The Book of the Unnamed Midwife

Chapter Two

1 May

Have no idea of the date. Just sat here with this thing trying to guess for a couple minutes before I decided to say fuck it. Pretty sure it’s May. It’s been cold but the flowers are out. It isn’t hot yet. More fog than before. Declaring it May.

Living in the basement of a rickety house on Capp St. Been here since the fires spread across the Mission. Have my kit, my knife, and a good stockpile of canned food. Raiding is pure hell and I’m sure I’ll die doing it. Most of what I have I found in other houses. Found a revolver in a closet two days ago. At least it’s a gun I know how to use. Took it apart, cleaned it up, spent some time getting used to the feel of it. Familiar. Friendly. Can stand searching houses and offices. After the mall, stores are too much, too open, with too many places to hide.

Made it back to the hospital, tried to find Jack or some sign of him. Been a year and everything = dry = crypt = fuck that. Nothing. Went back to the apartment, couldn’t go in. Must have thought I was dying. Can’t blame him. Left a note anyway. Time stopped a long time ago. Time was never time at all. Digital clocks gone blank.

No one to talk to now, long time. Last woman on earth. Going to go crazy if I don’t talk to somebody besides myself. This = that. Substitution. Sham.

So, the bag. Journal, all the way in the bottom and flat. Food and bottled water. Inside my kit: army medic set for wounds, all the disinfectants and antibiotics I have left. Two topicals. Replace those pretty easy. 86 vials of Depo-Provera and a box of hypos. Two stashes of the patch. Three large boxes of the ring. All that = main pocket. Outside pockets: all the OB tampons I have left, two flashlights, twelve batteries, four lighters, and the map= enough to make camp in the East Bay and keep moving.

Don’t know if it’s any better on that side. Saw the fires in the Oakland hills, raging with nothing to stop them until the rains came. Up towards Berkeley things seemed a little better. Maybe head toward the university and raid there. Then move on. North. All the talk overheard sounds like heading south = go north.

Small group yesterday, close enough for me to wake up and hear them. Panicked at first, thinking they were in the house. Passing between houses, and they eventually stopped in one across the street. Got a hold of myself, heard them talking outside.

“…down toward San Diego. I heard it wasn’t as bad in Mexico. Maybe we could live on the beach in Baja and go fishing.”

“Man I guess. We need to find a car though. I’m fucking sick of walking. Maybe on the 101 we can find something that still runs.”

A third voice laughed. “Even if it runs, there’s nowhere to go with it. Everything is blocked. We could grab some motorcycles, maybe. But we’d need five.”

“Four. She can ride bitch.”

Small laughter. Listened to their steps leading away, my heart still pounding. Four men, then. One woman. Stayed in the locker with the garden tools until heard nothing at all for a long time. Neighborhood = nothing but ghosts for weeks, but time to move on. People moving down the peninsula, and there’s no way no how no reason to get caught on a bridge. Heading down to the marina, steal a boat. Still sailboats, made sure. Everything that ran on gas is gone = not raiding for gas even if they aren’t. Never sailed before, but it isn’t far. Go tomorrow or the next day. Go tomorrow. Go during the night. Must gtfo. Go.

Bitch, call everyone bitch. Ride bitch, feed me bitch. Pussy=pussy. Choose the rougher word. Posturing. Easy laugh. Take it easy. Only joking. Bitch.

June

Getting out of the city took longer than I thought. Couple of weeks in indecision, not wanting to leave the basement. Ate everything I could, slept forever always in daylight. Hearing =mostly back, don’t know if my right ear will ever be as good as it was. Packed and unpacked. Hated every day and chickened out every night. Pussy = pussy. Finally ran for it the night I heard the motorcycle. New one, rice-rocket. Ripped up and down the streets in the predawn hours. Felt like dragging my nerves out with it. Got too far away to hear anymore, figured that was it. Strapped on the knife and the gun, put on my pack. Walk.

Did an okay job of changing my look. I’m tall. Apartment in the Mission, found a compression vest to hide my tits. Thanks transman of yesteryear. Little too small, real tight. Shaved my head. Wasn’t easy. Got men’s cargo pants and combat boots, with a couple of loose shirts and my hoodie on top. Can’t do anything about a beard. Couldn’t find one in a costume shop or anywhere. Settled for rubbing dirt into my jaw every morning. Candlelit mirror tricky tricky. Look like a young effeminate man. A guy like Joe. Need to do more pushups.

Walk tall, keep hips straight. Don’t sway. Feet flat. Hunch a little, arms straight down. Don’t gesture. Stare down. Make fists while talking. Sit with knees apart. Adjust. Don’t tilt your head. Don’t bite your lip. Interrupt. Laugh low.

* * * * *

She found a sailboat that wasn’t wrecked or hopelessly entangled after walking the marina until well after dawn. She felt horribly exposed, being out in the wide open. She thought it would be better than on a bridge, because she wouldn’t have to choose to jump. The boat’s name was Circe and that sounded like something bad but she couldn’t place it. She looked all over at it to make sure there was only rope holding it down. She loosed the mooring and climbed aboard to push off the dock with a long pole. The tide started to drag her out. It was really working.

Hot damn. This might work. Maybe I’ll get the hang of this and sail up the coast.

The feeling lasted a few minutes before it became clear that she didn’t know how to sail. She turned a crank experimentally and was excited to see that it raised a sail. It caught the wind and dragged the ship backwards. Cursing, she raised another by pulley and it flapped uselessly, not made fast. She was almost chopped in half by one swinging arm and she worked, straining, to tie it down to something. She forgot that boats had rudders until she was out in the middle of the Bay, drifting without aim. When she found the tiller, she tried to turn it toward the east. That worked until the wind died. She began to seriously consider whether she could swim the rest of the way. The boat passed under the Richmond Bridge, following some current and running parallel to the shoreline. Lost at sea.

She heard the high choppy whine of a motor.

She whipped around to see a little boat coming toward her, running fast with a small outboard motor. There was only one man in it. She tensed all over.

He came alongside. “Hey, where you gonna take that thing?”

She shrugged, and pitched her voice as low as she knew how. “Just crossing the Bay, man.”

“You could have walked the tunnel. Why get all this going?”

She had thought about walking through the BART tunnel. The idea of getting lost in there was more than she could handle. She looked him over as his boat came under her gaze. He was slight and clean-looking. His hands on the oars were long and slender with elegant fingers. He wasn’t threatening. Not even trying.

“I thought it’d be easy. It’s fine. I’ll work it out.”

“You wanna just climb down and I’ll take you across?”

“I don’t have anything to trade.” If he tried to come aboard, she decided she’d push him overboard. Simple. Let him work that out while she got away.

The smell of salt came off the warmed surface of the water, but the wind cut cold and right through them. She did not want to swim.

“Nah, it’s cool. I haven’t seen anybody in a couple of days. I just miss people.”

After a few seconds of thought, she decided if she had to get rid of him, she might as well be in the better boat. She decided it was too risky to throw her pack, so she came awkwardly down the ladder with it. The boat rocked alarmingly and she sat down fast, trying to keep it steady.

He held out his hand. “Curtis.”

She shook with the best grip she could muster. “Andrew. Where are you headed?”

Curtis sat back and started the motor again, and the small boat resumed skipping toward the shore. “I dunno. Everybody left the city. Downtown is full of dead people. Where is there to go?”

“I’m going south, toward San Diego,” she lied. “I heard it’s not so bad down there, plus there’s nice beaches.”

“Yeah. That sounds pretty good.” Curtis smiled that needy smile.

Harmless.

She turned her face into the wind and Oakland got bigger and bigger, black and wrecked on the coastline.

“Hey can we hook north toward the Berkeley marina? Oakland looks like shit from here.”

“Sure.” He turned the boat north. “So, what’d you do? Before.”

Without thinking, she answered the way she always had. “I’m a nurse.”

“No kidding! I didn’t think I’d ever meet a nurse again.”

“Yeah, well. Trauma. I was a field medic in Afghanistan before that.” She came up with that in the white panic of exposure. She was impressed with herself.

“Oh, cool. If you find some people, at least you can tell them you’re useful. I wrote code for Facebook, so once I eat all the baked beans in San Francisco, it’s pretty much over for me.”

She looked at his fake brave face. He was really trying, but underneath he was all terror. “People adapt,” she told him.

“We’ll see if I do. Is that what you’re looking for? People?”

She shrugged. “Not sure I should.”

He sat silent. She took that to mean he couldn’t argue with her.

After a minute, he squeaked it out. “Well… well, can I go with you? Two are better than one. I can at least be a lookout and help you find food. I’m good with machines and directions. What do you say?”

Shit. Should have seen that coming.

She had been perfectly and calmly ready to ditch this guy and yet this question hurt her heart. She thought about Chicken telling her off. She couldn’t look at him. Sideways, he looked like a little boy trying not to cry.

“I don’t think that would work out. But you’ll find some people. Good luck, okay?”

They were almost to the marina. She strapped her pack back on and he got close enough to a huge sailboat’s ladder for her to grab on. She climbed up and looked back down at him.

“Ok then. I guess I’ll go back.”

Something gave way inside her. She turned her bag around and reached in for something she could give him, since she couldn’t let him follow. “Here.” She tossed down a rubber banded bundle of antibiotics. “Hold on to that. It might save your life.”

He caught it and looked up. “Hey thanks. Good luck to you, too.”

He took off. She couldn’t explain to herself why she had given it to him. She had to give him something. She thought again of his long, slender hands and his innocent face. He was harmless. She could have helped him, adopted him, but she couldn’t talk herself into the risk. She hoped he found somebody who would take him on. Save him.

Good luck, man.

She slept in the hold of a boat that had no food but about six kilos of weed. She sniffed its skunky, oily stink and thought about taking some. It might be good to trade, but it’d be a terrible idea to get stoned on her own. When it got dark, she decided she was sick of the smell and got out to walk up to the university. She looked back at the boat, knowing that she wouldn’t return to it. She could set it on fire. She could burn down the whole marina. The night was clear and cool and the thought passed.

She had no flashlight, but there was an almost full moon. Most of downtown looked intact, and the school seemed to have held out for a long time when everything was falling apart. Dorms stood dark on every side, most with banners hanging out the window with slogans opposing the school closure and quarantine. One banner overhead read “3 INSIDE PLEASE HELP.” She wondered if they were still there, or if help had come. Firelights flickered on an upper floor of an old brick pub and she crept away from it, around the block. She doubled back and came up to the main entrance of the school, and then hooked down the street. The building she was looking for was boarded up, but she picked at the edges of the plywood at one window until she found a way in.

In Berkeley

In the university clinic now. Been here a few days. Pallet of bottled water in here, plus cases and cases of granola bars and dried fruit. Also more birth control than I’ve seen anywhere else. Stocked up to bursting. Thousands of doses = all set.

June

Actually pulled it off. Wasn’t sure it would ever work but I did it, today.

* * * * *

They were three, men and a woman. She was young. The midwife saw them coming around one of the old cafes, carrying boxes of cookies. It was broad daylight and she was prepared, right down to the socks in her underwear. She went out through the roof hatch and drew her gun.

Steady. You’ve got all the advantage. Stay steady. Ready? Talk low. Ready. Steady. Ready.

“Hey!”

They started and one of them men dropped his cookies. They both looked around wildly and froze when they saw her.

“Hey!” She started again, low and gruff. “Didn’t mean to scare you. You interested in trade?”

“Fuck, dude,” said the one with the black ponytail. “Don’t pull a gun if you’re not trying to be scary.”

Maybe not next time. Maybe overcorrecting. Fuck it, I feel better with it showing.

“Just getting your attention. Trade?”

“Put that thing away and come down.” They weren’t showing any arms. She put the gun in the back of her waistband and climbed down through the hatch. She wiggled out of a back window where she couldn’t be seen and came around the front, with her trade-goodie bag and her medkit. She came around showing her hands.

“My name’s Rob. I’m holding some good stuff.”

“I’m José, this is Mike and Jenna. What do you have?” José had the black ponytail, shiny with some kind of grease. Mike had a buzz cut and one arm was covered with tattoos.

“Well, I used to be a PA, so I can offer you medical assistance if you need it.”

They looked at each other and back at her. “We’re cool. You got more guns to trade?”

They didn’t have one. “Nope, just mine. Not trading that.”

“Damn. Okay, what else?”

“Liquor. Cigarettes. Candy. Good food. I’m a good raider. What do you want?”

José was quick to step up. “You got cigarettes? I seen no cigarettes anywhere in a long time. I’d kill for one.”

“Regular, menthol, Black and Mild. You name it.”

He licked his lips. “What you want for them?”

She looked down at them from under the bill of her ball cap, trying to look sly. “You know what I want. Is she your girlfriend? Or his?” She switched her gaze from José to Mike, not looking at Jenna.

They both looked at Jenna. She was about seventeen, with long dirty blonde hair grown out dark at the roots. She wore frayed jean shorts on long, tan legs and a loose blousy top. No bra. Her face wasn’t bruised, but she never looked up.

“She’s… uh…”

“Ok, I don’t care. Point is, is she for sale?”

Mike jumped in this time. He was red haired with a scruffy beard, long ropy muscles with a lot of tattoos. She sized up his biceps and thought about her own skinny arms. “Yeah she is. But it’ll cost you.”

She stuffed her hands in her pockets, trying to close up her face while stealing glances at Jenna. The girl was not fazed by the discussion of her as an object. “Two packs of smokes, your choice. One bottle of the liquor I don’t like.”

I don’t give a shit what they choose. Haggle anyway. Act like it matters. Keep looking at the girl.

José countered. “Four packs of smokes, one bottle each, our choice, and something to eat while you do her.”

“Three packs. Two bottles, your choice. Two cans of pork and beans and you eat where I can see you.”

They looked at each other, not talking.

“I need half an hour, man. That’s all.”

They turned back to her, grinning. “Ok, but you do it where we can see you.”

She made a face. “No fucking way. I want some privacy. On the roof. You’ll be able hear us.”

Mike turned to José, who was clearly in charge. “What if he shoots her? Or throws her off the roof?”

“Why would I do that? I haven’t seen a girl in months. And you two would figure out a way to kill me, gun or no gun. I’m not crazy. Just looking for trade. How about it?”

She told herself to stay relaxed, not to tense her shoulders or let her voice get high.

A young man is used to getting his way.

José nodded once. “Three packs. Two bottles. Food. Show it to us.”

She slipped the small bag off her shoulder. She showed them the smokes and threw their choices at their feet. They picked one vodka and one whiskey. She set them down gently and lined up two cans of pork and beans beside them.

“Ok?”

“Mike, you got a can opener?”

“Right here, dude. Let’s build a fire.”

José pushed Jenna toward Rob without a word to the girl. “Don’t fuck her up. I know you got a gun, but you were right when you said we’d kill you.”

Rob reached out and put a hand on the back of Jenna’s neck. She told the girl to go around the back of the building. She did, wordlessly obeying.

The young man turned back to them and winked. “Half an hour.”

She turned and ran after the girl. She pushed her through the loose plywood slot and toward the ladder to the roof. Jenna broke through the hatch ahead of Rob and sat down on the white painted tar. Jenna drew her knees up to her chest and wouldn’t look up. She dropped down beside her, unbuckling her med kit.

“How old are you?”

She didn’t look up or speak.

“Jenna, we don’t have much time. I’m not gonna fuck you. I’m trying to help. Look at me.”

She wouldn’t.

“Jenna. Jenna, seriously. Please try.”

Nothing.

She picked up Jenna’s hand and held it to her hairless jaw. “Look. See? I won’t hurt you. Get it?”

She didn’t.

She stood up and undid her belt. Jenna tensed all over, but wouldn’t look.

“Look, goddamn it. Look!”

Frustrated, Rob threw the socks at the blonde and they bounced off her ankles. The girl looked up and saw the boxer briefs, empty in the front. “Look, see?” Rob went to pull the flap open and show her and her breath caught. It was too real, too much like she really was going to fuck her. Instead, she put her flat hand against her vulva and pulled it up tight. “No dick. Nothing. I’m a woman. See?”

Jenna looked up at Rob’s face and began to cry.

Rob stuffed her socks back in and did up her pants, leaving the belt unbuckled. “Now, tell me. How old are you?”

“Seventeen. I was gonna be eighteen in October.”

“How many times have you been pregnant?”

Her eyes were wide with terror. “Twice. Once when it was just José, and once since Mike.”

“Did you give birth?”

“The last time, yeah. The first one I just bled out and got sick. In the winter. I had the baby like two months ago. He was dead.”

Lucky she’s alive at all. Don’t tell her that.

“Ok. Ok, yeah. I know. Look, I’m gonna give you a shot. It’ll keep you from getting pregnant again for almost two years. Then I’m gonna give you some little plastic rings. After the two years, you put them up inside you. They’re only good for a month, then pull them out. If you get caught with them, say they’re for dryness and you found them somewhere. Ok? Ok, Jenna?”

She was nodding while Rob dug out the Depo shot and sterilized the needle. Jenna cried out when she plunged it in and down on the street they heard laughing. She stuck a dozen of the tiny plastic rings in Jenna’s jeans pocket.

She held her arm and looked up at Rob. “Have you seen any other girls?”

“Not a lot.”

“Fuck.”

“I can’t get you away. I thought about it, but… Look, if you have a chance to get free, cut your hair. Dress like a boy. It doesn’t always work, so-“

“I can leave anytime I want to. There’s worse guys out there than José and Mike. They’re alright.”

“Ok. Sure. Yeah.”

Rob didn’t think their time was up yet. She heated up a can of pork and beans and watched Jenna wolf it down.

“You get to eat?” She cocked an eyebrow at the girl.

“Yeah. Just haven’t had meat in a while. It’s so fucking good.”

She wiped her face and Rob mussed up her hair. Jenna got the idea and yanked her shirt up a bit. They came down disheveled and Rob grinned at them while she pushed the girl back into their midst.

“Good trade.”

“He treat you ok, baby?” Mike murmured this into her hair. José stared at them both.

She nodded, looking down.

Rob showed them her hands again. “Like I said, just looking for trade. No harm done.”

They had drunk a little of their booze, but not too much. She watched them pack up with her back leaning against the brick front of the clinic. There wasn’t anything to say in summation. No information to exchange. No reason to say a warm goodbye or thanks. Slowly they moved off and she wiggled back into the building.

* * * * *

Barely slept since then. Hate that they know where to find me. Hate that. Hate that. Should have tried to get her away. Sooner or later, though, one of them is going to kill the other to get Jenna alone. Should keep them busy.

Should have saved her. Me, Curtis, Jenna. Running together. Coulda shoulda woulda saved them both. Coward.

Have to move on. Keep moving.

Way he put his hand on the back of her neck. Way he smelled her while looking at me. Disregard, control. Shrug up a little, make shoulders bigger. Pluck at crotch of my jeans. Hard eye contact. Remember. Practice in front of a mirror. Find a mirror.

July

Hot as shit here. Somewhere near Sacramento, though I haven’t gone into the capital. Heard gunshots from that direction, and it’s lit up at night. No way. Nope nope nope.

July

Little Urgent Care that’s been almost completely cleaned out. Somebody spray painted NO SUPPLIES out front- thanks. Exit in back and it’s in a strip mall. Raiding here sucks. Convenience food mostly. All the jerky was gone when I got here. So sick of chips I could die. So salty all the time.

Started to head for the 5 freeway but 1: sure there are people on it 2: there’s no water and no food along it hardly at all. Remember driving before, and even in an air conditioned car it seemed like a wasteland. Just gas stations and nothing. Roads east lead into the Nevada desert. No way not doing that this time of year. Hook north through Oregon and then Idaho, but it’s all mountain passes. Take me forever, especially the back roads. No good plan.

Where the fuck am I going?

August

Haven’t seen hardly anyone since Jenna. Haven’t heard voices but some very distant sounds of others. Garbage along the road and old fires. That’s it. Nobody no bodies.

August

Getting close to Oregon border? Found tiny lake = beautiful vacation houses lined up around it. Staked out for a day until thunderstorm hit. Just broke into one = gun in hand. Nobody.

First two had nothing, not even furniture. Third was fully stocked for a family with a lot of kids. Shut the flue, blocked most of the doors made a camp on the sofa backed up against the fireplace. Must have been a winter lodge for them. Closets are full of down comforters and parkas and big coats. Can outfit myself for heading north here.

Been here two weeks. There’s a huge stash of baby food and I almost cried when I saw the strained peas. Fruits and vegetables. Been too long. Lot of canned soup with meat in it and plenty of dry goods. Putting some weight back on. Working out every day = build muscle = pass time. Full bookshelves. Classics popular novels some nonfiction. Some stuff I had on my list from way back but never had time. Like vacation, like a retreat. Could stay here forever. Boarded the windows with furniture pieces. Not great = better than nothing. Glass.

Rub jawline. Don’t look down. Stand in front of the mirror. Have a dick. Great big dick. Fear me. Always right. Kick your ass. No right to stand in my way. Who’s gonna stop me? Like that, bitch? Yeah.

No candles except a bag of tea lights in a bathroom. Made do. Resisted the urge to start a fire and boil water for a bath in one of the huge tubs. Too easy for the smoke to get spotted. Too risky to be caught naked. Basic hygiene = water from the lake warmed up over a can of Sterno. That’s it.

Debated how long I can stay here. Enough food for me to get through the winter, maybe. Sleeping pretty well here = keep my back to the wall and my gun in my hand. Maintain maintain find a spot and hold it make a stand.

August maybe September?

Still here. Thunderstorms are intense. Reinforced the windows with the bed slats from upstairs, but left slits to see through. Clouds slide over the lake and sink there like water pooling before a drain. Rains and rains and rains and rains, never hear anyone coming. Thinking about finding some bells or something and setting up trip wires, just to hear someone coming. Haven’t seen or heard anyone in ages, though.

Not quite true. Raided one of the houses on the far side of the lake yesterday that turned out to be full of the dead. Must have fled the cities and died here. Maybe fifteen people, too decomposed for me to really tell but long hair = maybe women. Mostly died in bed. Place stays wet and the summer was warm = smell the stink from outside. Door was unlocked. Tied a bandana around my face and went in. Opened the curtains for light. Two of them were laid out on sofas, faces covered. Must have gone first. Loaded pack with the soup and canned fish from their cabinets, trying not to breathe through my nose.

Upstairs, found a little jar of Vicks and smeared it on my bandana for the smell. Went into my pocket never know when you might need Vicks=breathing. One bedroom, a dead guy in a flannel jacket sat propped up next to a dead woman in bed. Fancy nightgown and her jaw was wide open. Rosary beads in bed with her. Turned to the guy and gloved up. I searched his pockets and found a wad of cash, threw it on the floor. ID said he was from Las Vegas. Tried not to look at his name or his age. Didn’t matter. Waistband=gun=jackpot=small semi-automatic pistol all but glued to what was left of his hand. Ripped it off and the sound was like tearing through the skin on a roast turkey. Got over that, found the box of bullets in his jacket pocket. Raid was worth it. Could make a huge difference.

Another room had three dead children. Two little boys and one older girl. Stood in the doorway long enough to name them.

John.

Michael.

Wendy.

Shut it. Nothing nothing and nothing in there I want.

Another long-haired corpse in a dry bathtub. Two more in another big bed, together. Ornate jewelry box in the corner and looked. Good stuff. Fingered the diamonds shinybright. Anyone trade for them? Decided no. Left it open full of treasure.

Last bedroom kept me for a while. Empty but= looked tossed and lived-in. Bed unmade drawers half empty. Completely empty box of chocolates sat on the floor, a good pair of heels. Searched the whole thing=nothing of value. On the bureau a letter in a sealed envelope next to pair of emerald earrings. Addressed to Tamara. Opened it.

LETTER FROM ANDREA TO TAMARA

THE YEAR OF THE DYING

AS SCRIBED BY THE UNNAMED MIDWIFE

Dear Tam,

I’m taking off. I feel so much better and I know I’ll be ok. I tried to pack up everything useful, but who knows what I forgot. I am so sorry about the children, and about you and Dick. I really thought getting us out of Vegas was the answer. I guess I was wrong.

Please forgive me for not burying any of you. When Maryanne and Lucia died, we debated it. Ryan said he would help but in the end none of us could face it. I can’t face it alone, I know that. We don’t even have a shovel. I thought about burning the house down to take care of everybody, but it might take the whole lake and the woods. I’m going to leave you all as you are. I’m sorry.

You know I slept with Dick. It was years ago and we were so drunk and so stupid. I swear it never meant anything, it just happened. I’m so sorry I hurt you, and I hope you two are in heaven together and that you can forgive him. You might be able to forgive me soon, too.

I’m going to head south toward Mexico. Before the news stopped, they were saying it was better down there. I’ll head straight down the 5, maybe steal a car. Wish me luck.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. I had to say something. I was so sick that when I woke up I didn’t know where I was. I found you dead and there was nothing I could do. I’m sorry.

Please forgive me. I love you both. I’ll see you when I get to where you are.

Always,

Andrea

Balled it up and threw it on the floor. Andrea had gotten out. Wished her well.

Brought everything I found back here. Think I know how to use this gun. Found the safety and I can load the clip. Good to have another one. Wish I could practice with it.

* * * * *

On a clear day, she climbed the tallest hill to get a better sense of where she was. She saw Mt. Shasta in the distance and thought she could identify it on the map. She was close to Oregon, then. She could see small fires south of her, probably campfires. She heard nothing.

She took two practice shots with the new gun, aiming at a tree at a distance from the house. The gun popped like a toy and there was almost no recoil. Compared to her revolver, it barely felt real. It was light and accurate. She liked it, and fingered it constantly.

She came down on the other side of the hill to circle around to the lake. There was a bait and tackle store, she decided to check it out. She raided some chewing tobacco and gum. Signs hung askew and the cash register had been emptied. There was not much left inside but the bugs that had lived through it all, skittering over everything when the light fell upon them. She shivered, but looked anyway.

They had a couple of newspapers from last year. She glanced over the stories of “Lymphatic Fever” and “Women’s Plague.” There were awful pictures of hospitals in New York and Paris overflowing with the dead and dying. No cure in sight, ran one lede. Men recovering at ten times the rate of women, ran another. Nothing she didn’t know, but she stared.

How did it get so out of hand? How did it spread so fast? Why did I recover?

Her hospital in San Francisco had a great lab. Everyone who had any lab tech experience had been locked up in there, looking at this thing under a microscope. She wasn’t one of them, she worked in labor and delivery, trying to bring fevers down and watching women birth dead and dying babies. She recalled the pandemonium, when she tried to call it up and reason it out. She had never attended a stillbirth before. The first couple were solemn and chastened doctors struggled to explain dead babies patiently, compassionately. After a solid week of them and one hundred percent infant mortality, there was quarantine protocol and screaming, wailing, demanding answers. Parents and doctors alike were unhinged. She remembered putting a baby girl on a Japanese woman’s chest. The child lived long enough to curl her hand around her mother’s finger, and then she was gone. Limp and turning blue. They resuscitated, they injected, wheeled crash carts to every room. The girl’s mother died that day, on fire with a fever they couldn’t touch. Within hours, the baby’s father disappeared.

No cure in sight and the lab crew thinned out. Hospital staff died and disappeared as panic overtook them and mayhem took the city. Dead nurses lined the halls with dead patients and after a while, nobody was hauling them out anymore. She remembered staying so busy that she didn’t see what was happening until she couldn’t open a door. When she finally got sick there was nobody to look after her. Only Jack had come, and she believed he had come to say goodbye.

She could not get the memory to come clear. Her heart pounded and she could relive the terror, but she couldn’t tell the memory of one day in chaos from another. She could not sequence the events, or understand how something this sudden and final had come to be. She was sorry every time she looked back. She set herself up with tasks and focused on the present. Examining the timeline in any direction away from now profited her nothing.

September

Found a motorcycle. Really small, but in good shape. Boathouse=huge drum of gas. Covered it up with tarps. Hope it’s still there when ready to leave. Had one of those shitty multipacks of cheap fireworks for the 4th of July. Took it with me, but bet most are duds by now. Hiss boom fuck you.

* * * * *

The party of men arrived on the lake one day before sunset.

They were startlingly loud in the continuous quiet. She crept to the window to see how many. She counted ten for sure, but they weren’t still or close or easy to see. They settled into a house on the opposite side of the lake and fell to fishing and drinking. She knew they’d begin raiding the surrounding houses, just as she had done. She worried about possibilities in order: they would find her motorcycle, they would find her.

Two days passed and she watched the men ceaselessly, unable to sleep. Their constant drinking kept them slow and unambitious. Late on the third day, they finally started to venture around the lake. She had created a sniper’s perch where she could see out and shoot straight but would be difficult to spot from the ground.

When they came around to her house, they tried the door and couldn’t budge it. One of them picked up a rock to break a window and she took a deep breath and fired through her tiny slit in the window. She shot the ground beside him, but she could see his jeans darken where he pissed himself.

“This one’s taken,” she yelled down to them, gruffly. “We’re armed, and we’ll defend it. Fuck off.”

Get calm. Panic sounds like panic and any dog can hear it. Breathe deep. Remember you have the advantage. No one has seen you.

A few of them stepped back. All their eyes looked up. It wasn’t the whole party. She swept them in her sights. A few held weapons, one or two was swaying drunk.

One bearded face yelled up at her, she cringed at the sound of it. His voice was rough and low and slightly amused. “What have you got in there? Girls?”

She tried to change her voice to sound like another guy. “No girls. Just heroin. Lots of heroin. Fuck off.” Shit, that sounded really stupid. I suck at this.

A couple of them laughed. “Fucking junkie.”

The same one yelled up again. “We don’t want your drugs, man. We’re just looking for food and good stuff.”

“You’re not looking for it here,” she yelled back down. “Looks like we have guns and you don’t. We suggest you leave this lake.”

They talked to each other, low. They didn’t move off.

Please go please please please go and leave me alone.

She moved to the other window she had rigged and lit one of the strings of firecrackers she had found in the boathouse, praying that they were live. She tossed them overhand toward the men. They were live and utterly unexpected on the ground. Men jumped and flailed when the tiny crackers went off. A few ran back toward their camp, others took a long last look before following. She caught more than a few looking back and up at her. She took one more shot after them, just as a warning. Exhausted, she laid on the floor and slept until it was dark.

She woke up in perfect stillness and ate a jar of baby food bananas. She did some pushups and went back to her lookouts. There was no one outside. Across the lake, a fire burned in a pit. They had retreated but they had not left.

For a moment, she considered starting a fire in her own fireplace. She wasn’t hiding anymore; they knew she was in there. Dismay set in as she realized that their smoke would draw more people to the lake.

She nodded back off during the night. After a few bleary minutes, before she heard scraping sounds downstairs. She stumbled up and fell over herself trying to run. She got back up holding her guns, shaking.

Through the dark, she wove down to the window where the noise was coming from. She could hear someone on the other side, pulling at the boards. Then the scrape of a metal tool, prying.

“Get the fuck back!” She brought both guns up and waited. The prying sound stopped.

She stood for a minute, breathing hard. She thought they might have gone, but she couldn’t hear anything over her heart pounding. It was an hour before she sat down, but she fell asleep almost immediately when she did.

She slept for hours but it felt like an instant. She awoke to the sound of the kitchen windows being broken. The shattered glass fell into the stainless steel sink and she came to with a high, short scream. She scrambled up and ran toward the kitchen.

A tall man with a blond beard was halfway into the window. He had reached forward to grab the edge of the sink with both hands and pull himself forward, squeezing through. She brought up the gun. He was stuck. He looked up and she could see in his eyes that he knew it.

Both her hands shook. The shot was less than ten feet and she blew it anyway, putting a hole into the bowl of the sink. He jerked and screamed and tried to push backward.

Her nerves were shattered and she could feel herself tearing up. She widened her eyes, forcing them to focus and tried to breathe deep and steady herself.

The blond man came free with a jerk and she saw the two others outside who had hauled him back. Two dark-haired men, also bearded. They goggled at her.

She cleared her throat. “I told you fuckers this place was mine.” Her voice broke and she shook all over. They knew her then. It was all over their faces with shock and hunger, and one of the dark-bearded ones made to try his luck with the window.

Dead now for sure. Dead.

She opened fire, both guns blazing, not caring how many rounds she lost. She didn’t hit any of them, but they ran. She stood in the kitchen, waiting. She was making a high, keening sound. She wasn’t conscious of it and when she heard it she didn’t know where it was coming from.

After a few minutes, she quieted down. She didn’t have anything to block the kitchen windows. She closed the door and blocked it with the china hutch. The heavy unit scraped the wood floor as she shoved it in front. When it was there, she went and sat on the couch in front of the fireplace. She waited.

She nodded off, but woke every time her chin came down. She began to feel as if she were hallucinating. Dark shapes darted in her peripheral vision. She woke up swearing, she fell asleep muttering.

Just before sunset, someone slid into the kitchen. In an instant she was awake. She thought she heard two sets of boots hit the floor, but it had been three. The door she had blocked was the only way from the kitchen into the rest of the house.

They pushed against the door, but the hutch was heavy. A long, sustained push might have moved it, but the man on the other side rammed it with his shoulder. The hutch rocked.

She couldn’t get her eyes to focus. Terror fought exhaustion and she was ready to kill.

The door thudded against the hutch again. The hutch rocked. The banging grew louder as she assumed the other one had joined him. One became four became five in her frenzied imagination and she checked her clip. She had enough to kill ten, if she could hit them. She tried to steady herself.

I can still get out. I can still get out.

A few seconds of silence.

A splintering crash as the hutch fell facedown into the living room. The base of it was inches from the door. Hands worked their way into the opening and she could hear them straining. The top of the hutch was wedged against the corner of the staircase. She knew it wouldn’t move.

She waited. The straining stopped.

One of them spoke into the crack, his mouth pressed into the opening. “We’ll be back, sweetheart. All of us. Get ready to come along. There’s no other choice.”

Bullshit. Let me show you some choices. I’ve got a clip full of choices.

She heard them scrape through the window to leave her. She went upstairs to the window where she could see their place. She sat on the floor with her chin on the windowsill, watching as they went back into their house.

They waited for morning. She watched.

When the sun rose, she could pick out the shapes of a couple of them standing around their fire pit. They had knives and pipes and other improvised weapons. She knelt on the floor looking at the two guns, deciding. In the end, she chose the new one. She thought it was slightly more accurate at a distance. The shot was a hundred feet, easy. She lined it up slow, breathing deeply. She took the shot. She did not know to account for the drop as gravity acted on the bullet. She had been aiming for his torso, but she could see his kneecap explode when the bullet hit. The morning was still; she could definitely hear the screaming. It scattered the rest of them, and she took three more, wildly, heart pounding too hard to aim. One man dropped outright, and she assumed she had killed him. The other bent over, holding on to himself and screaming.

She got down below the window and waited for return fire, for the sound of someone breaking in downstairs. After a few minutes had passed, she was sure that there were no guns among them. She waited. No sound. When she dared to look again, they were leaving. They left the dead one where he lay.

It wasn’t the first time she had killed someone. Threatening close and threatening far away felt different. She sat there with her back pressed to the wall, thinking about that. Knowing she would kill again, deciding what that would change in her. She flashed for one moment on the man dead in her bed, pulling the sheet up over his face.

She didn’t look out the window again.