The No Where Apocalypse (Book 2): Surviving No Where (8 page)

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 middle 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.

“Do you make a habit of sneaking up behind women and sniffing their hair?” she asked in a harsh tone. “Women you’ve just met?”

Shooting her a quick smile, cheesy I’m sure, I raised my hands. “I was just trying to locate a smell I couldn’t put my mind around,” I admitted, hoping she didn’t pull the pistol again.

“Fish camp,” she answered, nodding and taking another sip of water. “It takes a while to get rid of.”

I cocked my head. “Pardon? I don’t think I follow.”

Placing a hand on her hip she looked at me as if I were half-crazy. “I’ve been at a fish camp for the past year,” she answered, her tone lightening. “Needed to be able to eat and feed two kids. Fish camps always need help.”

I nodded, smiling as I did. “I get it. Did you just leave? Just wondering; the smell is still fairly strong.”

Her eyes rolled left, then right, as her lips twisted opposite directions. “Probably been a month, maybe six weeks I suppose.” She leaned closer to me and took a large whiff. “You don’t smell like no spring daisy yourself, Bob. When was the last time you cleaned up?”

Nate laughed at the pump. “My sister tells him that all the time. You’re just like Violet, Daisy.”

Daisy grinned and steered Libby back towards the front yard. “I think I’d like this sister of yours, Nate. She sounds like a straight shooter. Where’s your shovel, Bob?” she called over her shoulder.

“I can dig that for you,” I offered, chasing after her like a stupid little puppy.

She stopped and turned, serious again. “I didn’t ask you for any help. I can take care of it myself. Brendon was my child.”

“Really, I don’t mind. I want to help.”

Stroking her dirty face, she stared me down harshly. Tiny nods finally followed. “That would be very nice of you. I appreciate your kindness. Maybe there are decent men left in this wretched world.”

I ran to the pit, where I stored my tools, for the shovel. Standing still for a second, I caught my breath. My heart was racing a little. Not enough to startle me; just enough to give me pause. I snuck a peek back at the woman, Daisy. Her blond hair, delicate features, soft whimsical voice. Yeah, that made it increase again, just like I thought.

Year 3 - mid summer - WOP

Daisy and I buried her son in a shallow grave on the south side of my property. I wanted to keep the boy away from my pump and fresh drinking water supply. I really had no idea how that all worked, groundwater and all.

Lit by the afternoon sun the spot was idyllic, except for the flies. Once in the ground, most of the black bastards attacked the decomposing body and left me alone to fill in the hole.

I looked up, midway, at Daisy. Her expression was that of relief more than sadness. Not a single tear streaked her dirt stained face, not a sniffle from her small delicate nose.
 

“He would have been six in early fall,” she stated, sounding shallow. Almost as if she didn’t want to care anymore. “He was always sick, ever since birth. When the fever got him last winter, I thought he was dead then.” She looked at me and shrugged. “The last months haven’t been good, but I still see them as a blessing.”

Watching her approach the covered grave, I leaned on the hickory shovel handle.
How would I have handled this,
I wondered. She was strong, stronger than I was. Emotion nipped at her voice, but her face and stance was that of a survivor.

She laid a small bouquet of daisies on the dirt. They were plentiful along the road, and about the only blooming flower to be had. Kissing her fingers, she placed them near the flowers.

“Sleep well, my little prince,” she whispered, “your battle is over.”

When she rose, I wiped away the tears I shed. Perhaps her toughness, grown by being alone with two children, made her stronger. Apparently, I wasn’t strong enough.
 

“I’m sorry.” It was probably the lamest set of words I could offer the young mother, but nothing else came to mind.

Nodding, she sighed. “Thank you. I appreciate your kindness.”

I don’t know what happened. I’m not sure if it was me or her. Something I did, some small motion, tip of the head, tightening of lips. Or maybe she just wanted it, needed it. Whatever the cause, I opened my arms as she approached and wrapped them around her.

Yes, she stunk of fish. Yes, I stunk of months without bathing. But in that moment, it didn’t matter. Not one bit.

She squeezed tight, as if she were holding to an anchor and dared not let go. I wasn’t letting go either.

My arms wrapped around the diminutive adult with ease. I knew when I first saw her on the road that Daisy was petite. But this was different.

The top of her head didn’t make it to my chin. I should have known that, she was inches taller than a nine-year-old. Her body had nothing to it. It seemed so cliché to me, but Daisy Vaughn was not mere skin and bones…she
was
skin and bones.

Her hair felt like ripened straw, had the same color as well. I figured the texture was either natural or the result of months — maybe years — at a fish camp. It didn’t matter though; she was perfect.

When our embrace ended, she took my hand and we walked in silence back to the front of the cabin. Inside I could hear Nate playing a game with Libby. I could tell from the little girl’s squeals that she was having fun. I knew Nate was dying to do anything with anyone. As long as it was fun, he’d have a good time as well.

We took our spots on the bench. I noticed Daisy’s grin as she handed something to me. My God, she had the face of an angel. No — she was angel.

“Thought you might want this,” she laughed, handing me my Glock.

I’m sure I blushed, for more than one reason. But did I ever feel alive.

“Would you mind terribly if I asked a favor of you?” Daisy’s eyes looked into my soul with her question.