It wouldn’t be very long now, according to the calendar we had less than a week to go. Compared to how easily time flew past at the beginning of our stay here, the end was impossibly slow and dragged-out. We were sick of canned food, and all indoor activities had become dull by constant repetition; this place was giving us cabin fever, although each of us in a slightly different way. I sometimes wondered if it was really necessary to stay in the shelter for half a year, after the first three months we heard much fewer visitors from upstairs, and after the fourth there were none at all. I stuck to this instruction solely because of Connie.
At first, Ruby would ask several times a day when we could go outside again, for a walk or to the playground. Gradually, these questions became less and less frequent, until they stopped. As if she was getting used to this new life, even accepting it as normal, and that made me uneasy. Because for me this was just an intermezzo before our life truly began.
Every day after dinner the girl and I ticked off another day in the calendar. I had no idea whether she really understood why we were doing it. But I didn’t dare to bring it up in conversation so as not to inspire another wave of questions about when we were going to go play outside, because there was nothing I could do to speed things up. Why constantly remind ourselves that we were locked away from the world here? When we only had a few more days left to go, I waited until she made a big black X in the calendar, and pointed out the red circle.
“Just three more sleeps and we can go outside.”
What must have all these changes been like for her? First someone takes all nature away from her and locks her up in a basement, only to kick her out of it again and chase her out into the world. People could be trained, could adapt to anything, sure, but I was getting sick of somebody else showing me the way. I wanted to make my own damn way.
The day prior to the red mark, I was getting ready to leave. I had no idea what to pack for our journey to the upside down tree–how long would we stay there? Would we be able to come back here?–, but some things seemed obvious. Food, plastic bowls, cutlery, a water bottle, matches, a pocket knife. The elephant and a small blanket for Ruby, in case we had to stay out overnight. A letter for Billy, both brass keys. The fishing rod I’d taken out of the pantry and with a lot of relief put back by the door. A few tea candles that were left over, just in case.
I almost didn’t sleep that night but even so, I didn’t feel tired when the morning came. I got dressed, had breakfast, brushed my teeth and rearranged the contents of my backpack before Ruby even started stirring. As soon as she opened her eyes, I chased her out of bed, although normally she was free to take her time getting up. Her breakfast, personal hygiene and getting dressed were a matter of minutes.
“Ready?” I asked. Ruby yawned and nodded.
I hurried to the door like I was trying to escape from a house on fire. Every movement I made suddenly seemed so monumental, almost symbolic. As if by unlocking the door of the shelter and moving the bookcase panel out of the way I was announcing our new freedom.
The house was in chaos. Not only was there a faint smell of bodies just like down in the basement, the furniture was turned over and wind had blown leaves and dust indoors. Objects in various states of disrepair were thrown all around the room from where people were going through them. The kitchen was completely emptied out, which was no surprise of course.
I squeezed my granddaughter’s hand and we walked out onto the patio. The stench of rotting bodies was much stronger there and I knew that it certainly wasn’t because of the farm owners. It reminded me instantly of what we were smelling in the basement, but this outside version was much more intense. Was it the heat? Or maybe the hood with the fan had something to do with it? Perhaps some special filters, taking the edge off the smell? Whatever it was, I shivered and tried not to think of the ones who didn’t survive the virus.
There was no sight of Darlene’s dog, but their cattle had somehow got out of the enclosure and were grazing on the garden beds around the house, along the lengthy driveway, by the forest, among the trees of a nearby orchard. Sounds of nature were coming to us so much louder than before, buzzing bees, singing birds, all of this hitting me with a new intensity.
“Alright, let’s go,” I told Ruby who was silent, and set off towards the upside down tree that Connie took us to half a year back.
I felt like Alice in Wonderland. I had no idea how many years had passed since I’d been on a walk without bumping into another person; there were so many animals around though, it was like walking through the wilderness.
Summer was in full swing. The first thing we did was visit a nearby orchard where we stuffed our pockets and stomachs with apples. The trees were full because there had been nobody around to pick them. Birds had pecked a few of them, but the rest were waiting for us. Who would have thought that
