Loading her pilfered supplies into the SUV, she made several more trips inside, determined not to come back more often than she had to. She was concerned that the winter might ruin many of the items. She wondered for an insane minute as she stacked and crammed food in every available space in the SUV, if tin cans exploded when their contents froze.
A noise broke her visions of split cans of peas and corn. She whirled, her heart racing. A figure dressed in a robe shuffled down the road, his hair long and straggly.
Hannah, frightened by the scarecrow of man that shambled toward her, went to jump in the Jeep when recognition struck. 'Mr. Connor?' She approached Brody’s father slowly, shocked by his ghastly appearance.
Vacant eyes looked at her then through her. “Have you seen my Marie?” he mumbled. “I need to find her. I can hear her calling.”
“Is she still alive?” asked Hannah. “Have you heard from Brody?”
A horrible wail came from Brody’s father, and he clutched at his hair, pulling it as his eyes rolled madly. Hannah took a step back, but she needn’t have feared. Mr. Connor whirled. With an unsteady gait, his ragged robe flapping, he went back up the street toward his house.
Disturbed by her encounter, Hannah brought the supplies home and, once out of her sister’s hearing, told her uncle what had happened.
“He’s gone mad,” her uncle Fred said sadly. “Probably thought he was the only one left.”
“I can’t leave him like that,” said Hannah. “I’m going to ask him to come stay with us.”
“Before you do that, you need to arm yourself. He might not be the only one to have lost his marbles.”
Hannah protested, but her uncle, a former military man, insisted. “People who’ve been traumatized can do crazy things, girl.”
Uncle Fred wheeled his wheelchair into the bedroom, his paralyzed legs a gift from the time he’d served overseas. He returned with a lock box and opened it to reveal a gleaming black revolver.
Hannah knew how to use a gun. Her father had taught both his daughters young, saying the best way to respect firearms was to know how to use them and see firsthand what they could do. She stuffed the gun in the glove box of her SUV and drove to Brody’s house.
Heart hammering, she knocked on the front door and waited for an answer. When none came, she entered. Minutes later, she raced from the house and fell to her knees in the long grass.
She’d arrived too late.
She told her uncle of what she’d found, the tears rolling down her face as she dealt with yet more horror. One that could have been prevented.
Her frequent trips to town yielded no more sightings of people. She brought back food and filled gas cans with fuel, thanking the gods that the pumps hadn’t been converted to the newer electric ones. She picked up spark plugs for the generator along with kerosene lamps and all the full propane tanks she could find for their camp stove. The list of supplies she and her uncle thought of boggled the mind, but fear of what the winter might bring made them want to be safe rather than sorry. While they stored the food in the house, cellar, and every empty room they could spare, fuels and gases were stored in an old weathered barn at the far end of the property. Even then, she kept a wary eye on it, expecting it to spontaneously combust in a huge ball of flames.
Tiny flakes of snow began drifting down the first week of November. By December, the roads were impassable, and they huddled in, their wood stove pumping out the heat, keeping them from freezing. Cooking became the chore no one wanted. To prevent carbon monoxide poisoning, they had to shut the door that led from the kitchen to the rest of the house and open the kitchen window and outside door. Talk about freaking cold. They often made do with canned soup warmed on the wood stove.
The winter passed slowly. For entertainment they played cards, board games and, once a week, they fired up the generator and watched a movie. Oddly enough, flicks like
Spring arrived, the world waking refreshed and full of signs of life, plant life, that is. The roads eventually cleared of the snow and ice. Hannah prepped herself for some new scavenging trips. She installed a hitch on the Jeep and, using a trailer a neighbor no longer needed, she drove to the next township.
Nervous, she’d kept the gun in her lap the whole time, her eyes darting and searching the derelict buildings. She only saw stray cats and dogs. Apparently the deadly flu had not affected the animals. She briefly wondered if they’d ever get desperate enough for meat that they’d eat cat or dog like some overseas countries did.
She shuddered. Not while she had some chickens she wouldn’t. If she had any cowgirl skills, they could have beef. Cows now roamed the fields while horses whinnied as they galloped, their manes flowing behind them. If the animals talked, it would be like living in George Orwell’s
Pulling up in front of the Wal-Mart, her one-stop shop for all the supplies they’d need, she hopped out and initially tucked the gun in her waistband, but the heavy, cold metal made her uncomfortable and kept sliding down.
Unlike her hometown, the door of the store here remained intact and locked. Not for long. A large rock helped her in entering and, after she’d widened the space so she could get a cart in and out, she pulled her list from her pocket and went to work. With the aid of a large spotlight, she went back and forth ‘til her Jeep and trailer groaned under the weight of the goods. She’d return but with gas dwindling, she had to make each trip count.
Driving back through the town on her way home, she spotted a bookstore and stopped. She had little room left, but a few paperbacks would be welcome to wile away the long hours. Arms laden with books, she emerged from the bookstore with a smile and began cramming them into the open spots she found in the Jeep.
The arm that snaked around her waist and yanked her backward made her scream. “Help!”
Chapter Two
Flailing, Hannah rammed an elbow back and heard a grunt. The grip around her loosened, and she broke away, whirling to see a vagrant. He leered at her through the wild hair that hung in his face. As he came toward her, the stench of his unwashed body and the clear intent in his eyes made her cringe.
A heavy weight hit her from behind, and she fell to the ground hard. Momentarily stunned, she didn’t initially react when her attacker flipped her onto her back and pulled at her clothes. Her initial shock wore off, and she fought like a mad woman, thrashing and bucking underneath him.
“Get off me, you bastard!”
Her assailant said not a word, his eyes alight with a maniacal gleam. The sound of cloth tearing made her blood run cold. She screamed.
But of course no one heard her.
A glint to the side caught her attention, and she grabbed the shard of glass, slicing her fingers in the process. Without time to think, she jabbed wildly at her assailant’s face.
Her would-be rapist screamed and rolled off her, clutching his bloody face.
Horrified at what she’d done but thanking her lucky stars, she ran for the Jeep and jumped in. Gunning the engine, she roared out of town, the haunting screams of the man ringing in her ears.
After that incident, Hannah never wanted to leave the house. But the thought of her sister going out for supplies in her place goaded her into action. She made several more trips to other nearby towns, and she never left her SUV without her gun. But her precaution proved unnecessary as she never saw another living being.
Spring passed and so did summer. Unable to figure out how to get more gas when the pumps stopped flowing, her trips out of town stopped. Their house was packed to the rafters with supplies. They kept the remaining gas for things like the generator and the chainsaw she hadn’t yet managed to start, but she kept trying.
Their new life while not horrible made her ache with loneliness. Sure, she loved her sister and uncle but, if
