beloved strong hands, and finally to wrap him in his favorite afghan. She didn’t have the strength to carry him down the stairs, to dig a grave and bury him, so she had ended up wrapping him in plastic tarps, which she had sealed with duct tape. She had laughed and cried as she’d completed that last step – Scott had enjoyed a life-long love affair with duct tape, and she swore she could feel his amusement at her desperate innovation.
She found Zeus just where she knew she would, curled up against Scott’s body in their bed, his head resting on Scott’s chest. She smoothed her hand over his cold, silky ears, and sobbed. “Oh, Zeus. Thank you for going with him. He’ll be so happy for the company. What a good dog.”
~~~
Grace worked for two days, trying to dig graves for her family. Finally, exhausted, with bleeding hands, she made herself stop. She had barely made it 3 feet down, even though she’d dug in the garden where the soil was soft. She needed a Plan B.
The plague had hit Limon in the first wave: Mrs. Dunwoody, the organist at the Methodist church, had collapsed in the middle of a Sunday morning service. Grace couldn’t believe people had been stupid enough to help her – had they not been listening to the news? If it had been up to Grace, Mrs. Dunwoody would have died where she lay instead of infecting half the church, including Grace’s grandfather.
Her mother had sickened next, her stepfather and Benji the very next day. She knew she wasn’t supposed to call for help, but she had tried anyway. Nobody answered at the local medical clinic or the police station. She finally reached a man at the fire department, who had promised to send someone, but no one ever came. On the morning of the 5 th day, Grace woke to find Benji and her stepfather already gone. Her mother had lingered for a few more hours.
“Dead.” Grace said the word aloud to the huge, prairie sky. “They’re dead. Mom is dead. Wayne is dead. Benji…” Her voice broke, her breath hitched. Sweet baby brother. “Benji is dead.”
She could not permit herself to start crying. To start might mean never stopping. She kept making herself repeat the facts, deal with the reality. She hadn’t suffered so much as a sniffle – she assumed that meant she was one of the less-than 1% that was immune. It also meant she had a duty. Grace wasn’t a spiritual person – she didn’t know how she felt about God or any other idea of deity – but she understood her responsibility to humanity. The president’s speech had riveted her, and his words were lodged deep in her heart. She had survived, and it was her job to go on, to help rebuild.
She leaned her shovel against the house, and stretched with her hands fisted in the small of her back. She had run out of food completely this morning after rationing for days, and she could feel her body weakening. They had lost phone service some time during her family’s illness – she wasn’t sure when – so the most logical thing to do was get in the car and go see what she could find.
She hadn’t heard from William in well over a week, and this was one fact she could not force herself to dwell on. The last time they talked, one of his little brothers had been sick. She had promised to call the next day, but kept getting a busy signal. She hadn’t even tried since.
Their ranch was the closest – it was logical to start there. Grace went back in the house, showered and changed her clothes. Even as she fussed with her appearance, she recognized the stall tactics in her behavior. William wouldn’t care if her hair was dirty and her clothes covered with grime – he would just be happy to see
She found Zeus just where she knew she would, curled up against Scott’s body in their bed, his head resting on Scott’s chest. She smoothed her hand over his cold, silky ears, and sobbed. “Oh, Zeus. Thank you for going with him. He’ll be so happy for the company. What a good dog.”
~~~
Grace worked for two days, trying to dig graves for her family. Finally, exhausted, with bleeding hands, she made herself stop. She had barely made it 3 feet down, even though she’d dug in the garden where the soil was soft. She needed a Plan B.
The plague had hit Limon in the first wave: Mrs. Dunwoody, the organist at the Methodist church, had collapsed in the middle of a Sunday morning service. Grace couldn’t believe people had been stupid enough to help her – had they not been listening to the news? If it had been up to Grace, Mrs. Dunwoody would have died where she lay instead of infecting half the church, including Grace’s grandfather.
Her mother had sickened next, her stepfather and Benji the very next day. She knew she wasn’t supposed to call for help, but she had tried anyway. Nobody answered at the local medical clinic or the police station. She finally reached a man at the fire department, who had promised to send someone, but no one ever came. On the morning of the 5 th day, Grace woke to find Benji and her stepfather already gone. Her mother had lingered for a few more hours.
“Dead.” Grace said the word aloud to the huge, prairie sky. “They’re dead. Mom is dead. Wayne is dead. Benji…” Her voice broke, her breath hitched. Sweet baby brother. “Benji is dead.”
She could not permit herself to start crying. To start might mean never stopping. She kept making herself repeat the facts, deal with the reality. She hadn’t suffered so much as a sniffle – she assumed that meant she was one of the less-than 1% that was immune. It also meant she had a duty. Grace wasn’t a spiritual person – she didn’t know how she felt about God or any other idea of deity – but she understood her responsibility to humanity. The president’s speech had riveted her, and his words were lodged deep in her heart. She had survived, and it was her job to go on, to help rebuild.
She leaned her shovel against the house, and stretched with her hands fisted in the small of her back. She had run out of food completely this morning after rationing for days, and she could feel her body weakening. They had lost phone service some time during her family’s illness – she wasn’t sure when – so the most logical thing to do was get in the car and go see what she could find.
She hadn’t heard from William in well over a week, and this was one fact she could not force herself to dwell on. The last time they talked, one of his little brothers had been sick. She had promised to call the next day, but kept getting a busy signal. She hadn’t even tried since.
Their ranch was the closest – it was logical to start there. Grace went back in the house, showered and changed her clothes. Even as she fussed with her appearance, she recognized the stall tactics in her behavior. William wouldn’t care if her hair was dirty and her clothes covered with grime – he would just be happy to see
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