Barren Waters - The Complete Novel: (A Post-Apocalyptic Tale of Survival) (10 page)

Jeremy grasped her shoulders, though at first she refused to be pulled from her task. “Sam,” he said softly. He gathered her into his arms and cradled her head against his chest, a gesture he hadn’t done since she was much younger.

“I’m waiting,” Sturgeon said softly.

Jeremy’s eyes flashed angrily toward the man who had murdered his wife. “We’re going,” he snarled. He lifted Sam’s chin, and with his thumb, wiped a smudge of blood from her cheek. “We have to go Sam. I’m sorry, baby. I know it’s difficult to understand.”

Holding up his child as best he could, he bent to kiss his wife’s trembling lips. This couldn’t be happening. Was he leaving Susan behind? Was he really doing this?

“Susan,” he gasped. “There’s never been another and there never will be. It’s always been you.” He touched his forehead to hers. “If the world suddenly came to an end and I were stuck on a deserted island, I’d only want you by my side.”

She smiled at the familiar catch phrase, a joke that had become their reality, and fresh tears spilled over her cheeks. “And I you, Jeremy. Take care of our daughter and know that I love you both.” She moved her soft lips against his one last time and stared into his eyes. “Now go. Take her and get out of here. Before anything else happens.”

He nodded, pulled Sam’s arm. Her hand found his and clenched it painfully. There were no more words left to say.

“Mom.”

Susan nodded. “Baby, take me with you on your adventures. Listen to your Dad, but take me with you in your heart. This isn’t the end, Sam. It’s just a new beginning. Daddy will take care of you. Now go.”

Sturgeon thumped his gun against his fist. “Go. Now. Before I change my mind.”

With dismay, Jeremy tore his gaze from his wife and moved for the door.

“Wait,” he heard Susan call out weakly. He dropped Sam’s hand and returned to her side. “My pocket,” she whispered. “My left pocket.”

Before the intruders could stop him, he plunged his hand into her pocket, and there, deep within the folds of cotton, his fingers found the shapes of seven small round disks. He nearly choked with the intensity of his emotions. She’d remembered what he’d forgotten, must’ve slipped them into her pocket when she’d retrieved the gun. Wordlessly he pressed his lips to hers, and palming the precious medication, rose to rejoin his daughter. Swaying precariously, Doctor Jack pushed himself to his feet and lurched after them as the three left the sanctuary of the warm room and entered the silence of the night. They scampered across the winding front path and down stairs that snaked around to the garage below the crest of the hill.

“Stop,” Jack said breathlessly. “I need to rest.”

Jeremy spun around to face the doctor, his eyes flashing. He expected that he might throttle the man, beat and smother him, cut, or maim him, but strangely he felt only pity. Look at him! The doctor was as good as dead. Without proper care, a gunshot wound would fester and eventually kill him. That, or the loss of blood would do the job first.

“I’m a liability,” the man whimpered, “I can’t make it down this hill much less through the woods. You need to go on without me. I’ve already lost too much blood.”

Jeremy nodded. The doctor certainly wouldn’t get any arguments or sympathy from him. He peered up at his cabin, at the curling smoke that lifted from the chimney, at the warm light that flickered in bright tones of orange and yellow from the large picture window that overlooked their precious garden. His mind tripped over all that he’d lost and a white-hot blade of anger began to twist in his gut. This wasn’t fair. None of it. It wasn’t right. He pictured the life these men would live, the years they’d spend walking the halls of his home and sleeping in the comforts of his beds. He imagined the warm nights they’d spend beside his hearth, feasting on his supplies and gorging themselves of his daughter’s freshly grown spinach and kale.

No. He repeated the word over and over. No. He wouldn’t allow them this luxury. He couldn’t. Not after Susan. These men had built nothing, had done no work to deserve these opulent spoils. His resolve hardened and he clamped his teeth together like a steel vise. He wouldn’t let them have it. He’d not let them spit into the face of his father. He’d not let them soil his legacy. It was as simple as that. If Jeremy couldn’t have this life then no one could. Though part of him knew the sentiment was childish, he succumbed to it just the same.

Wordlessly he dropped his daughter’s hand and sprinted for the garage. There was a door beside it that was always unlocked, and he slipped into the dark room and headed for his workbench. His eyes traveled over the neat rows of tools, gloves, and hats, then moved to the supply bins of household cleansers. He grabbed a bucket and began dumping within, bottles of nail polish remover, drain cleaners, and any aerosol cans he could find. He even grabbed the boxes of dish detergent and household cleaners. Alone, each chemical was easily combustible, but together they’d create a choking and poisonous smoke. He howled inwardly at the idea, surprised at his own clever savagery. He wanted them to suffer. They would of course escape, but perhaps he could inflict a bit of damage to their lungs in the process. Undoubtedly they’d linger long in the ark, agonizing over which supplies to snatch, over which bags could hold the most.

When he’d taken all he could hold, he snatched up the box of matches and fled the room. He passed by Jack and Sam on his way up the side of the hill, his eyes wild and reckless.

“Dad?” Sam asked tentatively, her voice trembling with fear. “What are you doing?”

Peripherally he saw her push past the Doctor’s clutching arms and sprint up the hill behind him. “Dad! What are you doing?”

What
was
he doing? Susan was in there.
No
, the sensible voice in his head solemnly corrected.
She’s not in there. Not any longer. She’s gone now and you know it
. Even now, he could imagine the men sitting in the ark, bags of chips and boxes of cookies carelessly ripped opened and scattered around them. He could envision them popping the tabs off cans of beer and corking bottles of wine that lay organized by vintage in orderly rows against the west wall. Then he could imagine his wife, alone and dying on the couch, perched beside a dead man as the light slowly dimmed from her eyes. All of this he visualized and all worked further to kindle his rage.

He dropped his pail at the edge of the overgrown lawn and began ripping the tops off of cleansers and splashing the contents up the sides of his cabin. He spattered the wood door with nail polish remover and doused the frames of the windows with rubbing alcohol. Around and around the cabin he raced, Sam’s feet churning the dirt behind him in billowing clouds. He was only dimly aware of the sobs that were tearing from her throat until he stopped and peered into the empty pail. With a final glance at Sam he fished the matches from the bucket and held them aloft.

She shook her head. “No. Dad. You can’t. Mom’s in there.”

He hadn’t been aware of the tears that streaked his face. Not until he felt their salt tight against his cheeks. “But she’s not, Sam,” he whispered. “She’s not in there. Not anymore.” He moved and crouched beside her, placed a trembling palm over her chest. “She’s not in that cabin anymore, Sam.” He tapped her chest. “She’s in here now. With you.”

With that he stood, and for the last time, beheld the lodge that had been his home, the cabin that had been bequeathed by his father. Detached, he struck the first match, moved toward the front door, and tossed it against the wood. It lit with silent force; a muted whisper of deathly intent. He found Sam’s outstretched hand, and together they watched the inferno climb the walls and circle the windows. It was odd how quickly something that had taken years to build could be destroyed.

He pulled on Sam’s arm and together they sprinted around the house, lighting matches and flinging them onto the walls. Before long the outline of the cabin shone brighter than the moon above. Sooty, asphyxiating smoke began to lift into the air in thick clouds, and he suddenly became concerned about their own proximity to the many chemicals he’d mixed together, yet still he dashed from corner to corner and tree to tree.

His daughter’s frightened voice finally penetrated the maelstrom in his head. “Enough,” he heard her murmur faintly. “Dad, that’s enough. Dad. Enough!”

She’d screamed the last word. And she was right. The men inside weren’t stupid. They wouldn’t sit and burn inside a raging inferno. In no time, they’d puzzle out what he had done and burst through the doors in pursuit of the arsonists. He couldn’t face them in another fight. He had to get Sam out of here.

He grabbed her hand and together they sprinted back down the hill toward Doctor Jack. One glance at the man’s unfocused eyes confirmed his death, and Jeremy scooped up his daughter and ran for the tree line. He knew where they’d go, had already formed a plan in his mind. Without a backward glance he cradled his daughter against his chest and melted into the darkness of a heavy canopy of trees.
His
trees.
His
forest.
His
many acres of property. The forest seemed like a living and breathing organism that opened its arms and welcomed them into its shadowed embrace.

He ran until his legs burned and his chest heaved. He ran until his eyes blurred and his arms and cheeks were covered in scratches and nicks. He ran until he saw the rising shape of a cart covered by an army-green tarp and slick plastic, this awkward little wagon, this wheelbarrow on steroids, this sub-standard new ark.

“I wanna explore on my own,” Jeremy heard her mumble as she turned away from him and disappeared down an aisle of women’s clothing. Her spirits seemed somewhat brighter, but he knew her emotions were still a rollercoaster beneath her smile, and for the hundredth time he wondered if she’d ever know the carefree comings and goings a girl her age should.

She was thirteen now, but just barely so. Jeremy tried to remember himself at that age. By that time, his parents had permanently moved them to the cabin in the Smokey’s, yet he still attended local public school and played in sporting events. Sam’s life was much different. She only had him. Day after day, and night after night, with no one else but the company of her father. It was a lot for any girl to take, much less one maturing through adolescence. Just as well, he thought with a sigh. Let her spend a bit of time alone. He needed to check the pharmacy anyway and didn’t want her to watch him do it. He didn’t like to give her reasons to think about her illness. Besides, he didn’t expect that he’d find anything of much use there. Not after all this time. Without proper refrigeration, the injectable forms of insulin would have all gone bad, but it was always wise to check for any other types.

He walked the darkened aisles, his footsteps echoing strangely, sounds carrying through the empty store and reverberating off the exposed ductwork of the industrial ceiling in odd, staccato vibrations. The store was a mess. As were most places he and Sam encountered, this one had fared similarly. While Jeremy and his family had enjoyed the comforts of a secluded life in the Smokey Mountains, free from the perils and disorder of a crumbling society, thousands of unfortunate others had had to make due. They’d become foragers and scavengers, hunters and gatherers. They’d also become thieves and criminals. The invisible threads of neighborly hospitality and the bonds of community had died with the oceans. Sadly, it was now every man for himself.

He paused a moment and peered on tiptoes across the store. He could see the wavering light from Sam’s flashlight weaving about the aisles. She’d find few things of value. Most would be useless and frivolous, old hats or school supplies, a variety of vacuums or a collage of framed artwork. But perhaps she’d find a new game they could play as they traveled, or a few pairs of thick socks. Or perhaps she could find a new book, something to take the edge off constant thoughts of survival.

Pulling up short, he glanced down the aisle to his left, an aisle that had previously housed food items in bulk. There, on the floor, half concealed beneath the lip of the metal shelf, were a few bags of lentils, and one of dried peas that had somehow caught his eye.

“Score”, he congratulated himself in a low whisper.

He’d come to notice that people frequently passed on items such as these in favor of canned goods, boxes of crackers, or bags of chips. He bent and righted a nearby red basket, lifted it from the floor, dropped the packages inside, and weaved carefully around a large spill of rancid ketchup that had dried and molded. Lentils were his favorite, their kernels rich in protein and omega fatty acids. He and Sam could live off a large bag of lentils for four or five days.

He approached the pharmacy and lifted the counter that separated customer from employee. Though he tried to peer into one of the windows, someone had boarded and curtained the contents of the room from view. Fantastic. With his luck, someone had sealed himself inside the supply room and either died or gone crazy.

Lifting the gun from the holster on his belt, he crept to the door on cat’s paws and placed his ear against the frame. All was silent within as he slowly turned the knob. Locked. Yup. Just as he’d thought. If he were a betting man he’d wager on the presence of a dead body inside. He and Sam had encountered this in many grocery stores and convenience marts along the way; people who had stocked as many supplies as they could find and then holed themselves up in a room thinking they might wait out the disaster and emerge when the worst of things had passed. That kind of logic had most certainly failed them. That never worked. It was one lesson Jeremy’s father had taught him well.

“You don’t confine yourself in a public space,” he’d cautioned sagely, “you carve out some semblance of a life in a private one.”

Jeremy pulled the crowbar from the pack on his back and wedged the claw between the frame of the door and the knob. He’d become quite good at this if he did say so himself. The force of his weight against the shaft was all it would take, and he considered again how silly it was that people had long believed locks to be secure.

He pressed open the door and was greeted by a stench so foul he nearly vomited. Oh yes. Someone had indeed been here. Been here, shat here, and died here. Shat repeatedly by the smell of it. He frowned. He’d need to be quick, and so he began a systematic search of the enclosure. Though whoever had thought to hide here hadn’t lived, he’d certainly managed to keep others from tearing into the space, and though the medications were sparse, there were still some items of use here.

He sifted through cholesterol medication and high blood pressure pills beneath the pooled light of his flashlight. As expected, all of the pain pills were long gone and the antibiotics ransacked. Dropping to his knees he peered beneath the lip of the rack at several bottles that had rolled beneath and fished them out with his crowbar. Several bottles of industrial-strength antacids and a bottle of aspirin. The antacids were useless but the aspirin was a rare find indeed! The discovery of the white pills alone made this stop worth their while.

He continued down the aisles, gazing at the bottles of Cialis and Propecia, at the silly drugs that prevented restless leg syndrome (that was a thing?) and the rather useless pills that had supposedly cured the sufferer of emotional outbursts of laughter or sorrow. Good grief. Rounding the next corner he found a small collection of birth control pills and diaphragms, and recalled the moment Susan had revealed she was pregnant. It was an odd memory, both tender and frightening, one of the most intimate moments of his life. He and the woman he’d chosen to spend the rest of his life with had created life. In a world claimed by death, in the confines of a cabin on the side of a mountain, they’d started anew. The memory nearly brought tears to his eyes.

“Susan. Jesus. A baby?”

“I know. It’s not ideal at a time like this. Not ideal at all, and I know it’ll be hard. Another mouth to feed, another future to plan for.” She dropped her head into her hands and worried at her temples. “I’m sorry, Jeremy. This is a burden we don’t need. Neither does your father. Not right now. Not while we’re still traveling such long distances to find supplies to fill the ark. Not while there’s still so much left to do.” She lifted her face and Jeremy could see the tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes. “The timing is terrible I know.”

He’d dropped onto the sofa beside her, his thoughts strangely calm. Actually he wasn’t really as troubled by the news as he thought he’d be. A baby. A family of his own. The idea was mystifying, the left field thing of all time in times like these. It was a fantasy that a man in Jeremy’s position didn’t dare indulge in. Not in these uncertain times.

“Jeremy?” she asked timidly.

He’d turned to her then, and gathered her hands in his. He began to speak slowly, meticulously picking through the concepts and feelings, and giving voice to them tentatively, as if they were the shimmering images of a dream that he was afraid would scatter with the bright rays of dawning sunlight.

“I’m not upset, Suse. At least, not for any reason you’d expect. I actually like the idea.” He squeezed her hands playfully. “And really, don’t you think you’ll get tired of looking at nothing but this old mug for the rest of your life?”

Relief shone in her eyes. “You’re not mad then?”

“Not mad, no. Worried, perhaps. Worried for you. For your health and the limited medical resources available …”

“Your father’s stocked everything we need in the ark and the hospital is only twenty miles from here,” she interrupted mildly, “We’ve got at least seven months to forage for anything else we might be missing.”

He held up his hands. “I know. I know we have time. I’m just thinking ahead. I’m thinking about the possibility of complications, and of the pregnancy itself, the nine months, the vitamins and checkups you’ll never have, and the labor at the end.”

“And?” She peered up at him from beneath dark lashes and he could tell that she was holding her breath. “You’re worried about afterward, right? After the baby’s born. You’re worried about what his life will be like.”

“Yes. That, and the life we’ll be leaving behind for him. Or her.” He ran a hand through his hair and observed the depths of his own concern mirrored back from her eyes. He shook his head. “I’m not saying this right at all. Suse, I want to be a father. You know I’ve always wanted that. I guess I’m wondering now, if it’s morally responsible to want it. What kind of life will this child or any inherit? The world has reached a turning point now, a point at which life has ceased to become easier or better, a point at which the world’s future is suddenly murkier than it’s past. I guess I’m just concerned about
quality
of life.”

She’d gone rigid. “What are you suggesting?”

He’d known her thoughts immediately and was sickened by them, sickened that she’d even think that of him. “No. No. I’m not suggesting that. Never that. I’m only speaking hypothetically.” He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “But now I suppose the situation’s no longer hypothetic, right? So this is all just wasted breath. Susan, I’m happy. Really I am. I’m happy, and thankful, and scared. I’m experiencing so many conflicting emotions that I’m unable to communicate them properly, but the bottom line is that I love you, and I’ll love our baby just as much.”

He distinctly remembered gathering her to his chest then, and smoothing her hair down her back. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll make it work, okay?”

By then the power grids had failed and the water pumps had long ceased to supply homes with potable water, but it had been a wonderful pregnancy despite the lack of these. Jeremy flipped the little plastic case of pink pills over and over between his thumb and forefinger, and smiled at the recalled images. The labor had been difficult, just as he’d expected it would be, but at the end of it all, they’d welcomed a perfect child into their lives. Against insurmountable odds, two had become three, and Jeremy had never looked back. It was only after Sam’s third birthday that they’d begun to notice the strange onset of diabetic symptoms.

Suddenly remembering his objective, he dropped the package of pills and continued down the aisle toward the medical devices. Blood pressure cuffs, packages of syringes, and home drug-testing kits lined the shelves. People had barely touched this area, and for good reason. Most of this stuff was useless now.

He turned the corner and nearly gagged. Here, the single occupant had created a makeshift tent at the back of the shop. Blankets draped the rear windows of the superstore, and a collection of menacing garden tools littered the floor. A decaying body lay in a heap in the corner, a long hoe clutched in a hand that was now mostly bone with small bits of slimy skin hanging from it in ribbons. Jeremy fought past his revulsion. The damp heat of the current climate, and the confined closeness of the room were certainly conducive to an accelerated process of decay.

Jeremy dropped his gaze. A small Lego castle, partially built, lay crumbling at the dead man’s feet. He frowned, moved past the ghastly cadaver, and edged around the body to the final aisle. It was the aisle he’d truly come to inspect in the first place, but for some reason he always liked to leave it for last. Perhaps he liked to savor the unexpected, or perhaps he was simply a glutton for punishment. It always began the same, first with the blood sugar testers and glucose tabs, of which there were usually none, followed by the pumps and a small refrigerator full of single doses, all of which would be spoiled. He sighed and frustratingly waived his arm across the shelf, scattering the small bottles until one caught his eye. He lifted it and gasped. A bottle of insulin pills! How was this even here?

Though they were undoubtedly weaker than the disks, he was incredibly lucky to have made such a find. The disk player was a luxury item, expensive, and hard to come by for most people. The trajectory of the research he and Susan had found and studied pointed to a long-range plan, but it was a plan that had never come to fruition. The pharmaceutical companies had envisioned that, over time, the disks would become so advanced that one would only require replacement once a year. But at the time of its release, the technology was so new that many never had the opportunity to receive an implant in the first place, and so, had been relegated to the pills.

He palmed the small bottle with unbridled excitement and slipped it into his pocket. Sam was lucky enough to have the blood sugar indicator beneath her skin. He knew the pills were weakening, but also knew if they’d lost any of their potency he’d be able to judge the results right away. Too bad there was only one bottle.

He edged past the dead man’s booted foot and slipped out the door into the dark store. As he followed Sam’s beacon of light, he passed the baby clothes and lawn furniture, picked up a box of plastic forks, and was suddenly stilled by a short, yet sharply resonant blast.