The Unwanted Winter - Volume One of the Saga of the Twelves (89 page)

For the rest of the first
day, she had gone through her family’s refuse thoroughly. She
organized various items, hoping against hope, she could find
something else that might improve her status. She willed herself
through physical activity, forcing herself not to think of what was
outside, of what had happened to the wondrous city her family had
recently moved to. At the time, it had been too difficult to
comprehend, too mind boggling. How could an entire megalopolis the
width and breadth of Los Angeles be lost in a single night? How
could she possibly have lost everything? It didn’t make any sense
to her whatsoever.

Instead, she chose not to
“go there” and decidedly to put her mind to something else,
something useful. There was little she could do about her
circumstances. She might as well try to make them better in any
small way possible.

More hours had
passed.

By then, she had the junk
separated into four distinct groupings, ones that she could readily
identify. Clothing (all garments for little kids, except for three
pairs of men’s boxers), various items (which was basically junk),
things that were broken (which was broken junk), and things she
might be able to use. The fourth pile, by far the smallest,
consisted of a small container of matches, a large bag charcoal
briquettes, a few beat-up, metal bowls, a tin of kerosene, about
thirty feet of rope, three dusty boxes containing fifteen fire-logs
each, and another tarp (although this one was torn and in even
worse shape than the one she was wearing). She had also found a set
of mismatched wooden spoons, a thick needle already threaded with
some type of old yarn, one sharp, but bent kitchen knife, and a box
full of paper towel-like wipes. The kind used in automotive
shops.

She had sat there for a
few minutes mulling over what she could do with the items before
her when the first idea came to mind. She quickly got up from her
sitting position, scooted over toward the clothes. She began tying
the arms of the larger, long-sleeved garments, and began to stuff
smaller garments into them until they were about to burst. Next,
she grabbed the needle and sewed up the bottom edges of the
garments. She kept at it until she had run out of materials, but
not before she had eleven of them lying before her. Satisfied, she
grabbed the other tarp and folded it into quarters, placing the
newly made pillows of discarded clothing atop it. With a brief nod,
she had stared down at her new bed. She had made a decent place to
sleep. The concrete of the garage had proved quite hard and
unyielding, not to mention ice-cold. Since she didn’t think she
would pass out this coming night. It had been prudent to make a bed
of some sort. Otherwise, she’d toss and turn the entire night.
Sleep would never find her if she was uncomfortable.
Never.

She had stood then,
rubbing her hands together, bending to grab a hold of the largest
of the metal bowls. This she filled with some of the briquettes and
carefully sprinkled some kerosene on them. Content to let the oil
seep into the charcoal for the time being, they would burn
thoroughly and warmly if properly soaked. She would need such
luxuries once the sun went down and the real cold of this new place
began to seep into her shelter. She had put the rest of the
briquettes, the matches, the kerosene, and the boxes of fire-logs
together off to one side. In her mind, these were the items she
would use to stay warm and, if she proved lucky, she could use them
to cook.

She smiled to herself as
she grabbed the second largest of the bowls and made her way
outside, looking for a pristine drift of snow. She found one almost
immediately. There seemed to be nothing else around the immediately
area but perfectly white snow. This made her feel all the more
isolated and alone in this cold, desolate place. She had scooped up
enough snow with her hands to fill the metal hemisphere too
capacity and went back into the garage. She knew she would need
more water as time went on. The snow would eventually melt in the
warmer environs of what was left of her parents dream home. She
could drink it then, if she became thirsty.

When she had returned to
the “useful” items left, she placed the three remaining bowls next
to the large one she had designated as her barbeque pit. Then, with
the knife, she had cut off a two and a half foot length from the
rope and wrapped it around her waist, effectively synching the tarp
she wore about her person. Tied thus, it was better configured for
movement, gave her limbs freer motion. Besides, when she gazed down
at herself, it looked more like a weathered serape than what it
actually was. Almost immediately, she had felt warmer as less of
her body heat escaped into the air about the garage, which was
becoming increasingly cooler as the day waned and the sun began to
dip toward the horizon.

Later on that
night…

…
Last
night
, she thought as she began to groom
herself with some of the warm water she had left on the charcoal
fire and the rough paper towels…

…
She hadn’t done much
else. She had kept herself occupied by continuing to force herself
to think of something, anything, other than the fact her family was
lost to her, that she was all alone. She had watched the
blue-yellow flames of the fire dance before her eyes as she sat on
the sweatshirt pillows she had made hours earlier, having moved her
“bed” closer to the metal bowl. It was emanating the much needed
heat to counter the wind and the snow as they began to blow outside
in earnest. Already, the temperature had dropped
dramatically.

She’d thought of Fernando,
wondering what he was doing at that very moment back in Holbrooke,
Arizona… Did he still miss her? Or, had he moved on? She hadn’t
talked with him much since her family had left Arizona at the end
of the summer. His anger at her departure had put her off and she
had decided to keep her distance instead. Already friends on
Facebook, they’d messaged back a few times as well, but only in a
generic sense, lacking depth and detail. In the end, she really
didn’t know what he was doing or what he thought about
her.

He’s probably already
dating someone else by now
, she had
figured with a shrug of her shoulders. She wasn’t even sure if she
was felt hurt by the thought or saddened by the idea whatever he
did, none of it mattered, because she was no longer special to him
anymore.
Why did everything have to get so
messed up? Everything had been going perfect. We had
kissed...
She had really liked his soft
lips, the light touch of his hand on her arm as their heads came
together. He had always been so gentle with her. Knowing not all
boys were like that made her more than a little nostalgic over
losing out on the chance to experience him for a longer
time.

She must’ve succumbed to
exhaustion at that point, because she didn’t remember anything more
after and awoke this morning, lying somewhat comfortably on her
“pillows”. Her were arms beneath her head. She had actually felt
refreshed, after a night of solid, uninterrupted sleep.

Marianna White Horse
finished her morning ritual by running her fingers through her hair
a hundred times, hoping she was able to get most of the tangles
she’d developed overnight. She wished she had a comb of some
type,
any type
.
It was a pet peeve of hers to make certain her head was free of
knots at all times. The Native American blood in her had produced
long, coarse hair, a rich chestnut. It tended not to snag too much,
so she didn’t find too many knots.

She stood finally. Her
hair was the best she could manage until her situation changed for
the better. She came to her full four-foot, ten-inch height. She
was quite small, beyond petite, though her body was curved and
filled-out like any other teenage girl her age.

Her stomach growled as her
abdomen stretched. She glanced around looking for the energy bars,
pulling forth two of them from the ever-emptying box. She sighed as
she did so, knowing she only had a few days of “food” left. Then
she would be
“shit out of luck”
as her father would’ve termed it.

She washed down the
strawberry and granola mixture with some of the remaining warm
water she had left on the coals. She scooped it out with the
smallest of the metal bowls, taking large gulps of the pure,
sparkling water. At least there was that, the snowfall. When it
melted, it produced the purest water she had ever tasted. If she
wasn’t going to be eating properly, she might as well make sure she
was good and hydrated, so she drank her fill. She emptied the
dinged-up bowl and smacking her lips like a ruffian, sated at the
filling of her belly, even if it was melted snow.

Gotta be thankful for what
I have
, she intoned to herself, silently
thanking God she’d spent a good deal of her time camping with her
friends and family. Because of it, she was more than capable of
taking care of herself, meager fare to boot.

She realized of a sudden,
squinting with realization, the entire time she’d been awake she
had been hearing, at the lowest level of her auditory sensory, a
keening of sorts. It was a deep and drawn out thrumming. She
frowned at first, glancing around, the only light coming into the
garage was from the side door and three small windows inset at
equal intervals upon the garage door itself on the far end of the
structure. Her frown turned to a grimace of concern when she gazed
through the plexi-glass. She was just able to make out the
wind-driven the snow, streaking nearly horizontal, from left to
right. At once, she understood what she’d been hearing the entire
time.

The wind!

She crept over to the side
door - the portal she had come through, from the house, a day and a
half ago. Already, it seemed like a lifetime. She pushed the thin,
cotton curtain to one side, looking beyond. She was astonished to
see the landscape was virtually a roiling mass of chaos. Huge gusts
shrieked just feet from her face and the pane of glass, hurtling
snow, tearing bushes from their roots, stripping small branches
from the surrounding trees. Everything unsecured was there one
second, then gone the next, with such incredible force it made her
eyes widened in shock.

It snowed every year in
Arizona. Holbrooke being in the northern portion of the state, she
was accustomed to seeing powerful storms batter the land, but
nothing in her life could’ve prepared her for what she was seeing
at the moment. This was something entirely different. She
half-expected to see a few Emperor Pigeons huddled in a circle out
there in the forest, large eggs balanced on their feet. The tempest
howling before her was something straight out of Antarctica. This
was impossible storm, especially for southern
California.

Or, what used to be
southern California…

Another thought hit her,
and instantly, the fear that had gripped her so thoroughly when she
woke two mornings past, clutched at her heart. She glanced around
almost in a near panic.
If the storm keeps
up like this, how in the hell am I going to find food?
She brought her hand to her mouth in fear.
Oh, Jesus, I’m gonna die in here!

She strode quickly to the
box of energy bars, dumping out those from the one box she had
opened already. She immediately ripped open the next and repeated
herself. She knelt upon the ground, brushing back tears so she
could count them.

Sixteen. Sixteen!
Oh god, what am I going to do?

The number pounded inside
in her head like a judge’s gavel proclaiming her death sentence.
She physically shook her head to rattle of the imagined
sound.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! You are to
die, Marianna White Horse!
She almost
cowered, but the rational side of herself came screaming back so
loudly, her thoughts scattered.
Think, god
dammit! Think this through, Marianna!
If
she only ate two of the bars at mealtime, she would only be able to
have eight more meals. That meant, although she was rationing, two
nights from now she would be out of food… If one could call energy
bars food. They were barely enough as it was…

Shit, how long do
blizzards last?
she thought frantically.
Even without Google, she knew sometimes they could last for half a
week – three maybe four days. Could she go without food for two
days? If the storm was
that
bad, could she survive forty-eight hours without
eating? She turned to peer at the items she needed to keep her
warm, feeling confident she had enough to last for that amount of
time, but after, she would have nothing. All of her supplies would
be depleted. What would she do then? No food, no warmth, no ability
to melt snow… How could she survive?

You have to try, Marianna.
You cannot let yourself die, not now, not after everything that has
happened! You have to be strong and hope for the best… That is the
only choice you have, girl. Get used to it!

“
The hell else am I going
to do!” she exclaimed to no one in particular, her hands balled at
her sides, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Damn this god-forsaken
place!!!”

Get your shit together!
Now!
She shuddered, piteously. The
escaping breath deflated her.

Marianna knew then she was
in a fight for her life. She knew it was real. Deep down, she
realized she should be brave and put down all foolish thoughts and
feelings, steel herself to whatever fate may bring.