The Search (22 page)

Chapter 44

     Sarah was a pretty good cook, although she hadn’t a clue how. She even voiced the question to Nathan over dinner that night.

     “I wonder how it is I can’t remember my own name, yet I know how to broil venison so it’s tender and cooked just right.”

     “I don’t know,” Nathan said rather gruffly. “Probably the same way you didn’t remember my name, but you remember how to screw the hell out of me.”

     He didn’t offend her. He talked that way all the time. She had the sense that other men didn’t. That maybe they had more class. But then again, she really didn’t know for sure. And didn’t know how she knew, if she really did.

     In any event, Nathan seemed to be in a pretty good mood.

     She was glad. She liked him better that way, and it was easier for her to relax.

     “Honey, who are the people in the pictures?”

     “What pictures? What are you talking about?”

     “The pictures on the walls. All over the house. Pictures of a man and a woman, and some kids.”

     “Those are your brother and sister-in-law and their children. You don’t remember?”

     “No. I looked hard at their faces, and none of them look familiar to me at all.”

     “Want to hear how they died? It’s pretty grisly. They suffered a lot. The plague was brutal. Had them spitting blood for days and tearing the hair out of their own heads, it was so painful.”

     “No. I’d rather not hear the details, if you don’t mind.”

     He laughed a sadist’s laugh.

     “Okay, suit yourself.”

     Then he changed subject.

     “The garden needs weeding. While you were laying in your bed I watered the plants to keep them from dying.”

     He paused, obviously waiting for some type of response from her.

     All she could think of to say was, “Thank you, honey.”

     He went on.

     “Tomorrow, I want you to spend some time out there and get it straightened back up. Those weeds will overtake the garden, and then we won’t have anything to eat except meat and that old hard corn. And I want you to start canning vegetables for winter.”

     The puzzled look on her face brought a question.

     “You
do
remember how, don’t you?”

     “Sure, honey.”

     It was a lie. She didn’t have a clue how to can vegetables. But she sensed a bit of anger in his question, and she wasn’t about to admit that to him.

     She figured, how hard could it be, really? She’d seen a device in the back of the cupboard. It was stainless steel and resembled a crock pot with a pressure gauge sticking out of its top.

     She’d remembered a plate on the front of it that said “Smithson Canning Cooker, Sandusky Ohio”

     Maybe she could find an owner’s manual in one of the drawers in the kitchen, and could memorize the instructions when Nathan was sleeping.

     “Of course, honey. I’ll go out in the morning and pull up all the weeds. Then I’ll pick all the ripened vegetables and berries and start canning them.”

     “Don’t can all of them, you dumb bitch. We still have to eat now, too. Just can the extras. The ones we won’t need, so we can have them when the weather turns cold again.”

     “Okay. Yes, you’re absolutely right. Nathan?

     “I was wondering about that. When the weather gets cold, don’t I wear clothes to keep warm?”

     “Nope. You’re naked all year around. Surely you can remember
that
, can’t you? When you run outside to grab firewood and then you coming running back in as quickly as possible?”

     “No. I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

     I let you wear a couple of pairs of my socks when you go out for firewood. You leave them by the back door when you’re not using them.

     “Do I wear one of your coats too?”

     “No. I like the way your body looks when you come in all covered with goose pimples.”

     She wasn’t sure if he was kidding. But she thought it best to smile and drop the subject.

     “Yes. I like the way you look at me when I come back in like that too.”

Chapter 45

     It was just before noon the following day when Brad and David turned up a dusty and rutted road in their never-ending search for Sarah.

     Once upon a time, before the world went dark and froze over for seven long years, the dirt roads in Kerr County received routine maintenance. Every six months or so, a Caterpillar road grader made its rounds of all the dirt roads that weren’t on private property. The operator dropped the big Cat’s heavy blade and dragged it along, smoothing the road of its high spots and ruts.

     But that hadn’t happened in many years now. There simply weren’t enough surviving employees of the county.

     And many of the old roads, like this one, were barely passable.

     They’d visited three ranches and one farm whose long driveways connected with the old dirt road. Two of the ranches had been abandoned long before. One had been ransacked repeatedly, and everything edible had been taken.

     The other, oddly enough, appeared never to have been violated. The cupboards were full of canned goods, now swollen from having been frozen and then thawed. Three cases of bottled water were still stacked neatly in one corner of the cupboard, which still contained a wide variety of packaged food items.

     A cup of coffee lay at the end of the dining room table. The black stain on the inside told the tale of the cup, which had been left there half full, the coffee having frozen, then thawed, then evaporated long before.

     Brad commented to David, “It looks like he just went out front to get the paper and never came back.”

     The next farmhouse told a sadder tale.

    It was neat as a pin, save the dust and cobwebs which had accumulated in recent years. On the living room sofa, huddled in each other’s arms, were two skeletons still clothed and wearing heavy winter parkas.

     There was no visible trauma, but several empty bottles of prescription medicines on the coffee table beside two empty water bottles.

     This time it was David’s turn to speculate.

     “I’m guessing they ran out of hope long before they ran out of winter. Probably took every pill they had and then just snuggled to stay warm until they drifted off to sleep.”

     “It’s a shame they didn’t go over to the neighbor’s house. There’s plenty of food still over there they could have used.”

     “Yeah. I wish they would have. But then again, maybe they just got tired of living and figured it was no longer worth the effort.”

     The last ranch house they’d visited was inhabited by an old codger and his two grandsons, who were friendly enough but who had the suspicious eyes they’d seen time and time again among the other survivors.

     “We ain’t got no extra food, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

     The old man did all the talking. The grandsons stood on either side of him, rifles in hand in case there was trouble.

     “No, sir. We’re looking for a friend of ours, a woman named Sarah. She went missing in the woods not far from here, and we’re checking all the farms and ranches to see if anyone has seen her.”

     “It takes a lot of guts to go knocking on doors around here, son. You’re just as likely to be shot as you are in finding your friend. She must be pretty special to you to take that risk.”

     “Yes, sir. She is a very special woman.”

     “We ain’t seen her, son. But we have a working pickup. If she comes here we’ll bring her home. I’ll do that much for you.”

     “Thank you for that, sir.”

     Then, as an afterthought, David continued.

     “Sir, the ranch just south of yours. It was abandoned. Do you know what happened to the owner?”

     “He went hunting a couple of days after the skies went dark. Said he was going for a deer before somebody else got them all. Never came back.

     “We found him a week later when we went for our own deer. Dead. Shot in the back in a clearing, with deer entrails all about him and a knife right beside him. It appeared he was field dressing his kill when somebody shot him and took it away from him. Left him there to freeze solid in the middle of the damn woods. Damn bastards. He was a good man and a good friend. He deserved better than that.”

     “His house is still full of food. You might be able to make use of it.”

     “We know. We been over there. Seen the food and left it be. Wouldn’t be right. It would be like stealin’ from a good friend. We get hungry sometimes. But we ain’t that desperate, nor likely to ever be. Old Hank had enough stealin’ done to him. First his life and then his deer. That was done by cowardly strangers, and that was bad enough.

     “It just wouldn’t be right nor proper for his friends to steal from him too.”

     David looked closely at the two grandsons standing beside the old man. Both were in their late teens, both painfully thin with gaunt faces. They were excellent examples of the human body when severely malnourished.

     He wanted to say, “Look at these boys. They’re on the verge of starving to death. And you’re passing up free food on principle?”

     But he held his tongue. He knew there was no arguing with the old man, but there was a good chance of riling him up.

     And if they riled him up, there was no way of telling what might have happened.

     Instead, David asked another question.

     “This road… do you know how much farther it goes? Do you know how many more farms and ranches we’ll find if we keep heading north?”

     “It dead-ends after another quarter mile or so. Only one more farm up there. The old Huckabee place. Good people, the Huckabees. She used to bring me pies sometimes. They’re gone now, don’t know what happened to them. Somebody else is living there now. Don’t know much about ‘em. They stay to themselves and so do we.”

     “Thank you, sir. Sorry to have bothered you.”

     “Wasn’t no bother, son. It’s nice seein’ a face every once in a while that ain’t got anger or meanness on it. Good luck on your hunt. I hope you find the woman you’re looking for.”

Chapter 46

     Brad and David left their truck parked and walked the quarter mile to the farm the old man called the Huckabee Place.

     “Let’s hit this place and then head back to the compound,” David said. “The radio’s dead and I think the battery is shot.”

     With nine teams of men searching all over the county, there weren’t enough radios for everyone. So each team had only one radio to use to call for help or report their progress.

     With a dead radio, the men would be helpless if they came under attack from angry homeowners, or if their truck broke down and they needed a ride back.

     It was a lack of communication which made an already difficult process even more so.

     So Brad didn’t argue.

     “It’s about lunchtime anyway. Maybe we can get one of the girls to make us a couple of sandwiches and we can eat them on the way back.”

     As they walked up the winding caliche driveway between the dirt road and the Huckabee’s farmhouse, the pair made small talk about the search and where they’d go next.

     “I think we only have a couple more roads to work until we hit Highway 51. Mike and Frank have already worked the other side of 51. If we can finish up this side today, we can look at the grid map and see which areas still haven’t been worked. We can shift to a new area in the morning.”

     “Good. Hopefully we can find an area a bit more friendly. I don’t know about you, but I’m getting darn tired of talking to people who insist on pointing loaded weapons at me.”

     “You can’t blame them, Brad. They’ve all been through more hell than we had to endure. And it’s likely they’ve been robbed a time or two. And maybe even have lost some of their loved ones to the marauders. You’d be guarded and suspicious too. I know I damn sure would be.”