More than Survival: A Post-apocalyptic Love Story
Read More than Survival: A Post-apocalyptic Love Story Online
Authors: Camryn Lynn
Camryn Lynn
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to person, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Camryn Lynn
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y stomach growled but I snuggled deeper under my quilt, pulling it over my head. Winter was in full-force and the cabin was much too cold in the mornings. Even though I had a ton of work to do, I wanted to stay where I was warm and comfortable.
“Lucy!” Uncle Seamus called from the other room. “Your breakfast is getting cold!”
His gruff voice echoed through the cabin, so deep it practically shook the walls. It didn’t scare me, though. After all these years living with my uncle, I knew he was all bark and no bite.
My stomach rumbled a second time, and I sighed. I was too hungry to ignore it any longer. I shoved the quilt off and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The second my bare toes touched the wood floor, I shivered. It ran up my legs and over my body, leaving goose bumps on every inch of my skin.
“Brrr,” I said, grabbing the small throw off the foot of my bed. I wrapped it around my shoulders as I hurried from the room, shoving my red waves out of my face in the process.
Uncle Seamus chuckled when he saw me. “Cold?”
I nodded as I plopped into my favorite chair. It was worn and a burgundy plaid that probably hadn’t even been pretty when it was brand new, but the overstuffed chair was broken in, fitting perfectly to my backside when I snuggled against the cushion. It also helped that it was positioned directly in front of the fireplace.
“If only we had a fireplace in every room.” I leaned forward, rubbing my hands together in front of the flames.
“That’s why we have blankets,” he said, holding a plate out to me. He knew I wouldn’t sit at the small table in the kitchen when it was so stinking cold.
I took the plate from his outstretched hand, my nose wrinkling in disgust at the dry toast and pile of eggs. They weren’t the good kind.
“Powdered eggs?” I asked, raising my eyebrows at my uncle.
Uncle Seamus shoved a forkful of the imitation eggs into his mouth, and I could just make out his smile through his scraggy gray beard. It was shaggier than it had been eleven years ago, and more gray—just like his long hair. Back then, he’d had more of a salt-and-pepper look to his locks, but time had changed that. Slowly over the last eleven years, the dark brown had faded away until the color of his hair was almost the same shade as the ash left behind by the fire.
“All we got left is,” he said when he’d swallowed his food. “Got to make a run into town.”
The mouthful of eggs didn’t block out his words, and I perked up, my fork forgotten halfway to my mouth. “Can I go this time?”
Uncle Seamus frowned and his gray eyes swept over me. The hair on my scalp prickled and I shuffled awkwardly in my chair even though I knew what he was thinking. It was the same look he always gave me when I asked about going into town with him.
“I’m sorry, Lucy, but I just can’t let that happen. You’ve grown into a beautiful young woman, and I promised your mom I’d take care of you. These days there are two things you keep hidden when you go out to trade. Your supplies, and your women.” He took one last bite of eggs, then swallowed the last bit of watered-down tea in his mug before getting to his feet, leaving his plate on the end table. “I better get a move on if I want to be back before dark. Need to feed the animals real quick, then get Max saddled up.”
I ate my tasteless eggs as Seamus headed outside. It didn’t seem fair that I never got to leave the cabin. For the last eleven years Uncle Seamus and I had hunkered down, waiting for the country to rebuild itself, but with the way things were going, I was starting to think it wasn’t going to happen like he wanted it to.
I was seven in 2016 when the virus broke out. We never learned exactly how it started, and by the time it had done its worst it didn’t matter anymore. First, there were a couple cases in New York—two foreigners who had just flown in from Paris—then a handful more popped up. When cases stared showing up outside the city, the government thought it might be in trouble and went into panic mode. They were right. It spread faster than wildfire, sweeping across our country and destroying almost everything in sight. But it didn’t stop there. A virus knows no borders, and soon it was up in Canada, down in Mexico. Over in Europe and Asia and Africa.
Anyone who contracted the disease didn’t last long. In less than six months, ninety percent of the world’s population was gone. That was the number thrown around my uncle, anyway. Of course, he was a prepper. A conspiracy theorist by nature. I knew enough to take the words out of his mouth with a grain of salt.
When the world as we knew it disappeared, the next several years were lost in almost total anarchy. Seamus and I were set on supplies, thanks to his years of prepping for a disaster, so we were safe, but Seamus still left every few months just to check things out. To see how the world had fared, to pick up any extra supplies he came across. To find out if it was safe for us to leave the cabin. He always came back from those trips disappointed and upset.
It wasn’t until the fourth year that things began to change. People gathered together, made towns, started trading. Things were more primitive than they’d once been, and we didn’t have electricity or running water, or even money. But people were trying to rebuild. It gave us hope that we’d one day be able to move forward as well.
Since then, Uncle Seamus went out every month to trade. Some of the supplies he’d had from his days of prepping were still around, and we’d done a good job of growing food in the summer, but there were things we could get from town that we hadn’t been able to get before. Milk that wasn’t powdered, and real butter. Clothes. Books. Only Uncle Seams never let me go with him, and it drove me mad to sit in the cabin alone year after year while I waited for him to decide things were safe.
I needed companionship.
Seamus came back inside after getting Max ready for the trip, but I was still sitting by the fire. Lost in thought and wishing life could be different. At eighteen, I was well-aware of the fact that I was a woman, but in some ways I still felt very much like a child. True, I was independent and confident about taking care of myself. I could hunt an animal, skin it and cook it for dinner, but when it came to other people or the outside world, I felt like a toddler. Or like I was living in a cave. Sometimes, I wondered why Seamus bothered to keep me safe if he wasn’t going to let me have a real life.
Loaded up and ready to head out, Seamus stopped at the front door to look me over. In his arms was a large box of homemade soap he was taking to trade. It was my specialty. I’d used the recipe from one of Uncle Seamus’s prized books, and added my own touch. Lavender and scents from other flowers that grew in the nearby forest. Having anything that smelled nice in this world went for a high price, and with as much soap as he had with him, we’d be able to get a good amount of eggs and some milk. Maybe even butter.
“I’ll be back before it gets dark or shortly after. Be sure you keep wood on the fire. And don’t forget the laundry.”
He grinned when I rolled my eyes. “When have I ever forgotten to do my chores?”
Uncle Seamus chuckled, his long gray hair bouncing with the force of his laugh. “I know how you get when you have your nose stuck in a new book, and you’ve been eyeing that one I brought you last month for days. You’re just dying to start it, ain’t ya?”
A wave of excitement shot through me at the thought of spending the whole day curled up in front of the fire reading. But if I put things off until tomorrow, I’d regret it. With as cold as it was, it took a good day or two for clothes to dry, which would mean we’d have to wear dirty ones tomorrow. Not something I wanted to do when just a couple hours could take care of the problem.
“I promise to get the laundry done first.” I sat up straight and tossed my hiar over my shoulder. “Maybe I’ll even bake some bread.”
Uncle Seamus let out another chuckle as he pulled open the door. A bitterly harsh burst of wind swept in, making me shiver, and I pulled my blanket around me tighter.
“I know you will,” he said fondly, then stepped out.
The door was halfway shut when I yelled, “Be careful!” It clicked closed without a response from my uncle.
The book was calling my name and I wanted to get moving with my chores, so I headed to my room to get dressed. The sooner I got moving, the sooner I could curl up by the fire. I pulled on my favorite wool sweater—worn but comfortable—and a pair of pants that were thickly lined.
The mirror over my dresser shook when I pushed the drawer shut, and my reflection caught my eye. I studied myself for a moment, trying to see what my uncle saw. A beautiful young woman. It was a hard concept for me to wrap my brain around, though. I didn’t know any other women and my memories from before were fuzzy. Occasionally, one of the books my uncle brought back had pictures on the cover, but the women on them were done up with makeup and wearing beautiful clothes. Neither of which I had ever had.
Still, the dark brown of my eyes contrasted with my porcelain skin, and my cheeks were especially rosy thanks to the cold morning. My lips were full and pouty, my skin clear and smooth, and the red tint of my hair was wild and brilliant. Like the autumn leaves just before they fall to the forest floor. If I was being objective, I guess I could see the beauty in my appearance.
I took a few minutes to untangle my wavy hair, then pulled it up in a bun on top of my head. As usual, a few curls tried to escape, but I let them be. There was no one around to see me and as long as the curls stayed out of my eyes, I didn’t care what I looked like.
Then I went about my day. I did my chores like I had promised Uncle Seamus I would, setting out dough to rise while I washed and hung the clothes, then going back to get the bread into the oven. Whenever the fire began to dwindle, I added a log, and when the pile of wood got low I went outside to gather more.
The morning air was chilly, and the bite to the wind left no doubt in my mind that snow would begin to fall soon. I looked up, studying the gray clouds as I wondered if somewhere not too far from here, the storm had already started. I hoped not. If Seamus hit bad weather, it would make his journey tough. Even though he’d never been held up all night before, it was always a possibility, and I hated thinking I might have to spend a night alone in the cabin.
Just before I went back inside, I checked on the animals to be sure the pens were closed tight. With the way the wind was howling, I was concerned the doors would blow open. If my rabbits got away, Seamus would have to go out more often to hunt. Being alone as little as possible was my ultimate goal in life.
It was early afternoon when I finally finished my chores, leaving me more than enough time to lose myself in my book.
The cabin was small, two bedrooms and the kitchen with a table made for two. We had a toilet that was little more than an outhouse off the kitchen, and a large basement for storing supplies. The door to it was hidden beneath a rug under the kitchen table. The living room was by far my favorite place in the house, though. The fireplace was big for the small space, and heated the room up well. Along one wall Seamus had built me a massive bookcase, and all the books he’d brought me over the years were lined up neatly in the order I’d received them. The story books from when I was young on top, the subjects getting older and more serious as time when on.
I found the most recent book on the bottom shelf and curled up in front of the fire. There I sat, losing myself in a world that seemed too far away to be real. A world that had people so rich others worshipped them, and devices that fit in your pocket and could give you the answer to any question in the blink of an eye. I was young when the virus broke out, so I remembered that world a little, but it still didn’t
feel
real to me. Even when I concentrated and tried to search the fuzzy memories in my mind, mostly what I remembered were the first few days of my new life. Adjusting. Learning everything new. Trying to forget the almost crushing grief of losing my parents while getting to know the uncle who had always scared me.
