Her long brown hair was pulled up and covered by a ball cap. She’d gone to Whole Foods and filled a cart. She was making stops to gather up supplies. Stopping by CVS, she’d gotten medical supplies to add to her already extensive medical provisions. As a nurse, she’d always kept supplies handy in her apartment. For her upcoming trip, she wanted to make sure she’d have plenty. There was no shortage, with no one around, there was plenty of food, plenty of everything. She’d found an abandoned ambulance and retrieved the supplies, sterile bandages, saline IVs and anything she could lay her hands on. You could never have too much.
It had never been established if EV-01-H had been an airborne virus, spread by physical contact, body fluids or a cough or sneeze. The virus had been virulent and from the results, Emma suspected a ninety eight percent extinction rate, if not more. The extermination of the human race, an extinction event. She’d seen a segment on the news, in the first week, about the primates at the zoos. Those animals were dying as well, the large primates, gorillas, chimps and orangutans.
So rapid were the deaths, that it had never been discovered which country had unleashed this plague, if any had. The death toll she watched on TV was grim, fast and profligate. She was fairly certain that the strain hadn’t been nature made, but created by madmen, a government perhaps. They’d done their job too well, and had all but wiped out the human population.
She knew she needed to get the hell out of the city, away, because all these bodies decomposing, would lead to cholera or typhoid. She’d lived through the Vermilion strain, she doubted she’d live through cholera. It would take planning, but mostly, it would take figuring out where in the hell to go. Her first thought had been Lancaster, where her parents and ex-husband lived, but it would be just as bad as Boston. She could not live in or near a city. Too dangerous. Definitely away from the city. Out to the countryside? She’d have to commandeer a truck and pack it up with supplies, water and food. She wondered how the Amish were doing and if they’d take her in? Or did she even want to stay in a restrictive community?
Turning the cart, she headed up the final stretch of sidewalk to her apartment building, walking along Amory Street. She was glad she lived on the first floor; she’d hate to have to haul all the groceries up the stairs. She heard more gunfire, this time closer to hand. That wasn’t good. Who was shooting and at what?
Ahead of her, she saw a dog. It was thin and dirty. It had large liquid brown eyes, sad and compelling and melted her heart instantly. It was a tan and brown short haired dog, of medium to large build, with a sweet dark face. It looked at her and its tail wagged tentatively. She smiled. She wasn’t a dog person, that was her ex-husband’s wheelhouse, but she was so lonely that talking to a dog had to be better than not talking at all.
“Hey you. You lost? Your people parents die? I don’t have dog food, but I got some canned meats.” She cooed. Her smile broadened when the tail thumped harder.
“Well, come on dog.” She said and the dog followed behind her. Coming up to her apartment building, she stopped and looked around. Bodies littered the street, she turned away. Opening the door to her apartment, she coaxed the dog in, and followed after. She made several trips, bringing the bags of food in. The water was the heaviest and she had to break it down to even more trips. Going to the kitchen, she pulled out two bowls, and opened a bottle of water and handed the dog the water. She rifled around in a drawer and pulled out a can opener and opened a can of meat. She dumped that into the other bowl and set it before the dog. The animal wolfed down the food, licking the bowl.
“I’ll give you more later pooch, I don’t want you to get the shits. Besides, I think your tummy has shrank a bit, buddy. We’ll go back to Whole Foods later for a few big bags of dog food.”
Opening her own water, Emma went to the living room. On the coffee table were several stacks of books. She’d ransacked the local library and a book store, picking books that she thought might help her and her quest for surviving alone, in the hostile world. One book, Mini Farming, written by Brett Markham, would help her begin a garden. She knew nothing about gardening, nor plants. Her mother had a green thumb, but she didn’t. She’d have to learn. She had a book on wild edible plants, survival living, Survival Hacks, by Creek Stewart and a few other odds and ends, one about canning food and food preservation.
She’d been amassing supplies over the past few days, gearing up for the big move. She knew she was dragging her feet about leaving. Here was death and disease, but here was the known. Out there was the unknown. It was a start to a new life, a life alone in a world where there were very few humans. She didn’t know how many people were out there but she knew they wouldn’t all be nice. She thought about the gunshots she heard earlier. She didn’t own a gun, but had found several in the other apartments. She knew that if and when she ran into other people, she’d want to be armed. A woman alone was a dangerous situation. She’d seen enough post-apocalyptic movies to know that, at least there were no zombies. She could be thankful for small mercies.
On her small kitchen table was a Sig Sauer, or at least, that was what the
