A Matter of Days (21 page)

We heard bells, a million twinkling, rattling bells. Howling and barking erupted in the distance.

“Um, guys?” I asked, wondering if I was hallucinating or if they heard the bells too.

“Let’s get back in the car.” Zack grabbed Patty and sprinted toward the van while Rabbit clung to my hand and pulled me along.

W
e scrambled back into the front seats as what seemed like a herd of antelope crested the earth berm in front of the pet store. Dogs. Toy poodles and purse Pomeranians, Labradors and giant schnauzers vaulted over debris and careened across the parking lot. The cats came next. Long haired and short, smashed faces and those pointy aristocratic ones that looked like they originated in a fantasy novel. Some ran with the dogs, others leapt onto towering heaps or slunk along the walkways and hid under boxes.

A few of the animals limped, injured, covered in mud and snarled fur. Others looked like they’d just come from the spa, with expressions that disdained the mass of peasants around them. I wished we knew what they were thinking.
What do they tell each other about BluStar?

“Nadia, what is this?” Rabbit breathed, watching the wave of domestic animals flow toward us and the storefront.

“I don’t know.” I’d say I was on the set of an animated movie if I didn’t know any better. At the least, it was a group hallucination and not my fever skyrocketing. Small comfort.

The bells rang louder and Patty grabbed my arm, her tiny nails digging deep. I was not sure if we expected an army of fairies to fly in with magic dust, or a talking dalmatian wearing a crown and scepter to come out from the Pet World doors to greet his court. But I didn’t expect to see an old man, wearing a crimson coat, pushing a grocery cart covered in bells. Jingle bells and sleigh bells, cowbells, triangles of rusted metal, and the kind they ring on ships. With his head down, the man trudged along as if he made this trip in his sleep.

We sat unmoving, waiting to see what would happen next.

“He has to know we’re here, right?” Rabbit whispered. “Shhh, quiet, Twawki.” With a muffled whine our dog laid his head on the back of the seat and watched without barking.

How can he not?

In addition to the raincoat, the man wore a baseball cap with Navy insignia and an aircraft-carrier patch. No hair stuck out from the sides or back. He wore gold-framed glasses repaired at the temple with duct tape. He slipped off his coat, revealing corduroy slacks and a dingy button-down shirt that completed his outfit. He looked cleanish and healthy as he yanked on yellow rubber gloves, the kind Mom used when cleaning the bathroom with bleach.

“Can you tell what’s in the cart?” Zack asked.

It looked like carcasses.
Dead animals. Roadkill?

“I think there are dead animals in there,” Rabbit answered.

“Really?”

Patty whimpered.

I nodded, patting her with what I hoped was comfort and reassurance.

Pausing at the length of bowls along the outside of the store, the man began to unload the cart. It looked like he removed rabbits, rats, even a raccoon from it. He carefully laid the animals in the bowls like he was doling out kibble at a pet buffet.

A few dogs dove in along behind him. Others stood back and watched.

He went down the line, putting smaller rodents in the smaller bowls. A couple of dogs began playing tug-of-war with legs or tails, but soon all were covered in the blood of their “prey” and, even in the car, we heard the crunch of bones.

With a nod of satisfaction, the man walked back to his cart and dragged out a cardboard box from its underside. With no wasted motion or jerky movements, he deliberately made his way away from the dogs and closer to where the cats congregated along the barricade. He knelt down and gently turned the box on its side. A dozen or more mice and smallish rats poured out right at the cats like a mini wave. The felines began pouncing, picking up, and running away with their catch. Then, from the bottom of the box, the man shook out a pile of dead rodents that other cats poked and sniffed as he walked back toward the dogs.

“He’s feeding them.” Rabbit’s voice was awed.

Zack agreed, “I think he is.”

For several minutes the man stood and watched while the dogs munched and the cats hunted. He stooped to pick up a
kitten who tried climbing his pant leg. A few of the creatures were much more interested in getting attention and affection than in the meat smorgasbord he provided.

“Should we say something?” I asked.

“Wait, what’s he doing now?” Rabbit tensed.

The man went over to the plywood over the door and lifted it off, disappearing inside. I guessed there was some sort of optical illusion, because at our first glance the whole thing seemed impenetrable. He returned dragging a huge unopened bag of dog kibble.

“I guess it’s not empty, huh?”

“Guess not.”

“Do you think he knows we’re here?”

“Of course, he has to. It’s not like the minivan has an invisibility shield or anything.”

The man scooped kibble into the bowls like it was a second course. A lot of the dogs who ate meat began to play and paid no attention to the food, but those who hadn’t touched the fresh meat moved closer and ate the dry kibble as quickly as they could. Cats meandered in and snaked to bowls too. He kept refilling the dishes until his bag was empty and then he disappeared back inside, coming out with brushes and bones and toys. He passed these out and romping began. He turned a bucket over and sat down to give love and attention to those who crowded around him.

A golden retriever lifted its nose and ran toward us barking. Tail wagging, jowls flapping, happy hellos.

“Can we go say hello now?” Rabbit asked.

Twawki smacked his tail against the back of my seat with a deep woof.

I snorted. “I think that’s a yes.”

Rab and I opened the car doors. “Leave Twawki here. We can’t have him get into any trouble.”

“Okay. Sorry, boy, stay.”

“Patty, do you want to stay in here?”

She nodded vigorously. I shut the doors and the three of us started across the parking lot. Soon we were enveloped by excited pets wanting to play.

“Howdy.” The man raised his hand, but didn’t stand up and didn’t stop brushing out knots from a shih tzu’s mangled coat.

“Hello,” Zack answered.

“Where you folks from?”

“Seattle.”

“Long way from home. I’m Frank.”

“I’m Nadia, this is my brother, Rabbit, and Zack.”

“What brings you through here?”

Zack relaxed a little. “We have an injured dog we picked up two states over and now a bird. We were hoping to find food for them, and antibiotics.”

Frank nodded. “Figured you needed something. The Pet World parking lot isn’t the most happening place to park these days. From the looks of things, seems like you need human supplies, too.”

“Are all these yours?” Rabbit held a Siamese cat who was so busy rubbing at his face, Rabbit looked like he was growing a mocha-colored beard.

“Nah, never was much into pets,” Frank answered.

Rabbit frowned. “But you’re feeding them.”

“I’m alone in this town. Lost my wife, kids, and grandkids.
What neighbors survived headed south toward the evacuation points. But everyone left their animals behind, one way or another. Somebody has to teach ’em what they’re supposed to do. They have to start hunting; they can’t be house pets and survive, there aren’t any houses left for them to live in.”

I heard the pain in his voice when he told us about his family.

Several cats rubbed against my legs and a couple of dogs sniffed us like they were trying to inhale our whole story with one breath.

“But you gave them kibble,” Rabbit pressed.

“I’ve got it figured out to slowly wean them off it—increase the amount of meat I bring them, start bringing more and more live prey. I got traps set up all over the place for rats—all that garbage and death was good for their population. I need the cats and dogs to step up and restore a bit of order.”

“Will it work?” Zack asked.

“For some, I think.” The unspoken was that come winter there would be more death. More animals. More people. Survival of the fittest would go up a notch. Again.

“Let’s see what we can hook you up with.” Frank stood. His arthritic knees popped and complained. He clicked on a flashlight and showed us where he’d hidden the latch and hook on the plywood. The back of the barricade swung open like a door.

“This is pretty fancy.” Zack bent down and studied the construction.

“Once upon a time I was a carpenter. There’s a couple of choices left—take whatever you need. There’s treats down that aisle. Rummage up whatever you can find in the staff break room. I don’t need any of it.”

“Don’t you need them? The treats and stuff?” Rabbit asked.

“Nah, these animals have to stop thinking like pets and more like their wild ancestors. Treats remind them too much of where they came from. Besides, I’m an old man. Birdseed and the like is in the back over there—” He pointed, then stopped. “We may have big-box stores, but don’t you be fooled, we were a small town. Mayor told everyone to let their pets out when the whole family was sick. Those who were healthy or recovered took care of ’em. Just like all the families with young children gathered at the local high school. Didn’t want healthy babies to die because they couldn’t get care. Loaded the survivors up onto a school bus and took off last month for the capital.”

“There were survivors in your town?”

“Course there were. Not many and can’t tell you why—families, singles, all ages. Lot of older folks lived after being real sick.”

“If you don’t like pets, why are you doing this?” Rabbit picked up a leash and collar.

“My Lyssa was a receptionist at a veterinarian’s office. Always came home with the animals that needed extra TLC and nursing. She’d want me to do what I can.”

Rab’s expression broke my heart. “Thank you. If they were my pets I’d want you to know—thank you. Do you need anything in return from us? We don’t really have much, but …”

Frank stopped and considered Rabbit’s question, as if he understood that Rabbit was trying to adjust to this new world just like the puppies and kittens out there. “Well, if you’d help me haul a few of these playpen things outside, I think they’d be good at collecting rainwater for the animals who hang around here.”

It took all of us struggling with the plastic and cement
structures, originally intended to make life for reptiles and tortoises all Taj Mahal-y, to haul them outside. We finally managed to get them into the parking lot.

Zack loaded a medium-size bag of kibble into the van and checked on Patty.

Frank glanced up at the position of the sun. “I’d best get home before dark. You need a place to stay tonight?”

“Thanks, but we’ll keep moving.”

“If you take a left down Maple, the fancy houses in town are in that neighborhood. Would be a good place to scavenge supplies on your way out, guessing tornado shelters didn’t get picked over. The old gas station has a hand crank, if you need to fill up your car.”

Zack shook his head. “We don’t want to take any from you.” There was a limit to what we felt comfortable taking from other survivors.

“Don’t worry about me, kid.” Frank’s eyes were sad and full of loneliness. “I don’t eat much these days.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“You take care of yourselves.”

“You too. You’d make your wife happy.” Rabbit smiled.

“Ah, kid, I get more out of it than the animals do.” We pretended not to see him tear up.

As we headed toward the van, Frank called out, “Hey, wait!” He walked back over toward us. “My sister—she’s got a farm on the other side of the Mississippi. If anyone can survive this thing, it’s her.” He wrote a note that included her address. “If you go near, would you deliver this to her? I know it’s a lot to ask, but she’ll feed you. She’s a tough bird, she’ll have that place running like a military boot camp.”

I took the paper and ignored the tremor in his hands. “Yeah, we’ll do our best.”

“Thanks, never thought I’d have a chance to say”—Frank glanced at the kids and changed his words midstream—“ ‘see you soon’ to her.”

We waited for a moment as he pushed his bell-covered cart back around the building. The herds and flocks hung around for a while; some even followed his path and then dispersed as if they’d never been there.

We were silent as we drove. Turning down Maple we picked a modest-looking mansion to explore first. Or Zack picked it; his intuition was much better than mine as to where to hunt. Unsure if others had already come this way, it seemed as though the neighborhood was mostly untouched.

Starting in the garage, we found a tricked-out hybrid SUV. It was a car that once cost twice what my parents’ house did.

“Let’s stay here tonight?” I asked, my energy drained completely by the time we struggled into the main hallway of the house.

Zack pointed at a chair. “Sure. Hey, Kangaroo, Patty, there should be a secret room around here, wanna help me find it?”

I peeled off my nasty boots and socks and realized the stinging came from open and seeping blisters. “Secret room?”

“Tornado shelter. Frank’s suggestion. Most of the upscale houses in the Midwest have them. Could have supplies, too.”

Zack’s expertise at finding hidden caches of water and food continued to shock me. It was like he had a built-in finder system.
Maybe his “before”?

Rabbit and Patty ran around the downstairs tapping on walls and checking behind paintings.

I padded into the kitchen checking the obvious places for food. They were bare and dry. My stomach heaved with hunger. Unfortunately, the faucets didn’t drip water magically when I turned them on.

I checked the pantry and saw nothing but a door handle at the back of the small room. “Hey, Zack?” I called out.

He peered over my shoulder. “Booyah!”

We crowded into a room the size of a large walk-in closet. Cases of bottled water, wool blankets, light sticks, medical supplies, and nonperishables were loaded around a sleeper sofa and side chairs.