The Survivor Chronicles: The Risen (43 page)

We're happy here. Relationships are growing
and changing. I've noticed Leah and John walking with their heads
bent close together more often. As I'm writing this, Carl has his
arm draped around Mary Ellen's shoulders while they stand by the
fire and laugh with the others. I've been talking with Phoebe a lot
more, she's a nice woman but my heart is still wounded from Nancy.
It is good to have someone to talk with again.

Sitting here now, watching the six of them
gathered around the fire, the ones whose stories I have taken and
retold and now have sitting in my lap, I wonder if they know what
they've done. Wonder if they know that the only reason any of us
are here is because three groups of strangers came together, aided
each other, and formed a family when their worlds were falling
apart. I don't think they know what it is they've done, or at least
what they've done for me. I never would have made it this far
without them. Never would have found this family and I am thankful
for them every day.

I watch them now and can't help but smile as
Carl shoves John's shoulder and John curses at him, but he's also
laughing as he pushes him back. We still don't know what is to come
for us, or if the world will fall apart on us again, but for now
we've all found security here.

We've all come to one silent conclusion too,
we don't talk about the future or what caused everything to happen.
We focus on the day to day and we enjoy every day we have together
because we know how quickly it can all be torn away from us, how
swiftly we can lose the ones we love. We've all processed the
revelations in our own ways. I now say a silent prayer every night
before going to bed but I prefer to focus on the life I'm fortunate
enough to still have. I think most, if not all of the others, do
the same.

We have a large and growing supply of
weapons, food, clothing, tools, animals, gas, vehicles, and water
in the basement and the barn but we don't talk about why we're
putting these things there. If we did, we would only go back to
living every day in fear. This way, by not acknowledging the fact
it could all go away again, we're able to enjoy the days of
relative peace we've been given since the first crocus opened to
the sun. We're not foolish enough not to be prepared.

Claire, Freddie, Victor, Rochelle, and
Phoebe are emerging from the barn with some more alcohol, drinks,
and food cradled in their arms. The celebration from last night is
going to continue tonight. Rochelle pauses to close and lock the
door before hurrying over to join the others. Rusty, R.J. and Leah
just stepped out of the house with some blankets to sit on. They
walk across the drive, past the crab apple tree and raspberry
briars that line the side of the yard to join the others. The tree
is already yielding fruit and Mary Ellen is determined to try and
make cider from it in the fall.

I should go too, but sometimes I just like
to sit here on this rock wall and watch. It's so rare I get the
chance. Even as I think it, Phoebe turns to search the night for
me. A smile splits her face and she begins to wave me over.
"Donald, come on!" she calls to me.

"I'll be right there!" I call back.

I should go, perhaps I'll write again soon.
Though I'm not sure life will give me the chance and I no longer
require the escape writing these stories gave me during our
journey. Nor do I think anyone is overly interested in farmer
John's story, he's not that good at working the land anyway.

I'll take these journals and store them
safely with our other supplies. I found a fire safe in one of the
closets and plan to lock them inside. That way if everything goes
to crap again and we have to leave here, or if we're all killed
this time, at least these notebooks will be there for someone to
hopefully learn our story one day. I believe it deserves to be
told, believe it is one worth sharing with future generations.
Generations that will one day shape and mold this world into
something else, just as the many generations before us did.

We have no idea what the future holds for
us, but then we never did. For now, I'm going to join my family in
the celebration and cherish in these moments, and these loved ones,
that I've been given.

THE END

I want to thank everyone that followed along from
the very first chapter I posted to my Facebook page and blog over
two years ago. I didn't know how people would take to a weekly
serial story, but it was a lot of fun to be able to write something
new every week. I was sad to say goodbye to these characters but I
felt it was time to let them go. Though I still miss my Monday
postings.

On a more personal note, the singing horseman Al
spoke about when he talked to Rochelle about harness horses was my
father. I'd always planned to put him in this book; I thought he
would get the biggest kick out of it. Unfortunately, he passed away
before I was able to do so. However, many people heard his loud,
enthusiastic renditions of
Mamas Don't Let
Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys
,
On the Road Again
, or
Lord
it's Hard to be Humble
as he jogged his horses around
the track. He had an enthusiasm and love for life I've never seen
in anyone before and he lit up a room. Everyone smiled or laughed
when they saw him. I miss him every day, he may be gone but I can
still hear his singing and laughter.

Mailing list for Erica Stevens and Brenda K.
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My name is not really Erica Stevens, it is a pen
name that I chose in memory of two amazing friends lost too soon, I
do however live in Mass with my wonderful husband and our puppy
Loki. I have a large and crazy family that I fit in well with. I am
thankful every day for the love and laughter they have brought to
my life. I have always loved to write and am an avid reader.