The No Where Apocalypse (Book 2): Surviving No Where (12 page)

On the road, one of the women dismounted and moved out of sight. I tried to watch through the brush to discover what had caught her attention. A sick feeling overcame me as she walked Nate back into view, dragging him by an arm.

“Got a straggler, Clyde,” the woman called out in a baritone voice. Her long brown hair and thin face gave her an attractive appearance. But noticing her sore covered hands took away whatever beauty she might have had.

“Good,” Clyde replied, motioning for the gal to bring Nate to my side. Instinctively, I wrapped an arm around his shoulder; protectively he wrapped both around Libby who clung to my leg.

Two more trips and the men seemed satisfied they’d cleaned us out. Both helped lug the heavy boxes full of dirty brown potatoes to the wagon. After they remounted their horses, Clyde studied our group one last time.

“Here’s what I’m going to do,” he said. “I’m taking the boy a couple miles up the road with us. Just so you don’t get any funny ideas about following. If see anyone behind us, I kill the boy. If we catch you sneaking around looking for us anytime soon, we’ll come back here and kill you all.”

“Haven’t you already done that?” Lettie snapped. “Taking all our food and such?”

Clyde smirked and shared a laugh with his posse. “Way I see it, you still got some harvesting to do. And maybe you’ll get a deer or two in the next few days. You won’t starve anytime soon.”

“Not ’til winter comes,” Lettie replied, trying to sound despondent. I was so glad her and I were on the same page.

Clyde dismounted and retrieve my Glock — damn it. “Way I see it lady, none of us are promised to survive the winter.” Throwing his leg over the brown horse, he smiled at her. “But thanks to your generosity, we’re gonna make it through the fall.”

Against my better judgment, I stepped forward. “Who told you about us?” I demanded.

Clyde and his friends had already turned when he swooped back at us and stuck his large paw out to pull Nate aboard. “Some people up in Covington,” he answered, making sure Nate held on tight. “A woman there told us all about this place. Told us we needed to be careful though. One of you lived down the road. We needed to make sure you were here already so you wouldn’t sneak up on us.”

Just as I suspected — Susan Weston, that bitch.

“Y’all have a nice day now,” Clyde called out. “And expect the boy back in an hour or so. Don’t you dare set foot on that road any time before that.”

We watched as they, and half our food, rose out of sight. Marge’s soft cries were the only sounds filling our ears.
 

“He’ll be fine,” I heard Daisy say to Marge. “I know they won’t hurt him. I’m sure of it.”

Lettie paced around the back of the group, stopping by my side.

“They come back, we’re going to have to kill them,” she murmured. “Either that or we die trying.”

The only response I could give was a single nod. This couldn’t happen again…ever.

Year 3 - early fall - WOP

By candlelight Lettie, Marge, and I inspected the root cellar. Counting the jars in my head, I knew we had a problem. There simply wasn’t as much left down here as I had thought. Damn.

“We’re good through fall and into early winter,” Lettie surmised, lifting a jar of venison that I believed she planned on making for dinner.
Hold that thought, old woman. I’m not sure anyone will have much of an appetite anytime soon.

Dizzy had shown up within minutes of our gang of thieves’ departure. Giving it another half-hour, he took off on foot to retrieve Nate. Knowing the way those two dawdled, the dinner plates would be cleared and washed before they got back.

To keep Marge’s mind occupied Lettie had suggested she join us in the root cellar. Given her nervous expression, I’m not sure it was helping.

“What will we do after this runs out?” she wondered in a shaky tone.

“We still have the rest of our harvest,” I replied, pointing my thumb back towards the cellar opening. “And we’ll get some more deer before then, maybe even a bear.”

“But those bastards got at least 40 of my glass jars,” Lettie vented. “And why we ever put some of our freshest stuff up there I’ll never know.”

Yeah, we had issues.

Rubbing my forehead tightly, I squeezed my eyes shut. “The problem will be next spring,” I continued. “We’ll be long on protein and out of everything else. And we’ll have a baby in the house by then. So one of us is going to need decent nourishment. Otherwise we’ll have mother’s milk issues.”

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.