Barren Waters - The Complete Novel: (A Post-Apocalyptic Tale of Survival) (26 page)

“I didn’t…”

His throat closed as his mind reached for the memories, his reply lost in the silence that followed.

She wasn’t wrong.

“There are times to stay put, and what you want will come to you, and there are times to go out into the world and find such a thing for yourself.”

―
Lemony Snicket
,
Horseradish

“Sam. Wake up.”

Gently he roused her, his eyes nervously skipping across the room from shadow to rounded shadow. A slim crescent moon provided little light, but it was enough. He leaned over and whispered in her ear.

“Sam. Get up. We have to go.”

Her eyes fluttered open. She propped herself on an elbow and cast her gaze about the room, met his eyes then opened her mouth to give voice to her question. He shook his head and laid a gentle finger across her lips.

“Get up,” he whispered. “We’re going out on an extended expedition. Just the two of us.”

As he knew it would, her curiosity got the best of her. She followed him from the living room, padding across the floor on cat’s paws. She slipped into the bathroom that boasted non-functioning plumbing and closed the door behind her. Useless as a traditional bathroom, it had become a station to change and wash clothes. And for toiletry they’d built a makeshift outhouse behind the main structure some thirty feet from the house.

Jeremy peered out the windows as he waited. Though he was charged with nervous energy and anxious to be on their way, his nerves were somewhat frayed at the prospect of leaving. San Diego. The headquarters of Bigeye Pharmaceuticals. Over the past few weeks the words had become a chant. His mind had whispered the words until the concept became an obsession. And from there, the whispers had quickly advanced to screams. Screams that wouldn’t be ignored. The more Jeremy considered the idea, the more appeal it seemed to have.

His plan had hatched ever so slowly. In secret, he’d begun to weigh the pros against the cons. He’d unfolded the maps and measured the distance, whistling under his breath at the sheer scope of the undertaking. He’d considered which routes might be faster and which would be smarter. Which would provide the least number of obstacles, and which would avoid the largest of cities. He’d begun to calculate the time in relation to the miles to arrive at an estimation of how many miles they’d need to traverse in a day. Indecision had plagued him. Could they truly cross the United States on foot? It was an aggressive plan for sure, but was it foolhardy? Was it a death sentence? He’d struggled with that, with the idea of leaving behind this safe home, but as time continued to pass, he’d begun to think that this plan was the only way to bring Sam long-lasting stability. Sometimes the very best of things were the hardest to achieve, were they not? Was patience not a virtue always rewarded in the end? He remembered some sort of saying like that. And maybe there was a bit of truth to it, he thought.

He’d spent the last few evenings alone of late, staring out over the flat Tennessee plains, the soft sounds of his surrogate family filtering from the window. Could Bigeye Pharmaceuticals hold a large cache of disks? They were made there, he reasoned. Was it such a misguided leap? They were produced there in quantity. From that location, they had likely been shipped to wholesalers and hospitals before the collapse of society. They were studied there, and perfected, experimented with, and packaged. If ever there was a more sensible idea, he didn’t think he’d yet heard one. It was almost too easy. Well, perhaps not
easy,
he thought,
as his mind stretched across the miles they’d travel, but at least it was a plan. Better to have one than nothing at all. The journey would be long and hard—yes—but the reward could be substantial. And San Diego of all places? A place with arable land, rich, fertile soil, and temperate weather. It was almost too perfect.

Again he ran his finger across the raised lettering on the disk. The empty case had become a strange sort of talisman. It was never too far from his reach. He kept it in his pocket and often twirled it in his fingers. He’d noticed of late that the weather was beginning to cool. Winters rarely froze anymore so he needn’t worry about that, but he held fast to the opinion that travel would be easier in the fall. The searing heat of summer was behind them and the bitterness of winter in front. It was now or never. As the days slowly passed, he’d considered that fact again and again. Time had begun to feel more insistent. It pressed against him uncomfortably, at times a heavy shroud, and at others an enslaving yoke. It’s persistency left him breathless; the way it mercilessly marched on without any regard for what it left in its wake.

During that time he’d begun to take stock of what the four of them had built in this sprawling house—take stock of it and weigh it against the prospects of leaving it all behind. They had shelter here and the beginnings of a sustainable garden. The area was rural enough to provide safety, yet close enough to neighboring towns and convenient roadways that travel and exploration were somewhat easier. They had developed a system here, a division of labor that created a sense of renewed civilization. They wore clean clothes and ate with cutlery like cultured people. Here, he shared the burdens of survival with another adult of like mind. Here, he could test his ideas and theories with someone who would regard them honestly. He and Meghan had become friends and allies. Theirs was a shared respect, a substantial support system that he didn’t take lightly.

But it was all based on a lie.

Again and again, his thoughts circled back to this. How long would it be before Meghan would begin to horde the insulin pills? Jeremy had always refused to tell her how many disks were left, but how long before she grew tired of guessing? How long would it be before her fear of the unknown got the better of her, before she began staking out clever hiding places to stockpile medicine for her boy? How long before Jeremy would do the same for Sam? His relationship with Meghan was only as real and as genuine as the health of their children. That was where it would end. Inevitably. Life in these times could be boiled down to one basic concept—survival of the fittest.

Though he hated to admit it, of late he’d begun to view Peter’s condition from a different perspective. Peter was an amazing boy and Jeremy often wondered what he was like before he was crippled by his illness. But he
was
crippled now. That was the undeniable fact, and though Meghan refused to admit the truth, Peter would never heal from his current affliction. He would never regain mobility. He would never be able to share the workload or contribute in a meaningful way. The leg needed to come off, but Jeremy knew she’d never allow it. And so it slowly poisoned his flesh and would continue to do so until his death.

So what were they really doing here then? Waiting for the inevitable? And how long would that be? A year? Two at the most? How many pills would Peter consume in a year’s time only to die at the end of it? Sam’s disks would eventually run out, and when they did how many pills would a dying boy have already consumed? How many would be taken from the mouth of a healthy girl to stay the wraithlike fingers of death—a death that had already begun to stake its claim?

Jeremy disgusted himself with these thoughts, considered himself the worst kind of monster. Not one of claws and scales and teeth, but one that was cloaked and cleverly concealed, its savagery well hidden on the inside. He wanted to slap himself, hurt himself for even thinking such immoral things. But he was also human and humans could not suppress the natural instinct that drove them to care for their young. No matter the cost. Jeremy could no more suppress his instincts than Meghan could suppress hers, and he knew that if their positions were reversed—if Sam was the sick child consuming the pills—he would probably do all of the same things and more. No. There was no viable solution. This was a false paradise that was never meant to last. They had to leave. To delay would only make it that much harder in the end.

So he’d made the decision, even picked out a date. And once he had, it was all suddenly easier. To prepare the cart, he’d begun to wake up earlier than the others. A few months ago he and Meghan had unpacked it fully. They’d stacked the items in the kitchen as thought this were a real home, outfitted the pantry and cabinets, as though this were a real life. Jeremy had always done most of the cooking himself. He and Meghan agreed that they would try to conserve the contents of their little ark as best they could. So instead, they’d relied on their many expeditions to keep their family of four fed, siphoned from the cart for emergencies only. As such, Jeremy’s supplies were many. Bags of rice remained, along with lentils, cans of beans, and sweet yams. There were soups and stale crackers, medicines, and bottle after bottle of potable water.

Their passage across the country would be slow and tedious, he knew. They would have to push the cart along the way, travel mostly at night, and keep to the shadows during the day. Supplies as rich and bountiful as these would be taken from them if he weren’t careful. Careful and deadly, he considered with a frown. But they could make it. They
would
make it. The plan sparked renewed energy. He thought of all the places they would pass along the way, thought of the small caches of pills that might sustain her once the disks ran out. He steeled himself. They would make do. Like it or not, it was a viable plan—certainly more viable than staying here and doing nothing. Jeremy felt good about it. He had never been one to simply lie down and let life happen. Never one to let fate take the wheel. He was an active participant in life. A doer. His father taught him that.

So he’d re-stocked the cart in secret. Like a bandit, he’d selected items at will and pilfered them from their rightful owners. Each item he’d held in his hands, scrutinized in the early dawn light, and wondered how best to split it into halves. How much would he take and how much would he leave for Meghan? She would be devastated, of course, and though Jeremy was leaving her behind, he had no intention of leaving her impoverished. He would be equitable with his supplies. Fair, he told himself. He would leave behind enough to keep them comfortable for quite a long time. He would be charitable—though not overly so.

Equitable? Yes. Generous? No.

His mind often strayed to the first time he’d met Meghan. She’d been thin to the point of emaciation. She’d been dirty and beaten, stretched to the limits of human endurance. He only hoped that he’d done enough, taught her enough to prevent her from falling into the same patterns again. She and Peter would likely stay in this house. And they
should
, Jeremy told himself in an attempt to rationalize his deceit. They had started a good life here. It was a life they could nourish and strengthen. Meghan could tend the gardens and plant more trees, and Jeremy would leave them with enough of everything to develop their own plan for sustainability. But they couldn’t come with him. That was where he’d drawn the line.

Sam opened the bathroom door and stepped into the silvery moonlight that spilled across the floor. Jeremy startled and came back to himself. She crossed the room, and with an arching of her brow, watched him pocket the remaining disks. He avoided her gaze and together they turned and tiptoed past the entrance to the living room. Jeremy flinched as they passed, stopped suddenly, and peered into it one last time. Similar to when he and Sam had lived alone, the foursome had chosen to sleep together, huddled in the same room and rolled into their individual blankets. Reassurance was often found only in the close proximity of others.

He scanned the feminine silhouette Meghan’s body shaped of her blankets. It wasn’t lost on him that she would soon find herself alone. Peter would surely die and she would be left to face this world on her own. For a moment he even thought to leave her a note, a small slip of paper with two words scrawled in large block letters. SAN DIEGO. San Diego—their final destination. He thought to share that little bit of information with her, to offer her some glimmer of hope, something to cling to when her broken heart threatened to crush her. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. This part of their lives was over. He’d likely never see her again.

His eyes found Peter’s angular form curled beneath the sheets. His leg—as ever—was propped atop several thick blankets. His breathing was deep, his hand curled gently beneath his chin. The leg was still bad. Horrendous really. Meghan could tell herself it was a dry rot as much as she wanted to, but rot was rot. Death was death. No, Jeremy thought with a shake of his head. He couldn’t allow her to follow him, couldn’t permit her to drag Peter in tow. Besides, after his death she’d probably be too angry to try.

He caught Sam’s inquisitive gaze from the corner of his eye and knew a moment of indecision. Frozen he stood, left arm braced against the wall. They were really leaving. The visualization had become real. Before he could stop himself, he crept into the dark room and crouched beside Peter, ran a nervous hand through his hair. What was he doing? He was stalling, he thought with panic. Chickening out. But his heart went out to the child. He had to admit it. This never should have happened to Peter. It wasn’t his fault. If he’d met Meghan and Peter sooner, it probably wouldn’t have happened at all. Jeremy would never have allowed it. But it
was
too late and the damage was already done.

Jeremy’s fingers found the shape of the small teddy bear keychain and closed around it. He palmed it, lifted it, brought it up toward the light. It was old and musty, the coal-black nose hanging loose by ragged threads. He felt a tightening in his throat as he tucked the blankets beneath Peter’s chin.

“I’m sorry little one,” he murmured softly with a heavy heart.
So damn sorry
.

Sorry for what?
the voice in his head debated.
For abandoning a small and defenseless boy? For caring first for his own flesh and blood?