all I wore most days was a pair of socks and shoes, and some old green NMU gym shorts Lettie had given me.

  I grabbed an armload of the split wood and headed for the back end of my place. Nate did his usual, stacking more in neat piles so it made my job of hauling easier. He was still young, after all; a fact he reminded me of many times each day, usually when heavy lifting was involved.

  Returning from the growing pile, I circled the south end of the cabin. I did it that way on purpose. Trouble would come from the north. By making a wide loop on the south, I could peer up the road to the north by a good 60 or 70 yards, albeit through the brush. But the brush was thinned on that side of the road, thanks to days of hard work on my part.

  Trouble may come from the north, but I’d have a warning.

  I noticed my helper missing again. Not unusual. A young boy became bored easily, and awfully fast. Thus, I was used to him wandering off between loads. Once he heard the ax strike the oak, he’d make his way back. He always did.

  As I bent to grab the tool I heard his voice, south and nearby. I didn’t know what imaginary tale he was on, but it involved plenty of chatter. The conversation caused me to smile and think back on my youth. Different time, I reminded myself, a very different time.

  I pulled the head of the ax from the stump and lined up my next piece of wood. Another hour or so and my work would be done, at least for one day. There was always plenty for the future
around here.

  “I can show you where the well is,” Nate said, sounding like he was straight behind me somewhere. What was that boy doing now?

  I peeked over my shoulder to check on him before thrusting the ax. I spotted him on the road, to the south. What I saw with him had me freeze mid-swing.

  Shit; people. People from the south. Shit.

  Year 3 - mid summer - WOP

  I didn’t get a good look at them before I charged the road. If I had, I might have used a different approach.

  “Get out of here,” I shouted, breaking into a jog. “Get the hell away from that boy!”

  A single figure rose beside Nate. If it was a man, the sleeveless yellow sundress was out of place. The long blond hair, hanging past her shoulders, was a potential second clue. And I hadn’t noticed many men up this way wearing wide-brimmed straw sunbonnets.

  It was a woman, a slight woman.

  Her eyes narrowed as I approached, draping a thin bare arm over Nate’s shoulder. Only when I came to a stop did I notice the second intruder, a miniature version of the first. Same dress, same hair, same hat; just not as tall. The little girl squeezed in behind her caregiver’s right hip.

  “Stop right there!” I shouted, though I was mere yards from them, so a raised voice may have not been necessary. “Let the boy go. He doesn’t need to be involved in any of this.”

  When her chapped lips parted, she licked them before speaking.

  “Any of what?” she asked, gazing at me skeptically.

  “This.” I twirled my hand between us. “This high-jinx you’re up to.”

  Her face tightened further. “Are you suffering from heat stroke, sir?”

  Ha, she thought she could play me. Well I had news for her. I reached behind my back.

  “Shit,” I muttered.

  She placed a second arm around Nate’s shoulders. “Is it common for you to use such fowl language around children, Mister…?”

  “Bob,” Nate answered, beaming as if he’d won the State spelling bee.

  I peeked back at the cabin. Where the hell did I leave my gun? The kitchen counter? No, I never went outside without it. The outhouse? Probably not. Finally, I thought I saw it on the bench.

  “Shit,” I vented again. My eyes scanned the brush on either side of the south road. Where was the rest of her gang?

  “Can I help you find something, Bob?” she asked.

  “Where’s the rest of your people? Your man or men?” My eyes floated back to hers.

  With a slightly opened mouth, she made small shakes with her head.

  “Don’t give me that crap,” I continued, resuming my scan. I had every inch of the area memorized. The minute I figured out where they were, I would sprint and grab my weapon.

  “I’m alone,” she answered softly. “Just me, my daughter, and my son.”

  Right… what son? “Where’s the boy? Lining me up with a 22?”

  Her dirty face went lifeless. “He’s in the cart.” She pointed at the small hand-pulled carrier behind her, and her daughter…and Nate. “But he’s dead, I’m afraid. Died late last night. I just need to find a cemetery to bury him in.”

  That was it, I decided. The boy was hiding under the tarp with a pistol pointed skyward. The minute I pulled the covering away, he’d blast me.

  “Prove it,” I demanded, pointing to the cart.

  Her mouth opened slightly, shoulders falling as well. “Have you no decency? We haven’t eaten hardly anything at all in the past three days, haven’t had but a sip of water so far today. And my son is dead. Why are you tormenting me?”

  I pushed close to her. When she looked up her sunbonnet fell away, caught on only her neck by a slim string. “I’ve heard all of this before, lady. So you’ll forgive me if I don’t want to die today because I made a mistake on a pretty face. Pull that tarp back and show me who’s hiding there.”

  A scowl was her first reply — not that I cared. As she stepped back to the cart, I noticed her well-worn boots. One sole flapped freely and looked like it was about to let loose. A quick check of the daughter’s footwear showed her formerly white, now dirt stained, sneakers were in no better shape.

  “Here,” she snapped, throwing away the covering. “Are you happy?”

  I peeked inside quickly. Yep, there was a boy. Younger than Nate but older than the little girl, I thought. He certainly looked dead—sallow skin, purple lips, chest not moving.

  “Okay, so you found some straggler dead on the side of the road and your group convinced you to drag him up to the next house,” I surmised aloud. “That way you can catch me off-guard, kill me, and take all my stuff.”

  Her act continued, featuring tears. “Why are you so cruel?” she cried. “Won’t you even offer to help bury my son?”

  Biting my lower lip, I shook away her faux mourning. “Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  I placed a hand on her shoulder, which she swatted away. “Just tell me how long before your man, or men, get here so I can get a plan together. I don’t want to hurt you, but I ain’t going to let them kill me.”

  “I have no one!” she shrieked, pounding on my chest. “No man, no men, no one!”

  I pushed her away and studied the brush again. They were out there. I needed to go get my gun. Maybe I needed to drag the whole group with me.

  “Everyone’s got someone, lady,” I laughed. “I’ve been alone too long to let some skinny little gal sneak up on me, crying her story, and then letting down my guard. There’s no way you’re alone on this road. Not no more.”

  I spun and she shoved something up against my lower jaw, right under my chin. I felt the metal poke through my trimmed beard. When she cocked the hammer, I knew I had a problem.

  “Do I look like a person who needs someone else’s help?” she seethed in a whisper.

  Year 3 - mid summer - WOP

  “I asked you a question,” she said in an almost sweet tone. “Do I look to you like I need any help, Bob?”

  I raised my hands slowly, shaking my head. “Nope. You seem to be doing just fine.” I’d stepped into this one all on my own. Never saw it coming. “So, you gonna call for whoever’s with you now?”

  She sighed, jabbing the gun tighter to my chin. “Why won’t you believe me?” Disappointment clouded her voice.

  “Just not the way it works out here,” I answered, daring to look down at her. “How about you lower the gun and we discuss things in a civilized manner?”

  A grin crept to her lips. “Oh, suddenly you want to be civilized? That’s interesting.” The gun lowered and she stepped back.

  Grabbing her right arm, I twisted her wrist towards the woods and away from the children. “Give me that damned thing,” I hissed, pulling on the weapon with my left hand. She fought a little, but I was twice her size and easily wrestled it away.

  Shaking my head, I stared at the dainty pistol. “You threatened me with a pink-handled 22? Is it even loaded?”

  I raised the gun over my head and pointed behind us. “No!” she screamed as I pulled the trigger.

  The miniature bang caused the children and myself to flinch. The woman set her hands on her hips, glaring at me.

  “That’s just great,” she seethed. “I only had a dozen shots left. Now you’ve wasted one.” Her tiny hand shot forward. “May I have my gun back, please?”

  I didn’t believe she was actually going to shoot me, before or then. Still I wondered if that was a good idea. My answer came when she tore it from my hand.

  “You got a name?” I asked, watching her tuck the pistol into her dress pocket.

  “We all have names,” she answered, reaching to pick up her small child. “I’m Daisy, Daisy Vaughn if you must know. Not that last names matter anymore.” She ran her fingers through her daughter’s golden tresses. “This is Libby.”

  “Bob,” I replied, sticking my hand out to shake hers. “Bob Reiniger. And my friend’s son, Nate Luke.”

  For a moment, we stared at one another in the midd
le of the blacktop. For some reason I was at a loss for words. Something about Daisy made my tongue swell and my throat tighten.

  “Might you have some water to share?” she asked, her tired blue eyes focusing on mine. “And maybe a shovel?”

  I gestured towards the cabin with my left hand. Awkwardly I reached for the handle of the cart. Her hand beat me to it.

  “I can take care of that myself,” she said, her words tighter than a moment ago.

  I begged with my eyes for forgiveness. “Please,” I insisted, “let me.”

  She acquiesced with a curt nod, turning back towards Nate.

  “Will you show me where the well is, Nate?” Her tone shifted to sweet and light.

  I watched the trio make their way off the road, through the ditch and across my yard. Daisy set her daughter down midway and took both Libby and Nate by the hand.

  I reached for the cart handle but my hand slipped off. Lifting my palm, I found sweat — something I hadn’t expected. I dried my hand on my shorts and pulled the wagon after them.

  I watched the woman and her child take sips of water from red plastic cups. Nate took great joy in showing off his strength to the pair, pushing the long handle of the pump. The squeaks of the ups and downs were punctuated by giggles from the girl and thanks from her mother.

  Moving in close behind the pair, I noticed an odd smell by the pump. Something had died nearby, and the smell became stronger the closer I came to the pump.

  Nate grinned making a few more pumps, the water splashing against the worn cement pad. Libby held her cup out another time and I heard the water gurgle inside. I inched closer, trying to figure out what the smell was and where it was coming from.

  Creeping behind Daisy, I halted suddenly. Several more sniffs and I causally leaned towards the top of her head — her hair more specifically. Another sniff — smell found.

  She spun quickly and caught me mid-inhale. I backed away bit, and she chased after me.