tone was so matter of fact. “Once they lean in, I know who I’m dealing with.”
I was amazed, simply amazed…and slightly stunned. While I hadn’t considered it before, one thing still rang true. Even in the apocalypse, in the middle of No Where, men and women, boys and girls were still interested in one another.
Dizzy and Marge were proof of that. As were Violet and Jim, or John, depending on the approach.
“Oh yeah,” she stuttered. I hoped this wasn’t more on the current subject. “One of them told me their dad does some trading with people up in Covington. And according to their dad, Covington didn’t come through the winter very well.”
Though I had barely survived the past months myself, I already knew of Stuart Callies death, thanks to Joe. However, her nodding held more. And this subject I wanted to hear more about.
Year 3 - early summer - WOP
Several nights later, we sat as a group at Lettie’s enjoying the warm summer evening. The bugs had abated for a bit, and we were able relax in the evening breeze out back.
“About a hundred people,” Lettie stated, her eyes twitching as she spoke. She looked older to me, perhaps a little slower than the previous fall. “That’s all that’s left in Covington. If Thaddeus Wilson is to be believed.”
Whistling at the number, I checked the faces in our group. Lettie’s jaw was set; this was the way things were and that’s all there was to it. Dizzy and Marge simply stared at their hands, not bothering to offer much in return. Violet nodded; she was the one who had heard it first.
Young Nate played in the dirt at the back end of the large garden, digging worms. He and Dizzy had a big fishing trip planned for the next few days. It even included a tent and the pair spending a night together in the woods.
As much as I never thought I’d admit it, Dizzy was a pretty good father figure; actually a damn fine one. This was just another example of the apocalypse bringing out the best in people.
“According to Jim,” Violet added quietly, “they’re low on food up there.”
“The fish camps have hit a drought,” Dizzy stated, finally joining the conversation. I noticed his hands were entwined with Marge’s. “Water’s too warm or something they claim. At least that was what Wilson heard from people in town.”
“They had the fever last fall and winter,” Marge said. Gazing at me, she smiled a half-smile that showed some life. I felt her eyes hid something she wasn’t telling…not just yet. “Killed most the people up there. That’s why their population fell so quickly.”
That was expected if the Reverend Joseph Smith was to be believed. He reported to me that any urban area was susceptible to such a plague. The fever, as most called it, was either the flu or some type of airborne illness laying ruin to what mankind had worked so hard to build.
“Why haven’t we had this fever yet?” I asked, glancing at Marge for her input.
At first she shrugged, followed by a sigh. “Well, there’s very few of us for starters. Add to that, we’re reasonably well fed. The same can’t be said for any nearby cities.”
“Food and medicine are all but gone out there,” Lettie added, waving her thin frail arms at the trees. “What doctors are left can’t help much without modern medicine. It’s taken a year, a little more actually, but now we see just how vulnerable mankind was to something like this. No one knows how to do anything anymore. All that people did was use, not create.”
Lettie’s words were the honest truth. I was the prime example. At first, hunting was foreign to me. If Marge’s husband hadn’t gutted my first deer I might have still been there trying to figure the process out. And it seemed as if very few knew much about gardening. In addition, almost no one knew about heirloom seeds. At least not with the type of knowledge Lettie had.
“Stuart Callies is dead,” I told my group. Yet no one looked shocked.
“So we
I was amazed, simply amazed…and slightly stunned. While I hadn’t considered it before, one thing still rang true. Even in the apocalypse, in the middle of No Where, men and women, boys and girls were still interested in one another.
Dizzy and Marge were proof of that. As were Violet and Jim, or John, depending on the approach.
“Oh yeah,” she stuttered. I hoped this wasn’t more on the current subject. “One of them told me their dad does some trading with people up in Covington. And according to their dad, Covington didn’t come through the winter very well.”
Though I had barely survived the past months myself, I already knew of Stuart Callies death, thanks to Joe. However, her nodding held more. And this subject I wanted to hear more about.
Year 3 - early summer - WOP
Several nights later, we sat as a group at Lettie’s enjoying the warm summer evening. The bugs had abated for a bit, and we were able relax in the evening breeze out back.
“About a hundred people,” Lettie stated, her eyes twitching as she spoke. She looked older to me, perhaps a little slower than the previous fall. “That’s all that’s left in Covington. If Thaddeus Wilson is to be believed.”
Whistling at the number, I checked the faces in our group. Lettie’s jaw was set; this was the way things were and that’s all there was to it. Dizzy and Marge simply stared at their hands, not bothering to offer much in return. Violet nodded; she was the one who had heard it first.
Young Nate played in the dirt at the back end of the large garden, digging worms. He and Dizzy had a big fishing trip planned for the next few days. It even included a tent and the pair spending a night together in the woods.
As much as I never thought I’d admit it, Dizzy was a pretty good father figure; actually a damn fine one. This was just another example of the apocalypse bringing out the best in people.
“According to Jim,” Violet added quietly, “they’re low on food up there.”
“The fish camps have hit a drought,” Dizzy stated, finally joining the conversation. I noticed his hands were entwined with Marge’s. “Water’s too warm or something they claim. At least that was what Wilson heard from people in town.”
“They had the fever last fall and winter,” Marge said. Gazing at me, she smiled a half-smile that showed some life. I felt her eyes hid something she wasn’t telling…not just yet. “Killed most the people up there. That’s why their population fell so quickly.”
That was expected if the Reverend Joseph Smith was to be believed. He reported to me that any urban area was susceptible to such a plague. The fever, as most called it, was either the flu or some type of airborne illness laying ruin to what mankind had worked so hard to build.
“Why haven’t we had this fever yet?” I asked, glancing at Marge for her input.
At first she shrugged, followed by a sigh. “Well, there’s very few of us for starters. Add to that, we’re reasonably well fed. The same can’t be said for any nearby cities.”
“Food and medicine are all but gone out there,” Lettie added, waving her thin frail arms at the trees. “What doctors are left can’t help much without modern medicine. It’s taken a year, a little more actually, but now we see just how vulnerable mankind was to something like this. No one knows how to do anything anymore. All that people did was use, not create.”
Lettie’s words were the honest truth. I was the prime example. At first, hunting was foreign to me. If Marge’s husband hadn’t gutted my first deer I might have still been there trying to figure the process out. And it seemed as if very few knew much about gardening. In addition, almost no one knew about heirloom seeds. At least not with the type of knowledge Lettie had.
“Stuart Callies is dead,” I told my group. Yet no one looked shocked.
“So we
Similar Books
