An Unkind Winter (Alone Book 2) (23 page)

     He had to stop halfway to his house. This was much more than he bargained for. Luckily the night was still young and he had several hours to go until sunrise.

     He crawled inside the vehicle and carefully pulled the door closed. He leaned the seat back to relax, careful not to get so relaxed he fell asleep.

     The smells brought back so many memories. The pine air freshener still worked, although it smelled more like cardboard than pine now. He could smell the leather seats, which were cold as ice and creaked every time he moved.

     His right arm laid across the console between the seats, and he felt something inside the cup holder through his gloved fingers.

     He picked it up and looked at it, puzzled. It was a french fry. And Dave hated french fries.

     Then, in the deep recesses of his memory, he recalled picking Beth up from soccer practice the day before the blackout. They’d stopped at McDonald’s for a drink and she’d suckered him out of a small order of fries too. She’d batted her eyes and given him an “aw, please, Dad…” that she knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.

     It occurred to him that little Beth… both of his daughters, really, had learned to play him just as their mother did whenever they wanted something.

     And the funny thing was, he didn’t mind a bit.

     The fry was dried out and frozen and Dave probably couldn’t have broken it with a hammer and chisel. But still, he very gently placed it into the pocket of his parka. He didn’t know why. Perhaps he thought that one of the last things Beth touched deserved more dignity than eternity in a cold Ford Explorer.

     He finally felt rested enough to go on, and quietly stepped back out into the cold.

     He noted that the wind had picked up a bit, but at least it was at his back. Perhaps it would help him push. He looked up at the sky, and could see the thick foreboding clouds rolling swiftly by. There was definitely a storm brewing.

     He decided he’d made a wise choice in moving the vehicle now, before it was covered by a thick sheet of ice or a blanket of snow.

     But he’d better get moving before the storm came and overtook him.

     His legs were tired and sore now, but it was easier getting the vehicle moving this time. Perhaps because the wind helped, perhaps because he had done it once and was getting better at it. In any event, he was able to roll it to the front of the Castros’ house before he stopped again.

     Now, as he left the beast and walked toward the Castros’ house, he realized he’d replaced his legs for strands of wet spaghetti. An observer might have considered him drunk, but he wasn’t that. He was merely trying to navigate his course on legs barely able to move.

     He sprawled across the couch in the Castros’ living room for a second break. This was hard work. Even harder than the backbreaking work of planting all those damn seeds by hand, in tight little rows. Even harder than sowing all the wheat, and beating it against the inside of a cardboard box to break the kernels free from the chaff. Even harder than twisting those hundred and eighty one cobs of corn in his hands, trying to get the yellow kernels to fall off and drop into his bucket. He recalled how his forearms rebelled after a time and refused to go on.

     But this task was different. It was way more important than anything else he’d done. This task represented the first step in his escape from this hell and his journey to reunite with the only three people in the world that he loved beyond all reason.

     This task was vital to his reconciliation with his family.

     But it wouldn’t get done until he got his lazy butt off the couch.

     He got back up on his spaghetti legs and made his way into the Castros’ back yard, and then into his own.

     Into his garage he went, where he unlocked the door and carefully raised it a couple of feet.

     He looked out the door and scanned the street to make sure no one was approaching. It seemed the coming storm was keeping even the looters in tonight. And it occurred to him that he hadn’t even seen any looters lately.

     Maybe they were all dead.

     Or more likely, they just hated the cold as much as Dave did and were hunkered down somewhere.

     Dave raised the door the rest of the way and made his way out to the street.

     The last part of the project was a little bit tricky. He had to get enough momentum going to get the heavy vehicle up into his driveway, but not so much momentum he wouldn’t be able to stop it before it went into his garage and crashed into his house.

     Add to that the problem that the power steering didn’t work without the engine running.

     It was to be a challenge for sure.

     But Dave loved a good challenge.

     In the end, though, it wasn’t as bad as he thought. Five minutes later the vehicle was safely tucked away in the garage, the garage door was resecured, and Dave was exhausted as he stumbled to the small bed in his safe room.

     And even though he felt like he’d gone through hell and survived, he still had an accomplished smile on his face.

-44-

     Dave hadn’t intended to do so, but he fell asleep within minutes of his return home. It was his body’s way of overruling his mind and telling him he needed to recover from his adventure.

     And it wasn’t a bad thing. He’d planned on changing his sleep schedule anyway, at least for a couple of days, so that he could be up in the daytime. He needed to work on his car during the daylight, so there was no chance a passing looter would see light peeking through the cracks around his garage door.

     He wasn’t upset, therefore, when he woke up hours later to find it was two o’clock in the afternoon.

     What he hadn’t planned on was how stiff and sore he’d be.

     He woke up in exactly the same position he’d been when he collapsed on the bed: flat on his back, arms out to his sides, one foot still on the floor. He never rolled over or changed position, not even once, and his body was going to punish him for it.

     He never even took off his parka or boots. He was that exhausted. But that was a good thing, because in the absence of a fire he’d have frozen to death without them.

     He winced as he sat up. Every muscle in his body ached.

     He muttered to himself, “This must be what it feels like to be an old man.”

     For a long time, he lay there, trying to remember Lindsey’s words in a dream he’d had. Something about taking care of the rabbits, because they were the only link they had left together.

     Her words made no sense to him at first. What rabbits was she talking about, and what did she mean?

     Was she referring to all the rabbits? Surely she knew that the rabbits supplied most of Dave’s protein now. And would supply most of hers as well, once she made it back from Kansas City.

     Or did she mean to watch out for the rabbits he named Lindsey and Beth? The ones who tended to follow him around, but who stayed just far enough away from him to keep him from picking them up?

     Maybe there was some kind of spiritual meaning to the dream, or to her words.

     Finally, he just dismissed the dream and put it out of his mind. Or, at least he tried to. It would nag at him off and on in the weeks ahead. But for now he had to get up.

     After sitting on the edge of the bed for several minutes, Dave looked at the fireplace and wondered if it would be worth the risk to build a fire in the daytime so he could brew some coffee.

     Waking up in the morning without coffee really sucked. Even when the “morning” was two in the afternoon.

     Even in the wintertime, when the sun set early, he couldn’t count on darkness for at least four more hours. He decided a fire was an unnecessary risk. He’d have to crank up his generator and heat some water in the microwave. The coffee would be instant, but it would be better than nothing.

     Not much. But a little bit.

     Originally, his plan was to get started work on his Explorer today, then start sleeping at night.

     But now, as stiff and sore as he was, he just didn’t feel like it.

     Dave wasn’t a procrastinator by nature, but the way he saw it, he had plenty of time to get the project finished. It was early January now, and he wouldn’t be able to leave for Kansas City until early March.

     Maybe even later, if this vicious winter dragged on longer than normal.

     Today, or what was left of it, he’d reward himself with a day off. He deserved it, after he pushed that beast a block and a half into his garage.

     He picked up his coffee pot and could tell by the weight it was still full of coffee- frozen now, but still coffee. It was old, sure, and stale. But even freshly made, the coffee was stale now, and day old coffee was something he’d gotten used to. He was much too sensible to throw it out.

     Or maybe hard headed was a better description.

     He put the pot in the fireplace to thaw and then to boil, once it was dark enough to restart the fire.

     In the meantime he grimaced as he drank the instant, while poring through the boxes of Sarah’s research papers at his feet.

-45-

     What a difference a day makes. For twenty hours Dave laid about, more vegetable than man. He did get up occasionally, to say hello to Mikey, to urinate into the orange Home Depot bucket in his garage, and to look outside and admire the ten inches of fresh snow on the ground.

     It was rather pretty.

     He decided that he made a good move by not waiting any longer to bring his Explorer home. If temperatures didn’t moderate soon, this snow might still be on the ground come springtime. It would have been impossible to push the car on a snowy street, and an invitation to disaster. The tracks in the snow, leading into the garage of a vacant house, would send up a big red flag to anyone happening by.

     It would be no different than hanging a big red neon sign out front that read, “Hey, someone is living here after all. Come and see what he’s hiding.”

     By the second day, most of the soreness was gone. The dozen or so ibuprofen tablets helped, as did time. He was still a bit stiff, but it was more a minor inconvenience than anything else.

     What he was more than anything else was ready to get his project started.

     He walked into the garage to see what he was up against, and noticed for the first time that the vehicle seemed to be leaning slightly toward the passenger side. He went around to find out why, and saw that the front tire on the passenger side was almost flat.

     “Crap. No wonder you didn’t want to roll, you son of a gun.”

     He saw his trouble light hanging on the wall in the garage, and wondered for a moment whether it might have survived the EMP. He even went as far as taking it down so he could test it, before he realized his folly and hung it back up again.

     Even if it worked, he wouldn’t be able to use it unless the generator was running.

     And running his generator in the same garage where he was working on the car was tantamount to suicide.

     This job would have to be done with the flashlights and batteries that survived the blackout in his Faraday cage.

     Before he went back into the house he checked the thermometer. It read twenty eight degrees. It was the warmest it had been in at least three weeks. It was darn near warm enough to start melting the snow outside.

     But not quite.

     One thing for sure was that the sub-freezing temperatures wouldn’t make working on the car any easier.

     He could wait, now that it was in the garage and there was no real hurry. But he needed to answer a major question in his own mind. He was desperate to know whether he could get the car running again.

     In theory, he could. But the thing about theories, he remembered from his school days, was that they didn’t always come to fruition. Sometimes the best plans never worked. He wasn’t a mechanic, after all. Maybe there was some part of his plan that was missing. Or maybe he wasn’t being rational with his expectations.

     He planned to make the journey to Kansas City with or without the vehicle.

     But it would be a heck of a lot quicker, and a heck of a lot easier, if he had wheels to take with him.