A Year Underfoot Page 9

  “Jessie,” the red–haired girl said, “you hang in there, it’s going to be all right, we’ll find Mom and Dad, they’ll know what to do, I promise, it’s going to be okay, I promise.”

  I helped him to the floor and draped a pair of blankets over him. He grabbed the material and wrapped himself up tightly, curling up into the fetal position. His body shook involuntarily, but he gripped the blankets tightly just the same. Instinct told him it was time for nature to run its course, time to sweat this one out.

  The girl, who I’ve come to know as Rachel, was hurting as well, and after Caleb finally calmed, she wrapped herself up in a couple of blankets and laid down.

  I handed her a cold head cloth and she accepted.

  “Rest, keep warm,” I told her, “you’ll be all right.”

  She looked up at me and nodded silently, okay.

  I crossed the cabin to the propane camping stove.

  “I’ll make some soup. It’ll be waiting for you when you get up.”

  “Thanks.” She said, dropping her head to a pillow. “But, I’m not really tired.”

  Lucky crossed the floor and drew himself up next to her and stretched out along side.

  They say dogs are the best judges of character.

  Ten minutes later I had soup on the stove and three kids and a dog sleeping soundly in the cabin.

  Three kids and a dog, what’s next?

  December 7th, 2033

  Rachel and Jessie both broke their fevers a few hours ago and are on the mend. Caleb, on the other hand, hasn’t shown any change and his elevated body temperature has me scared. If the fever doesn’t break soon I’m afraid this virus is going to get the best of him.

  December 7th, 2033

  (second entry)

  Rachel found the real reason for her little brother’s condition. He has a large slash wound on his upper right thigh. It’s infected, and badly so. He is going to need a steady dose of antibiotics to pull through and I haven’t any.

  Long story short, – I’m heading back to Santa Clarita within the hour.

  December 9th, 2033

  I haven’t any luck finding antibiotics. I’ve sifted through the debris of the five registered pharmacy’s listed citywide and have come up empty handed. Not even an aspirin. The fires that took most of Santa Clarita burned long and hot and there just isn’t too much left.

  My best bet is to go door to door in the neighborhoods above the lake and take my chances. Although the houses may have been booby–trapped by the troopers, I don’t have a choice. I have to lay it on the line for this kid, if I’m going to lay it on the line for anyone all.

  One, or one million, it is all the same.

  Service above self.

  December 11th, 2033

  I made it back to the cabin early this morning, and not a moment too soon. Caleb was burning up, the infection that had taken hold of his body had raged on overnight and his breathing had shallowed considerably. He paled a ghostly white, and if the truth be told, at first glance, I thought he was dead.

  Among the medicines I found in the homes above the lake were a bottle of thirty pills, – 500mgs each of Ampicillin and worth their weight in gold. As long as we could get Caleb to swallow the pills, we had a fighting chance of getting his fever under control.

  But, how was I going to get an unconscious kid to swallow a rather sizable pill? It turns out I needn’t worry, Rachel had it all worked out. She lifted her brother off the bed towards her and placed the pill in his mouth and followed it with a splash of warm water. Rather than spit out the pill, Caleb swallowed the dose easily.

  Sighs of relief filled the room. And from here on out, all we can do was keep him warm, dry and comfortable.

  Check, check, and check

  December 12th, 2033

  Caleb died early this morning.

  The infection proved to be too much. His fever never broke, nor did he regain consciousness.

  I suppose I should be numb to this by now, but I’m not.

  December 12th, 2033

  (second entry)

  We buried Caleb after sunset.

  We set him off by the cabin and I said a few words while a warbird screeched off in the distance.

  Rachel and Jessie haven’t said a word since, and come to think of it, neither have I.

  What is there to say?

  December 13th, 2033

  I lugged the radio up the ridgeline and vented for a full hour. It was only when Alpha Omega One chirped in did I take note of the time and packed up my gear and beat a hasty retreat off the ridge. I’d given the Threak more than enough time to triangulate my position, but they must not have been listening.

  I headed back to the cabin, keeping a keen eye on the skies and praying I hadn’t betrayed my position. Cutting through the woods I heard Lucky barking wildly and I set down the radio and ran the rest of the way. When I stepped out of the woods and into the clearing I found Rachel sitting at her brother’s graveside, while her older brother, Jessie, stood off to one side, fixated on something in the woods behind the cabin.

  My eyes followed his and there was a definitely something moving around in the bushes. Jessie backed up a bit and reached down and lifted Rachel up by the arm.

  The pair backpedaled as the underbrush parted and a pair of snarling dogs emerged. Three more popped out to their left and another pair flanked them on the right.

  Dogs, hungry rabid dogs.

  I raced across the clearing and un-holstered my .357. I was still running when I fired a shot into the air, but it had no effect on the pack.

  They continued to stalk the pair.

  I drew on the most aggressive of the pack and pulled the trigger. The dog, a large Husky mix dropped instantly, but his demise had no effect on the others. They continued to advance, – either hunger, or distemper ruled them now and it was plain to see they no longer feared anything at all, least of which, a man with a gun.

  “Rachel, Jessie,” I said, “I want you to start moving slowly toward the cabin. Slowly, very slowly.”

  The pair inched back as the pack inched forward, and when it appeared the pack was recoiling to spring its attack, Lucky shot past the kids, – barking wildly and placing himself between them and the snarling brood.

  It was enough to momentarily stop the pack’s advance and give the pair a chance to make a break for it.

  “Run!” I yelled, but they didn’t need any encouragement from me. They lit out for the cabin and Lucky turned tail and ran as well.

  The pack took after them and I shot the lead dog and continued down the line. I hated to do it, but it had to be done. Three more shots, three more kills and the remaining three dogs peeled off and disappeared into the woods.

  I have no doubt they’ll be back.

  In the meantime, I have more bodies to bury.

  December 15th, 2033

  It’s been somber around here for the past few days and if it weren’t for Lucky jumping around and being the half–spastic clown that he is, neither Rachel, nor Jessie would have ever smiled. Caleb’s death has hit them hard and understandably so. How do you get over watching your little brother die?

  Only time will tell if they’ll bounce back from this one.

  The Threak are still out and about, both in the air and on the ground. The cooler weather hasn’t seemed to hamper their activities much, but with rain on the way I expect they’ll be dampening things down a bit.

  I haven’t had any visions lately, but I still feel as though I’m connected to the Retratti. The information I’ve received from them over the past few months has been helpful, I just wish it were more concrete.

  December 16th, 2033

  I left the cabin for a few hours today under the guise of hunting, but the truth of the matter is, I just needed to get away for a while. Too much grief, not enough hope. I have to find a way to turn this around.

  December 17th, 2033

  Clouds are rolling in from the west and it looks like rain. Normally, I’d be gea
ring up to head out for a hit–and–run swoop along the interstate, but not today. I can’t leave Jessie and Rachel here at the cabin by themselves, and I certainly can’t take them with me. So, here I sit.

  Thinking long term, – this is not going to work out.

  What am I going to do?

  Concede to the obvious.

  I’m in no position to take care of Lucky, let alone a pair of kids. And, the Threak know my name, for crying out loud, they get me, and they get the kids. I can’t let that happen. No way, no how.

  When it comes down to it, I really have only one option.

  Dan and Maureen Wolfe.

  Come sundown I’ll head up to the ridge and call on Ross’s camp. I’m sure the Wolfe’s will take them in. I know it’s a lot to ask, two more mouths to feed, let alone two more lives to be responsible for, but they’ll understand. I know they’ll do the right thing. They know I can’t drop out of the fight, and they know as long as these kids are with me they’re in harm’s way.

  They’ll do the right thing. I believe in the good of man now more than ever.

  December 18th, 2033

  Low clouds and a light drizzle have made the day’s journey a pleasant one. As I’d hoped, Dan and Maureen had no problem taking in Rachel and Jessie, and for that I’m eternally grateful. They never cease to amaze me and I owe them more than they’ll ever know.

  After spending part of the early morning packing up provisions, – nearly all of our food stuffs, blankets, and the like, we hiked north to meet Dan in the woods north of Ventura. He’d graciously volunteered to meet us halfway, and for that I’m much appreciative. I can get back to the fight that much sooner.

  The kids had a hard time leaving Caleb behind, but when I explained the reasons behind the move and why they couldn’t stay with me, they seemed to understand. I promised to look over Caleb every day and I think that gave them some comfort. I think they understand.

  Rain is still falling and after this short respite we’ll continue north. The skies are Threak free and road ahead is flat and with any luck the rest of the trip will be uneventful.

  Wouldn’t that be nice?

  December 19th, 2033

  I said goodbye to Rachel and Jessie this morning and handed them over to Dan and Maureen. Rachel had Lucky in tow, who was always part of the package,–as was the “dowry box” I’d schlepped along. The food stuffs and blankets packed inside would go a long way to making it through the brunt of the winter a bit easier and help ease the kids transition into the Wolfe’s clan.

  December 20th, 2033

  Every day is an adventure and today was certainly no exception. I ran into trouble on the east side of Oxnard and for the first time in my life I had to kill a man. I had no choice. I really didn’t. I know it is a cliché, but it truly was either kill, or be killed.

  He was rabid and out of his mind. I don’t know how else to explain it. We had no words, no confrontation. I was walking along the shoulder of the road heading south, he was walking in the middle of the road heading north and when he saw me he raised a shotgun and ran straight for me, – screaming all the while.

  And, to my amazement he pulled the trigger.

  He was trying to kill me.

  No doubt about it.

  His screams had given me enough warning and I hit the deck, – diving and rolling off to my right. I popped back up and leveled my .357 at his chest.

  “Stop! Stop!” I yelled, and to my surprise he did and I got my first real look at him. A white man in his fifties or sixties, with a dirty white beard, wearing only a torn t–shirt despite the cold, his corduroy pants were torn and frayed and he wore no socks or shoes.

  Somewhere along the line he’d snapped and divorced himself from reality, I could see it in his eyes, big, empty and distant.

  “Put the gun down!” I yelled. “Put the gun down!” But, he wouldn’t listen. He reached into his front right pocket and pulled out another shell.

  “Don’t do it.” I pleaded. “I don’t want to kill you!” But he wasn’t listening, he wasn’t hearing me at all. He had checked out some time ago.

  He loaded the shell into the chamber and drew up the shotgun.

  “No!” I screamed, pulling the trigger a split second before he could. The round struck him squarely in the chest, knocking him backward. The shotgun fell to the ground and he fell next to it. He lay on his back, he wasn’t moving.

  I inched forward, my eyes darting between the body and the gun. Any movement and I’d have to shoot again.

  Mercifully, another bullet was unnecessary.

  He was already dead.

  I’m so torn up inside I can’t think straight. With all that is going on, – I kill another man, another human being.

  Am I no different than the Threak?

  December 21st, 2033

  I still see the shotgun and I still see the emptiness in his eyes. I’ve thought long and hard on it and I don’t know what else I could have done. He wasn’t going to stop. He wasn’t going to listen. He was going to kill me. He was raising the barrel and he was going to pull the trigger. And, if I didn’t act I was going to die, simple as that.

  I didn’t want to die.

  I had to defend myself.

  I had to shoot. He left me no choice.

  Why did he leave me no choice?

  December 24th, 2033

  I’m back at the cabin. I got in yesterday afternoon and after heating up a tin of rice and beans, I fell back on the cot and stared up at the wood slat ceiling. I closed my eyes hoping to catch some sleep, but I found sleep wasn’t going to come that easily to me. Every time I drifted off I saw his face, the ruin in his eyes and the desperation of his rage, and I would wake up, startled and disoriented. I’d look around the room, and once I was satisfied I was safe and alone, I’d fall back and lay there, staring back up at the ceiling and the process would repeat itself.

  I was too tired to move and too exhausted to care.

  Eventually sleep came, but it was a fitful one at best and two hours later I awoke, shivering from cold, with the calf muscles in each leg knotting up and growing tighter.

  The pain was excruciating.

  I bent my body awkwardly, reaching down to my calves, when the muscle leading up the right side of the back of my neck pulled, and started to tighten as well. I stretched out my neck as far to the left as I could and rotated my torso away from the contracting muscle. In time, the tightness in my neck yielded, but the knots in my calves would not. In fact, if possible, they tightened further.

  I felt a twinge in my lower back. Another spasm?

  My body was in rebellion.

  I knew why I was cramping. I was cold, I was worn out and I was dehydrated. Since the shooting I’d walked two days straight, no breaks, no stops whatsoever,c – not to rest, not to eat, not to drink. I had pushed myself too hard. I was feeling it before, the mental and physical stresses of simply surviving, but this incident threw me over the edge. This time I had gone too far.

  I struggled to my feet and stiff–legged my way to the propane stove. I had a can of chicken broth left and I put it on the burner and fired up the stove. I grabbed the last jar of peanut butter off the counter and gulped down some water before easing myself onto the lone wooden chair. Slowly, I leaned forward and began massaging the backs of my calves. The knots were rock hard and threatened to tear right out of my skin.

  What to do? What to do?

  Protein and H20, – that’s what my body craved. The cramping was going to persist until I refueled and re–hydrated my body. I sat at the table and massaged my calves in between spoonfuls of peanut butter and mouthfuls of water and over the course of a half an hour the tightening slowly eased and I gingerly stepped to the cot and lay back down.

  I can’t ever remember being so tired, so worn to the bone.

  Between the chicken broth, the peanut butter and the water my aches and twitches finally eased and I was able to get a solid six hours sleep. I’ve felt much better since. I’ve
stayed indoors, – for the most part, but I did step outside to visit Caleb’s grave. I let him know Rachel and Jessie were safe and sound and they were thinking of him. No sooner had the last words left my lips when a stiff breeze kicked up through the trees, – I like to think my message has been delivered.

  The past few days have been like no other and are going to take a while for me to process.

  If I’m lucky, I’ll have the time to do it.

  December 25th, 2033

  Christmas Day, 2033. Resting.

  December 26th, 2033

  I spent yesterday alternating between eating and sleeping, before finally nodding off for good some time after sunset. I hadn’t the energy or the inclination to do anything else.

  Today, however, is a different matter. Today I feel stronger and a bit claustrophobic. So, after a quick bite to eat, I’m going to lug the radio up to the ridgeline and see what’s cooking.

  December 26th, 2033

  (second entry)

  I spent most of the night up on the ridge. I messed around with the radio a bit, but mainly I stared out over the valley and tried to make sense of the past few days.

  When it comes right down to it, I did what I had to do. I have no regrets.

  I had to send the kids up north for their protection, – that was a no–brainer.

  And, as for killing a man, I had no choice but to pull the trigger to protect myself. The poor soul was deranged, he was not lucid, he was not going to stop, – he was going to kill me. Of that, I am certain. I had to fire, I no other choice. Classic self–defense. Can I put behind me? Should I put it behind me? I don’t know, and I don’t know, those are the only answers I can come up with.

  That, and time will tell.

  So, where do I go from here?

  Attack the Threak, what else is there?

  But, first I have to rest up. Both my mind and my body are a wreck. A few days of rest and relaxation are the start of what I need to get back up to snuff. After that, I’m all about the business of getting back into the fight.

  December 27th, 2033

  Alpha Omega One reported tonight that a two–mile long Threak convoy heading out of Denver, Colorado was attacked by two hundred well trained and heavily armed survivors. He said that twenty–four alien vehicles had been destroyed and that our side had suffered no casualties!