Alone, Book 3: The Journey (3 page)

Chapter 3

Hi, Honey.

     I honestly thought this day would never arrive. I have said my goodbyes to Frank and Eva, and I’ve buried Mikey in the Castros’ back yard. I gave him a proper funeral, and even said a prayer over him. I asked God to forgive us both. Him for breaking into our home and me for thinking he was a threat and shooting him. I told God that we were both just caught up by circumstances and doing what we could to survive. I hope God lets him into heaven.

     I think when we get back I’m going to make an effort to find Mikey’s family. I don’t know what I’ll say to them, but I want to let them know he was buried properly, and didn’t desert them.

     It’s about March 17th or so. I thought it was the 15th, and Eva said it was the 19th. I said there’s no way I lost four days, so we agreed to split the difference. We declared it the 17th, and anyone who declares otherwise be damned.

     You can probably tell I’m in a pretty good mood. That’s because the Explorer is packed and full of gas I got from a couple of cars down the street. It’s ready to go, and so am I. All I have to do is wait for darkness, and I’m out of here.

     This will be my last entry in this log book. I’m going to stash it in the attic, in that spot underneath the insulation we agreed we’d hide messages to each other if we ever got separated. As I recall, that was your idea. All the really good ones were.

     Anyway, if you guys figure out a way to get back here before I return, I know that’s the first place you’ll look to figure out what happened to me. Whatever you do, remember this:

     If I get to Kansas City and find out you’ve set out for San Antonio, I will immediately turn back. If you made it this far, then I know you’re tough enough to survive until my return. So stay put. This place is as safe as anywhere else. Just remember the rules we established, and make sure the girls follow them. No lights after dark except in the safe room. No noise. No looking out the windows, except in the night. No fires outside, except in the Castros’ fire pit. And more than anything else, watch each other’s backs.

     If you need any help, go visit Eva and Frank. They live on our street, two blocks away. Their address is 2316. It’s a blue house.

     Go in the dead of night. Exit from the Castros’ house, and be careful so you’re not spotted. You remember where we hid the night vision goggles. Use them.

     When you get to Frank and Eva’s house, knock on the door, and announce yourself. Just tell them you’re Sarah Speer. They’ll let you in and help however they can.

     I’m taking another journal with me and will write to you on the road. Writing to you has always cheered me up a bit. I guess it’s because it makes me feel closer to you. Like you’re here with me, almost. It’s therapeutic for me. Kind of like those books you’re always reading, about chicken stew being good for my soul. Or whatever. You know what I mean. Quit laughing.

     From a practical standpoint, I’ll also write about things I’ve learned on my journey. Places where we might be ambushed on the way back. Other trouble spots to avoid. Locations of food caches and water sources, and that kind of stuff.

     I’ll keep the journal stuffed in the front of my pants to keep it safe from marauders. At least I hope that’s the one place they won’t look.

     On our way back, it will help guide us. And if something were to happen to me, it’ll make your journey with the girls a little easier.

     And hopefully when you read over my words, you’ll remember how much I loved you.

     It’s almost noon now. I need at least eight hours of sleep so I can be on my game. Especially until I get out of town.

     I’ll see you soon, my love. I must sign off for now.

     As Lawrence of Arabia once told his men: “Today we rest. Tonight we ride.”

     Wish me luck.

     I love you.

Chapter 4

     Dave tried his best to get several hours of quality sleep. He knew he’d have to be alert to spot the dangers that would certainly await him. But try as he might, he was just as excited as an athlete trying to sleep before the big game.

     The best he could manage was a few hours of restless sleep.

     Just before he awoke around nine p.m., he had a troubling dream.

     It was the same dream he’d had once before. His daughter Lindsey came to him, barefoot and in a flowing white gown.

     “Dad,” she told him, “Please be sure you take good care of the rabbits.”

     When he asked her what rabbits, specifically, and why, she turned and walked away.

     When he awakened he looked at the ceiling of his safe room and pondered the dream’s meaning.

     Had Sarah and the girls died? Was it possible that the two rabbits he named after his daughters carried their souls?

     If that was the case, then why were there only two rabbits and not three? And if it wasn’t the case, why would Lindsey be so concerned about the lives of two furry creatures she’d never even met?

     He wondered if he was finally going mad.

     But just in case, he got dressed and went to check on the rabbits in his back yard.

     The watering system he’d put in place under the large pecan tree seemed to be working fine. It consisted of two very large drums, spaced four feet apart. One drum was sealed across the top, but had a tiny ventilation hole an eighth of an inch in diameter punched into the side, an inch from its top.

     The other drum was open at the top.

     Dave had been unsure whether it was better to have open drums to catch rainwater in his absence, or closed tops in case the water evaporated faster than the rains could replenish it.

     So he decided to go with both methods.

     At the bottom of each drum, a small tube of quarter inch hose ran from the drums to a drip pan placed between them.

     At the end of each hose was clamped a piece of cotton, cut from one of Dave’s gym socks.

     The system was simple, really. Each time the cotton got saturated with water, it dripped into the pan.

     When he tested it, Dave couldn’t figure out why the open topped drum dripped faster, at a rate of about six drops a minute.

     He corrected the problem, though, by tightening the hose a bit and placing a crimp in it.

     When he was finished, both drums dripped at about the same rate: about four drops per minute.

     It wasn’t much, he knew. But it had to be enough to make the water in the drums last for at least several months. Preferably indefinitely, if the rains kept the open topped container full.

     As an afterthought, he covered the open topped drum with wire screen, to keep leaves from the tree from sinking down to the bottom and clogging the drain hole.

     He tested his system for a month, and lost less than an inch of water from each drum. He couldn’t imagine any reason why it wouldn’t provide at least a year’s worth of water for the rabbits.

     But Dave knew to plan for the unexpected. If there were a drought, or an exceptionally hot summer, the water in the open drum might evaporate faster than rains could replenish it. The tree had never been struck by lightning before. However, a direct strike might topple both drums and render them worthless. Or, some heathen might find a way over his booby-trapped fence and steal his water supply.

     So Dave took some extra measures. He dug a hole in the opposite corner of the yard, beneath a peach tree that would keep it shaded much of the time. The hole was twelve inches deep, and eight feet square. He lined it with heavy duty plastic and filled it with water from the rain barrels he had placed under the gutters of the abandoned Hansen house behind his.

      When he finished, it resembled a kiddie pool.

     The rabbit he’d named Beth took no time hopping into it.

     “Well, I’ll be damned,” Dave had muttered. “I didn’t even know bunnies could swim.”

     Dave had also built a cistern, which was really nothing more than a hole in the middle of the yard about two feet across and two feet deep. In the bottom of the hole he placed a plastic pan, and across the top he stretched heavy plastic, held in place by heavy rocks.

     In the center of the plastic he placed a two pound rock.

     From his days in the Marine Corps, he knew that ground water would condensate on the underside of the plastic, then would roll toward the center and drip into the pan.

     He dug a small tunnel from the yard, angled downward, to connect with the bottom of the cistern. He wasn’t sure how the tunnel’s ventilation would affect the condensation process, but when he pulled the plastic cover off after a week there was water in the pan. So he knew it would work to some degree.

     He hoped that when the spring and early summer rains came, they would keep the kiddie pool and water pans he’d placed around the yard full. If they dried up, though, he was confident that the drip drums and cistern would do the trick.

     After he’d finished his project, he’d come across an article about rabbits that Sarah had printed off the internet.

     It said that wild rabbits got most of the water they needed from the green grass and plants that they ate.

     He felt foolish at first, going through so much trouble for rabbits that would probably have survived without his help.

     But then again, probably wasn’t good enough.

     Especially considering the puzzling warning from his daughter to protect the rabbits at all costs.

     Dave reckoned that the annual spring rains would make the grass in the back yard grow faster that his expanding bunny population could eat it. But just to be on the safe side, he went into the back yard of the Hansen house and threw the rest of the wheat and corn stalks from the previous fall over the fence and into his own yard.

     It was dry, sure. It wouldn’t be as good as the green grass and milkweed and dandelions that would spring up all over his yard in late spring.

     But in a pinch, it would sustain them. It had all winter long when the grass was dormant.

     When he finished his inspection, Dave was satisfied that his bunnies, and their offspring, would have enough food and water until he returned.

     The only thing left was saying goodbye.

     He sat on his deck and, as expected, the bunnies he’d named Lindsey and Beth came hopping over to him.

     He gave each of them a couple of dried carrots he soaked in water overnight.

     They seemed to sense something was up. Instead of eating the carrots they just looked at him.

     He was surprised at the tinge of sorrow he felt. He never thought that he, the big tough former Marine, would let himself get so attached to two little buckets of fur.

     “I’m leaving in an hour or so, little bunnies. I want you both to be tough, and do whatever you have to do to survive. When I come back, I’m going to build you guys a cage in the spare bedroom. The other Lindsey and Beth… the
people
ones… will be in charge of keeping it clean and making sure you’ll have all the food and water you need. They’ll give you all the love and hugs you need too. Probably more than you need. And if I know my Beth, she’ll probably be carrying one of you wherever she goes.

     “In short, the next few months will be kinda rough on all of us. But if we can survive it, I promise you both that you’ll live out the rest of your little bunny lives in luxury.

     “I owe you that much, for helping to keep me sane.”

     Then Dave considered his current situation.

     “Listen to me. I’m telling you I’m sane. And here I am talking out loud to two silly rabbits.

     “Goodbye girls. Take good care of the place while I’m gone.”