Humanity Gone: After the Plague (9 page)

             
Yea, I better start practicing with the gun.

             
“That’s…really lucky!” I reply, unable to hide my hesitation.  “But Jon, do you think…”

             
“I’ll start tomorrow,” he interrupts.  “It’ll take some time.”

             
“We do have the guns.”

             
“You have the guns,” he says with a weak smile and raised brow.  “The great safari hunter Jo-Jo."

          
I have hated that name since the second my last boyfriend thought of it.  Jon heard it once and likes to use it to get under my skin. 

             
That boyfriend lasted three days after that.

             
Anyway, hunting was not really what I wanted to hear.  I’m completely clueless when it comes to bows, and I’m not much better when it comes to guns.  “You said equipment.  What else did you find?”

             
“Take a look.”

             
I walk around the car, and for what feels like the first time in forever, I exhale a little bit deeply and smile.  Now there is a little bit of luck as he shows me the variety of gardening tools.

             
“All we need are some seeds and a place to put them,” he continues.  “Come spring, we are going to rock this land.” His trip has encouraged him.  It feels good knowing that both of us are focused.

             
“We need to start immediately planning for when winter ends,” I say after nodding for a moment.  “I went over the pantry.  It could barely get us through the winter, but then we will be on our own.”

             
“I know.  I measured it out a little bit last night and I don't even thing it will last that long.  Until we learn what it means to hunt and farm, we are going to need more.  We should head...” his last words trail off.  I know what he’s going to say, so I let myself sigh. Tension replaces our optimism. “We need to go to that grocery store.”

             
“When do you want to go?" I ask.  It was dangerous, but he was right.  The amount of food we have would be cutting it too close this winter.

             
“Tomorrow.  We leave before the sun rises.  I want to get there as early as possible without it being dark and before more people get a chance to rummage through it.”

             
"I'm not letting you go alone."

             
"We all will go."

             
“What about the girls?” I ask while glancing toward the window. They are both inside fiddling with something.

             
Jon fixes his posture and exhales.  “You stay with them in the car.  We’ll have to park far enough away from the store so that nobody sees it.  I’ll take our bags, go in, and grab as much as I can. You can honk if you see something or get me out of there quickly if things turn bad.”

             
He’s right; I should stay with the girls, but I am so uncomfortable with the thought of him going in there alone.  “No. We should come, too.”

             
He shakes his head.  “You know that’s not the best move.  Someone has to stay with the car. That’s that.”

             
I purse my lips.  There’s nothing to argue here. We make our way into the cabin and the twins are relieved to chat with him again. They have been drawing on some paper from one of our bags.

             
“So when’s dinner?” Sara asks.  She looks at me.  To be honest, I did not even think about getting anything ready. “What are we having?”

             
“Well Sara,” I begin, “we'll have something ready soon!" I nod to Jon. He shakes his head and puts his hands up.  Neither of us can cook.

             
Great start to our survival. 

             
"Let’s have some of this canned pasta." I say as I grab a can off the shelf.  "and then: pumpkin pie!”

             
It doesn’t take long to open up two cans of the pasta and heat them over the stove.  With the cans open, the pie laid out, and some silverware on the table, everyone digs in.  It still feels good to look around and see smiles after so many meals these past weeks with entirely blank and tired faces.  The main course is gone in a flash.

             
“Who’s going to cut the pie?” asks Caitlyn, with an excitement flashing across her face.

             
“I want a big piece!” exclaims Sara, with the same glee sparkling in her eyes.

             
“Hold on, girls!  I’ll take care of it,” I say. I cut the pie into eight equal slices.  I’m debating whether or not we should just eat the whole thing now.

             
The table is quiet during dessert except for the sound of voracious chewing and a few giggles.  Once half the pie is gone, everyone at the table silently makes eye contact with each other before digging into the other half.

Chapter 17: Jonathon

             
My familiar cell phone morning jingle wrenches me out of unconsciousness. It won’t be long until we can’t depend on the cell phone alarm.  The battery drained as it tried desperately to acquire a signal, so I slipped it into the car charger yesterday. We can't hope for it to work too much longer.  For now it will do. Someday, even battery-powered alarms will be useless; there will be no batteries.

             
I can see that it stirs the girls, and Jo shoots up quickly.  I’ve done that before, but usually after anticipating something intimidating all night.  With any luck it won’t go wrong and we won’t see anybody there this morning.

             
Rolling out of bed, I call to Sara and Caitlyn.  “All you have to do is come to the car, girls,” I say, conveying how easy it will be once they’re there.  “You can fall right back to sleep in the back, okay?”  Their eyes don’t really open fully, but they stumble out of their bunks and slowly slide what looks like clown-sized jackets over their arms.  Jo's clothing will have to keep working for now.

             
Jo is shaking her head to clear it.  She could probably do with a little bit more sleep as well.  “I’ll drive,” I say, grabbing the keys from the table and walking to the door.  We pile into the SUV after I lock the cabin door behind us, but I doubt anyone will even be in the area.  Caitlyn coughs in the back seat as she and her sister nestle together.  I start the engine and slowly guide the vehicle out of the campground so that the bumps don’t disturb the girls too much.  Before long, we’re on the open road, headed toward the civilization that just two days ago we would’ve given anything to leave completely behind.

             
The ride is long, and the sun is just beginning to turn the starlit sky into a deep blue in the east.  The soft breathing and infrequent stirring of the girls provides a little bit of a distraction, or at least a reminder of what’s at stake here.  If I can fill these backpacks with food, we’ll last this winter.  We just need enough time to get some sort of system in place.

             
Thoughts of hunting and gardening stir my mind until I notice the familiar signs for the nearby town.  I know that super center is up on the hill not far from here, so I pull the car off the road and swing it into the brush.

             
Jo stirs.  “Are we here?”

             
“Yes.  Here are the keys.  Turn your phone on and give me an hour.  If I’m not back by then, head back to the cabin.”

             
“Jon, we aren’t…”

             
“Yes you will,” I whisper.  “Besides,” I start, smiling, “If I get tied up I will just run the mega-marathon.” I slap the side of my thigh twice. "Like a horse."

             
She looks back at me, obviously not amused.  "Be careful," she insists.  I nod.

             
I drop the keys on the driver’s seat, pull the three backpacks out of the passenger seat foot-well, and start off.  By putting two backpacks inside of the third, I’m able to strap it on and jog off in the direction of the grocery store.  The sun is over the horizon now, but it hasn’t been long.  We’ve timed it well.

             
The hike to the parking lot is short.  In ten minutes, I’m approaching the asphalt.  The store is up on a hill, so I crouch as I reach the crest.  Needlessly, I slyly raise my head above the crest.  No cars in the lot.  No people walking out the doors.  It looks like the doors themselves are broken. The large parking lot looks empty compared to a few days ago.  All that's left is some twirling trash.

             
I increase my jog to a run to get across the parking lot.  It’s eerie; I’ve never seen a twenty four hour store so completely dead.

             
Just like the bodies that are keeping the front doors open.

             
My run comes to an abrupt halt as I notice them at the entrance; a few are bloody and twisted.  I draw a deep breath and force it out through tight lips.  Some of the bodies are not very old. The holes in the door windows look like they were from bullets. Is this going on all over the country?

             
I’m here for a purpose.  Get in, get out, get back to the cabin so we can completely withdraw.  I try not to look at their faces as I quietly walk through the entryway. Some of them are five...maybe even ten...years younger than me, but I force myself to look up.

             
It’s pretty clear that this store had been cleared by those looters, but it hasn’t been emptied.  The cashier lanes even have some protein bars left on their shelves.  I don’t have much time, but I grab one to quickly eat as I proceed.  I find the canned food aisle sign and head there.  The lights inside keep flickering on and off.  Along the way, I start to become aware of the smell of the place.  I toss the remainder of the bar to the ground.  There are some corpses scattered about the store, but not nearly as densely as they are at the entryway.  I can’t help but speculate that these were people that came in, collected bags, and had them taken from them as they tried to leave. I notice some bullet holes and blood along the walls. Those with guns took what they wanted.

             
I hate guns.

             
I pass a few shelves full of medicine, and I fill the smallest pouches of my bag with the bottles that I recognize.  Aspirin, Ibuprofen, and some general decongestants will help when the temperature drops or allergies kick in.  I’m not even sure how to use anything else.  The pharmacy is on my left, and I hop through the window.  The doctors always prescribe penicillin tablets for infections, so I’ll grab some of those.  I jump back through the window and proceed to the food.  The next few aisles are freezer aisles, and with the electricity on and off, their contents are probably spoiled.

             
The canned food aisle, predictably, is one of the more empty ones.  However, considering that I only have three backpacks, just enough cans remain spread along the floor and under some of the shelves to fill my first bag . Some cans are pretty dented, but they should still be okay.  Once I have that one on my back, I take another glance under some other shelves and continue.  This should work perfectly; enough things have been left behind amidst the violence.  There appears to be just enough to fill these backpacks.   On the way out, I’ll grab some more candy bars for the girls.  This went better than I...

             
Steps. 

             
Up until now, the only thing demanding the attention of my ears has been the flicker of the lights.  But now I hear footsteps coming from the front of the store.  I quickly consider the worst-case scenario: a hungry, bigger man sees me with three full backpacks in an otherwise empty canned food aisle.  There’s nowhere to hide, and I’m not putting these things down.  I turn and try to quietly escape to the back of the store, slowly watching where I place each step.

             
“Hey,” I hear from behind me.  I’m not going to outrun anybody with all of this extra weight.  I stop and turn around.                “What do you have there in those bags?” growls the figure standing at the end of the aisle.  He is the worst case scenario.  He’s tall and probably a year or two older than I am but he has a boyish face with expression that is very unsettling.  His body is square with the width of the aisle, but his head is turned partially to the side, making his dark eyes appear even more accusing from under his heavy brow. He is the size of an ox.

             
“Almost everything in this store is gone. I think there is some more over in that aisle.” I reply, pointing away, and hoping to evade the obvious and true answer to his question.

             
“That’s not what I asked,” he boomed, beginning to take heavy strides down the aisle.  “What’s in your bags?”