Red Death: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (8 page)

Tara ventured into the small dirt-floored room behind Lee, the root cellar, where old wooden shelves held her dahlia tubers. It was much cooler in here. She took the basket full of dahlia roots back up to the kitchen where Mary was busy gathering table settings. Tara dug her potato peeler from the silverware drawer.

She scrubbed the dahlias first and laid them on a towel. Then she peeled the outer layer, took down three pretty crystal plates, and shaved a small pile onto each one. A dollop of olive oil, salt and pepper, a dash of dried dill weed, and Tara tasted a small sliver.

“Not bad,” she said to Mary as she walked back into the room.

“Ooh, it looks good,” Mary replied. They carried the salads to the dining table.

“It says you can make bread out of these too, Mary. I can’t wait to try it!”

Tara went back down to the stew with her long wooden spoon. Lee was standing over it, breathing in the delicious aroma wafting up. “Wow, this smells good,” he said.

“Mmm, it does.” She took the lid off the pot and stirred it. The stove was so hot, it was already bubbling, and the basement room was toasty warm now.

“I know where we’re going to be in the dead of winter,” Lee told her. He looked up at the ceiling. “Actually, heat may come up through the vents if I pull the furnace pipes away. I might just try that.”

Tara stirred the stew a few more times and declared it done. She picked it up by the handles with potholders, and Lee followed her slowly up the steps leaning on his crutch. Tara filled the soup bowls in the kitchen and Mary took two into the dining room, where Lee had already seated himself. The glasses of wine were sparkling in the lantern light, the salads looked delicious, and as Tara carried her steaming bowl to the table, it struck her again at how good this all was.
Somehow, having another person here is more cheerful.

Tara seated herself, and raised her glass to her neighbor. “I’d like to propose a toast to Mary, our friend and new housemate. Thank you for everything, and here’s to the good old days returning soon. May God bless your loved ones and all of us too.”

Mary misted up a little over the reference to her daughter and grandson, but she raised her glass to them both, and Tara could see her gratitude.

All at once, the lights flashed on, and all three of them jumped. “Hallelujah!” Tara yelled.

Lee and Mary sat frozen in place as the electric immediately went off again. It came on one more time, and all three of the diners waited in silence to see if it would stay. It didn’t.

“Maybe they’re working on the electric grid. It’s a good sign,” Lee speculated. The women nodded, but Tara’s good mood was somewhat curtailed. It was a stark reminder of their true situation. She forced herself to shake it off and enjoy the celebration.

The wine was the most delicious they had ever tasted, and the stew was too. The salad was a little different, similar to radishes, but also very good.

“I’d like to propose a toast to the author of that foraging book. It may just save us!” Tara laughed and they joined in. “Here’s to you, Ellen, wherever you are!”

They continued to eat, laugh, and toast even sillier things until the bottle of wine was empty, and they were all tipsy. “It’s almost eight o’clock, announced Mary. Then at Tara’s puzzled expression, she explained that her daughter always called her at exactly eight o’clock each night. Mary had enough battery left to leave her phone on for a few minutes each evening at eight in hopes of a miracle. Tonight, she was especially excited because the electric had flashed on briefly.

“One of these times, if Julie is doing the same each night, and the electric just happens to come on—voila—the cell towers might just transmit a signal.”

Tara smiled and praised Mary’s ingenuity, but personally thought it was a stretch. It truly would have to be a miracle.

After dinner, Lee tamped down the fire in the stove, while Tara carefully carried the stew pot upstairs. She opened the window and set the pot gently on the porch roof, putting a couple bricks on top to keep animals out. It was chilly, perfect for refrigeration.

They readied for sleep then, with Mary on the sofa, Tara and Lee on the inflatable bed in front of the coffee table. Tara was tired and tomorrow was a big day. She planned to take Mary foraging and to the river, which ran just on the far side of the gravel pit and the old Kmart. It would be tricky, getting water and firewood. First, they would search for food, hitting up the walnut and chestnut trees in the alley that Tara always walked past. She hoped the trip was fruitful and productive.

They all said goodnight to each other, and Mary blew out the lantern on the coffee table, thanking them again for inviting her to stay. Lee and Tara both told her they were grateful she agreed to it. Tara thought maybe she was too nervous about tomorrow to sleep, but instead the wine had mellowed her. She dropped off immediately and didn’t hear a thing until morning.

Chapter 8

When Tara woke, Lee was already up. Mary was too. Tara heard sounds in the basement and finally Lee’s footsteps climbing the stairs. He appeared at the door with a bag full of stuff looped over the crook of his arm. She must have worn a puzzled expression, because he began explaining.

“It’s for a squirrel trap.” He pulled out several items from inside. An empty toilet paper roll, and a stick. Under his arm was a long wooden slat a little wider than a ruler.

“I don’t get it, how does it work?”

Lee crossed slowly to the cupboard where a near-empty peanut butter jar sat. There was still peanut butter residue inside, but not much. He opened it, rubbing his finger around inside the rim, trying to get every last bit. He wiped the gooey stuff on the outside of the toilet paper roll, continuing to do this until it was coated with the stuff. The smell of peanut butter filled the kitchen.

Then Lee stuck the stick through the roll, holding it up to show Tara. He held up the slat with his other hand. “The stick with the toilet paper roll lays across the top of the fifty-five gallon drum out back. The slat leans against the side of it, making a walkway up to the stick. “Voila,” he announced with a sweep of one arm. “The squirrel walks out on the stick to get the peanut butter on the roll, it spins and he falls in the drum. He can’t get out, because it’s too tall.”

“Wow, will it work?” Tara barely thought about the cruelty of killing squirrels now. They were starving.

Lee shrugged, grinning. “I think so.” He took the trap materials out back to set up.

Tara found Mary upstairs in the library, looking at all her old reading material.

“I found your knitting books! And you’ve got a ton of yarn in the closet, Tara. I’m thinking of making you both hats and scarves for Christmas.”

“That would be fabulous!” Tara told her the supplies had been from her “learn to knit” phase.  She explained that Lee was setting up a squirrel trap out back. They walked to the window and looked out over the balcony. Tara could see several squirrels watching Lee from the trees.

“I feel bad killing them, Mary, but we have to eat. I’ve fed them for so many years—now they can feed us. My new mindset is accepting each gift with gratitude, so I’m grateful for them. I just hope the trap works. I also hope they don’t carry Ebola.”

“I’ve been thinking about our trip to the river, how best to carry wood and water. I think we should go at dusk, remain out of sight as much as possible,” Mary said. “But today, we could go search for the walnuts and other edibles while it’s still daylight. If we see anyone, we just run.”

Tara thought about this. Yes, it made sense to go for the water after dark. Water and wood were so important they each needed their own separate trip to get as much as possible between the two of them. The thought of looking for tonight’s supper intrigued her, sort of a man against nature thing. If they didn’t find food today, they would go hungry. It was a great motivator.

“Mary, let’s go and look for stuff now. Are you ready? First, let’s study the book. Maybe what one of us can’t remember, the other will.”

They walked to the kitchen and Tara went to the window. Lee was still out back setting up the squirrel trap. She didn’t want to know how he dispatched the animals. As long as he presented the meat to her, cleaned and ready, Tara was okay with it. She sighed.
It’s a matter of survival.
They perused the pictures in the book for a few minutes, and then decided to go.

“You can eat crabapples too,” Tara told her as they pulled their coats on. “And I know where a tree is nearby.” Tara stuck the gun in her pocket and stuffed several plastic bags into a carryall type tote bag she slung over one shoulder. Mary had a bag too, and took one of Tara’s kitchen knives from the wooden block. The women exited the back door and Tara grabbed a small hand trowel on the porch and stuck it in her bag too. They stopped to see Lee as he was finishing the trap.

“Maybe when you get back, we’ll have some meat,” Lee told them. Tara laughed, and Lee hugged her. He held her away a moment, a serious expression on his face.

“Please be careful.” Tara nodded.

“We’re staying close around the neighborhood to forage. Tonight, we’ll go to the river.”

As she and Mary started toward her parked car, Lee called to her, asking if she was going to take the vehicle. Tara was torn. She didn’t want to draw the wrong attention, and so few cars were on the streets now that she thought it would be safer to walk. Just as Tara passed the low fence around Marla’s backyard, she noticed the pile of firewood for their pit stacked against it.

“Look!” she cried. Lee crossed slowly over to them, swinging his bad leg and the crutch. He immediately began tossing the wood onto their side of the fence.

“Thanks, Frank,” he said softly.

“Yes,” Tara agreed. “We’ll be back soon, honey,” she told Lee.

The weather was brisk, but not freezing, about thirty-five degrees as they set off down the alley. “Let’s go get some nuts first. The chestnut and walnut trees are almost directly across from each other.”

Mary stayed beside her as they walked. “Let’s hope the squirrels didn’t get them all first.”

Tara couldn’t help but remember her walks not so long ago in her old life. This was her route, and she’d grown to know where dogs were located, which families had kids or were elderly, and who had fire pits. This might help with firewood collection later on.

Tara kept her eyes peeled for signs of life, but saw very few. She half-hoped if she ran into anyone they would recognize her and share some news, since she’d always spoken as she passed through the neighborhood. Every house they went by had a dead quality to it, deserted.

“My God, Mary, did they all die?”

Mary released her breath in a frozen cloud. “Died or taken to the camp.”

Tara stared at her, speechless. She could barely comprehend the enormity of such a loss. They walked on in silence for a few more minutes.

Tara caught movement in one of the yards up ahead. She silently grasped Mary’s forearm, warning her. Tara was on high alert and ready to run until she remembered. “I think an old man lives there,” she hissed. They approached stealthily, and Tara’s memory was immediately confirmed. The elderly man was hunched over, staring down into his winter-blasted garden, pushing smashed, withered tomatoes around on the ground with the tip of his cane.

“Hello, sir,” Tara called, just loud enough for him to hear. She didn’t want to attract the wrong kind of attention from any possible threats nearby. The old gentleman glanced up at them, seeming to assess the level of danger, then gave them a one hundred megawatt smile. Tara was so grateful to see another friendly human being, she rushed over to him, tripping on a frozen clump of grass and almost landing at his ancient feet. She caught herself, but almost knocked him down.

“Whoa there, girlie,” he chuckled. Mary came up behind her, laughing.

“I’m so sorry. I almost bowled you over! I’m just so glad to see someone else!”

“It’s okay, my dear. I’m glad to see both of you too. There’s nothing but gangs of hoodlums going past lately.”

Tara looked over her shoulder, suddenly cognizant of her surroundings and the gravity of the situation. She hadn’t seen the gangs for a few days, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

“This is my neighbor, Mary, and I’m Tara Green. We live over on Main Street.” She pointed back the direction they had come. Mary shook the man’s hand and Tara followed suit.

“My name is Clyde, Clyde Randall. I been here seventy odd years in this old house. I’m ninety-five and never thought I’d see the day we’d be in such a fix.”

“Oh, Mr. Randall, I totally agree,” Mary said.

“Are you getting along okay, Mr. Randall? We’ve come out to forage for some food. I found a book that tells about all the wild things you can eat around your yard and neighborhood. We’ve run out of cans at home now.” Tara didn’t know why she was confessing all to this old man, but he reminded her of her grandpa.

“It’s Clyde, and I’m doing tolerable. I always kept a garden and put up the vegetables—learned to do that as a lad by Mother’s side. Necessity is the mother of invention, as they say, especially when living through the Great Depression. Them was some hard times, let me tell you, but it weren’t never nothing like this.”

Tara and Mary both nodded, and Tara decided to share her newfound information. “I learned you can eat a lot of things I never knew, like daylilies and acorns.

“Oh, my land, yes, the good Lord provides; that he does. You wouldn’t believe the things a body can eat if they’re hungry enough. I’ve seen men eat shoe leather.” He looked back down

at his garden again, pushing on a tomato husk with his cane. Nothing much was left of it but the dried skin.

“I was thinking of making a broth with this leftover stuff.” He pointed with his cane at a sprig or two of broccoli still sticking up. “There’s some good stock to be had here yet.”

Clyde turned to them again, a smile lighting up his seamed face. “What news do you girls have?”

“We were hoping you might have some. I don’t know anything, except my husband says those bonfires back there are them burning bodies at the old Kmart. We looked over the embankment at the gravel pit and saw it’s a camp now. So we need to hide from them too, not just the gangs.”

“I’ve got my old Gibson Girl radio from WW2. There’s a group of us across the country that collect ‘em. They’re hand cranked, so they don’t need no ‘lectricity. I’m still getting news from a few, those that haven’t died, that is.” The old man looked wistful, staring out past the alley with his faded blue eyes.

Tara could feel Mary’s sudden tension at this information.

“What are your friends saying?”

“There’s one man in Seattle, one in Arizona, another in Minnesota and me. That’s all that’s left of us, the Gibson Girl Radio Club. They’re saying everyone’s dead. The power grid is down. No surprise there,” he chuckled. “And the only ones who survived are those who holed up against the virus and stored food and supplies. They’re saying its martial law in their towns. We have to wait it out, ‘til the virus burns itself out in the population.” He shook his head, and Tara couldn’t help but notice the blue veins through the frail paper-like skin of his neck.

“Clyde, some have made it. I don’t know how many, but some. So I pray we make it too. All of us.” She gazed at him sadly and the old guy nodded.

“Will you be out here for a little bit? I’d like to drop you off some of whatever we can find.” He was skin and bones, and Tara was afraid he would starve to death. She couldn’t have that.

“God bless you,” Clyde said, taking her hand.

His news was devastating, but she hated to leave him. Tara already knew things were bad, but had hoped it was just their area, since it was the site of an initial outbreak.

As she and Mary walked away down the alley, she turned back once to see Clyde still standing there picking through the leftovers in his dead garden. It made her heart hurt.

“The trees are right up here.”

As they approached, two squirrels scampered away. First, the walnut tree was on their left, and it was a huge one. There were so many nuts in a crop this large, the squirrels couldn’t get them all. Tara and Mary looked toward the rear of the house whose backyard faced the alley. Technically, they were stealing their walnuts, but they saw no sign that anyone had gathered any. First, Tara picked up all the ones in the alley. Usually each year there was a mess in this spot when she walked past; smashed walnuts and skins everywhere. Not this time.
No cars are coming through anymore to squash them.

They gathered at least a hundred walnuts. Tara knew she would have to stomp the green outer skins off, and “float” them, a trick she’d learned from her grandma. If she could get some river water, you dropped the nuts into it and not only did the bugs come out, but the nuts that floated were bad. Then the nuts would have to be laid out to dry for two or three weeks.  Since water was scarce, they might have to skip the floating step. 

A few houses down, the chestnut tree spread its branches out over the alley. Again, there were no signs of life from any of the houses around it. Tara wondered if people were hiding in their homes. Surely, some of them had prepared at least a little, as she, Mary and Clyde had. Tara mentioned this to Mary, and she shrugged her shoulders.

“I don’t know, Tara, I’d say most didn’t. And if they had kids, they probably spread the virus to them. Only those of us who stayed home at just the right time during the outbreak survived.” She was quiet for a moment. “I haven’t heard from my neighbor Anna, either. I’m afraid she didn’t make it.” Tara absorbed this info, knowing Mary was probably right.

“Mary, look! What did the book say about mushrooms that grew on trees? That looks like the one in the picture!”

Just a couple trees down from the chestnut was a small grove of old oaks, and a large orange fungus grew from the base of one. “That’s a Hen of the Woods mushroom! It’s huge!”

Tara was excited by their bounty on the first trip out. Mary first helped her find the spiny, partially open chestnuts that were still left on the ground. She put those in one of Tara’s plastic bags. All in all, there were maybe twenty-five chestnuts in the harvest.