Powerless (28 page)

 

D
rs. Samuel Blake and Kaylee Connor have exhausted most of the food supply in Sam's home. Now they're hungry, but not a desperate hunger—yet. Kaylee, unaware her parents lie murdered in an abandoned medical building in New York City, is in an unusually good mood, considering the circumstances. She's sitting on the sofa thumbing through an old copy of
Astronomy
when Sam returns to the living room carrying a rifle. He's dressed in camouflage coveralls and a camouflage hat.

She looks up and laughs. “Let me guess. Elmer Fudd?”

“Not rabbit hunting. I'm going to bag us a deer.” He props the rifle against the wall and takes a seat on the sofa. He works his fingers through his long, bushy beard.

“You look more like a swami. I don't think I knew you were a deer hunter. Or any kind of hunter, for that matter.”

“Does that change your perception of me?”

She puts a chipped black nail to her lip. “I'm not a big fan of killing animals, but I have to say you're rockin' that camo look.”

“I'm not really much of a hunter. I haven't been hunting in twenty years—probably the last time that rifle was fired.”

Kaylee rests a hand on his thigh. “I thought we were living off the fruits of love.”

Sam covers her hand with his. “I don't think love is going to fill our stomachs. It fills everything else I need—oh God, does it—but as someone once said: we can't live on love alone.” Their playful silliness is a welcome relief from the drudgery.

“Do you have any bullets for that thing?”

“I think so. Somewhere in the garage. Or used to be. Might take me a while to find them.”

“I'm going with you.”

“To the garage?”

“No, I'm going hunting with you.”

“I thought you just said you didn't approve of hunting animals?”

“I don't for those people who hunt just for sport. But if we're on the verge of starving to death, I can make an exception.”

“You get dressed while I go find the ammunition.”

Kaylee jumps off the couch to dress like they were going out on a date in town as Sam steps out the door and into the cold garage. It's large enough to hold three cars, but currently holds none. He and Kaylee had abandoned both of their cars at the Space Weather Prediction Center. The shelving against the far wall is stacked with reminders of a past life: an electric leaf blower, a trickle charger for car batteries, a drill and a power sander, and a couple of space heaters.

Sam walks over to the cabinets above his workbench and clicks on the headlamp he had retrieved from the kitchen. He begins pawing through drawers in search of the 30-30 cartridges he remembers seeing at some point over the last five years. He climbs on top of the workbench and searches through a couple of wall cabinets and finds them at the very back of a cabinet filled with yard chemicals. The box, oily from some spilled chemical, disintegrates in his hand, scattering bullets across the garage floor. He climbs down and scoops a handful of the dull brass and stuffs them in his pocket.

He reenters the house to find Kaylee in the kitchen, dressed in one of his old coats and a pair of old ski pants. The pants are about seven inches too long and her hands are buried somewhere in the sleeves of the coat.

“You look like a scarecrow. I'm glad we're going where we won't be seen.”

Kaylee pirouettes with her arms wide. “Don't like the new look?” She stops and plants a hand on her hip. “Did you find the bullets?”

“Yeah, I did. Ready for hunting?”

“Aren't you missing your checkered hat, Mr. Fudd?”

Sam slaps her on the ass as he passes. “C'mon, silly wabbit.”

He pulls on his heavy coat and leads them out the side entrance of his home. Most of the snow has melted under the bright sun, but there are still patches of white remaining in the deeper shadows. Sam's house sits at the base of a tall hill, the Front Range to the Rocky Mountains that stretch three thousand miles across two countries. Both are sucking air not long after starting up the hill. They're soon shedding jackets as they labor upward at a fifteen-degree angle. Sam's base layer is saturated with sweat, and he glances over to see Kaylee suffering the same fate.

“How . . . much . . . further?” Kaylee says.

“Don't know. First time I've been up here.” He gives Kaylee a smile and she replies with a scowl. They're silent the remainder of the way until topping the hill many minutes later.

“Break?” Kaylee says, collapsing onto the surface of a large boulder. Sam walks over to join her.

Kaylee brushes the damp hair from her face. “Is Bambi going to come to us or how does this work?”

Sam squints up at the sun. “This late in the day, we need to find a water hole and catch them coming in.” He scans their surroundings. “There's a creek down there. Probably be the best spot to hole up. The good news is it's all downhill to the creek.”

“I hear a
but
coming.”

“Well, it's uphill on the way back. And, hopefully, we'll be loaded down with deer meat.”

“Great,” Kaylee says. She pushes off the rock and begins walking across the ridge and Sam hurries to catch up. Instead of going straight down the backside of the large hill, they wind their way down, walking across the face then back, slowly descending to the small valley.

“Try not to make any noise,” Sam whispers to her as he draws up close. He grabs a clump of grass and tosses it up into the breeze. “We need to be downwind of them, but I have no idea which direction they'll be coming from.”

“What if we stay here?” Kaylee whispers. “The wind is in our faces and we can watch both sides of the stream from here. Can you shoot that far?”

“I think so. That's a good idea. I knew I would make a hunter out of you.”

She punches him in the arm. They work their way a little lower until they come to a rock outcropping where they take up position. Sam grabs a water bottle from his coat pocket and offers the water to her first. She guzzles a little more than half and hands the rest back to him.

“It's so beautiful out here,” Kaylee whispers.

“It is, isn't it? We should hike up here more.”

Kaylee gives him an angry glare. “I didn't necessarily say it had to be this exact spot, Sam. We can see almost the same thing from your back deck. A lot easier than climbing that damn hill again.”

He smiles. “It'll probably be a while before the deer trickle in.”

They lie down beside each other faceup, staring at the cottony clouds racing across the blue sky.

“How do you think this is going to end up?” Sam says while still staring at the sky.

“You mean me and you, or the world in general?”

“Both, I guess.”

“It ends how it ends, Sam. I know you're a planner, that you like to have a plan for what happens in the next hour, the next day, and so on and so on. But it's not that way anymore. We don't know what's going to happen. As for you and me, our relationship continues until it ends.”

“Can you really look at the world that way?”

“Sure. Remember what the tattoo along my side says? ‘Live like there's no tomorrow'? That's more true now than ever.” She turns to face Sam. “I love spending time with you, Sam. Hell, the sex is fantastic, but how can we plan for tomorrow if we can't conceive what tomorrow will be?”

“You're philosophical to still be relatively young. I thought wisdom came with age.”

“Don't get hung up on the age thing, Sam. And quit trying to plan out your life. Let's just take it a day at a time.”

Sam turns to meet her gaze. “I don't know if I can overcome my anal side.” He turns back to the sky.

“We'll work on it.”

The next few moments neither speaks, each enjoying the panoramic view.

Kaylee rises up to shimmy out of the ski pants. She's now down to a pair of Sam's old gym shorts and a T-shirt. “Why did I wear these things anyway?”

“You'll be glad you have them when the sun goes down.” Their lids grow heavy from the warmth of the sun and, with their bodies tired from exertion, they doze for a while.

Sometime later, the sun is lower in the sky when Kaylee awakens and leans over to kiss Sam. “Hey, sleepyhead, are the deer going to announce themselves or should we be on the lookout?”

Sam stirs awake, smiling. “Seen anything?”

“No, I fell asleep, too,” Kaylee whispers. They switch positions and rotate over onto their stomachs, allowing them a 180-degree view of the small stream.

“Movement on the left,” Kaylee whispers.

Sam levers a shell into the chamber and sights down the rifle. A doe and two fawns break from the cover of the trees. Kaylee covers her ears, bracing for the shot. But Sam lowers the weapon unfired.

“I can't do it,” he whispers. “I can't orphan those two babies.”

Kaylee leans in and kisses his cheek. The doe and two fawns walk to the small creek and drink their fill before moving on, presumably to bed down for the night. Sam continues to scan the area around the creek but grows discouraged as the light begins to fade.

Kaylee reaches over and taps his arm, pointing to the right with her other hand. A big buck comes sauntering in from the other side of the creek.

“What happens if that's the daddy?” Sam whispers.

“He's done his job, then. Besides, I'm hungry.”

Sam lines up the sights, leading the buck and trying to account for the downward angle of his shooting position. He takes a deep breath and squeezes the trigger. The hammer snaps down on a misfire. The big buck perks his ears up and Sam hurriedly ejects the dud and levers in a new round. Sight. Breath. Squeeze the trigger. He flinches when the rifle roars in his hand. The buck races away.

“Damn it,” Kaylee shouts, jumping to her feet as if she were going to chase him down on foot.

“I hit him. I know I did. Let's go look.” They race down the hill and jump across the small stream.

“Look,” he says, pointing at a trail of blood. “I knew I hit it.”

“Where the hell did it go, then?”

“Sometimes they'll bound away if it's not a killing shot. But I think I hit him close enough to the heart that he can't get far.” They follow the trail of blood into a patch of thorns and find the deer lying on its side, snorting in pain. Sam calmly cocks the rifle, works through the brush toward the front, and fires a round through the head.

“How the hell are we going to get this thing home?”

“I'm going to butcher it here and then we'll take all we can carry. Whatever we leave won't be here in the morning, so we need to get all we can.”

Sam draws a knife from the scabbard at his belt and spends the next two hours butchering the deer while Kaylee watches from afar. With nightfall the temperature drops twenty degrees but the work keeps him warm. Kaylee, on the other hand, is back in her ski pants and coat but is still shivering.

“Gather some wood and I'll build us a fire,” Sam says.

Kaylee disappears downstream and soon comes stumbling back, her arms loaded with deadfall branches. Sam lays his knife aside and forms a small fire ring out of rock and lays in some kindling. He strikes the lighter, the one he remembered to bring only at the last minute, and uses a clump of dead leaves to get the kindling to ignite.

Sam returns to the deer and strips out one of the loins. Once the fire is going, he spears the meat with a stick and, using two small Y-shaped branches, centers the meat over the fire. The smell of the cooking venison ratchets up their hunger.

Sam returns to butchering the rest of the deer while the meat sizzles over the fire. He strips off as much of the hide as he can and uses it to bundle the remaining cuts of deer meat. He twists the hide at both ends, creating a pair of handles. The weather has turned colder still and their breath steams in a vaporous fog. He removes the tenderloin from the fire and uses a boulder for a cutting board as he quickly slices the meat into equal portions. Kaylee hops from foot to foot until he finishes. They moan with pleasure as the warm, tender venison fills their empty stomachs.

Kaylee wipes a dribble of juice from her chin. “Why don't we stay here by the fire tonight? It'll give the meat a chance to freeze.”

“Can't. The smell probably has every bear in two counties headed this way.”

Kaylee whirls around, searching the darkness.

 

T
heir labored breathing sounds like an approaching freight train as Sam and Kaylee climb the hill on the return journey. Although it's cold, both are drenched with sweat. Sam calls a halt and windmills his arms to loosen them up while Kaylee collapses to the ground and moans.

“Hey, Boy Scout, why didn't we bring a wagon or something to haul the meat back?”

“One, I don't have a wagon. And two, pulling a wagon over this terrain would be nearly impossible. You'd be cussing the damn thing before we got ten feet.”

Kaylee laughs. “You're probably right. How long you think this meat will last us?”

Sam pulls the last of their water bottles from his pack. “A month or two if we can salt it or get lucky and keep it frozen. We'll have to play it by ear.” He takes a small swig before passing the bottle to Kaylee.

Kaylee groans. “So we're going to have to do this again?”

“That depends on the power situation. But if it's as bad as we surmised, we'll have many of these trips to look forward to.”

Another groan from Kaylee. She takes a final small drink from the bottle and passes the remainder back to Sam. He drains it and stuffs the dead soldier back into his pack.

“Let's move out.”

Kaylee stands and salutes. “Yes, sir.” They each grab one side of the deer hide and shuffle on.

“Let's shoot over to Pine Needle Road. Make the going a little easier.”

“I'm all over easy,” Kaylee says.

Sam steers them a little south and within ten minutes they're walking easier on smooth asphalt. He turns to Kaylee and smiles. “Now we could use that wagon.”

“I got your wagon.”

After two more brief rest stops they come to the clearing at the back of Sam's house. The waning moon provides enough illumination to keep them from tripping over the field of stray boulders as they hump the remaining three hundred yards. They drop the load of deer meat on the deck and sag to the steps.

Snowflakes float from the sky, melting upon contact with their overheated bodies.

“I guess we made it just in time,” Sam says.

“We were lucky. We should probably be a little more observant about the weather conditions in the future. Wouldn't want to be caught out there in a big snowstorm.”

The rate of snowfall increases. “You're right. We got so used to hearing the five-day forecast on the tube we just took the weather for granted.”

“You need to bone up on your Boy Scout skills, Dr. Blake.”

“I know enough to teach you a thing or two, Dr. Connor.”

They laugh as they stare upward, the snowflakes caressing their faces.

The click-clack of a shotgun round being chambered shatters the quiet.

“Who's there?” Sam says.

No answer. Kaylee scoots a little closer to Sam and whispers out the side of her mouth, “Where's the rifle?”

“Deck,” Sam whispers.

Exhausted and sore, he experiences a flash of intense anger. “Either shoot us or show yourself, you gutless bastard.”

A shuffle of feet, then the click of a flashlight. A bright cone of white light momentarily blinds Sam and Kaylee. Sam raises his hand to shield the light from his eyes. “Who's there?”

“It's me, Doc.”

“George?”

“Who's George?” Kaylee whispers. Sam shushes her with the wave of his hand.

“What's going on, George?” Sam strains his vision to see beyond the light. “Why do you have a shotgun pointed at us?”

The light pans to the ground. Kaylee takes advantage of the distraction to slink up to the top step and roll over onto the deck. She crabs in the dark, in a desperate search for the rifle.

“George, would you mind lowering the shotgun?”

“Can't, Doc.”

“Just tell me what's going on.”

George walks a little closer, and in the wash of the flashlight, Sam notices he's limping. He's pushing his midseventies, but Sam can't recall ever seeing him limp.

“Are you hurt?”

“A little. But Janey is suffering from some type of infection. I need that meat, Sam. The protein will be a boost to her system.”

“I'd be glad to share some of the venison with you.”

George pans the flashlight back up, blinding Sam again. “Where'd your girlfriend go?”

The snick of a rifle bolt sliding home. “I'm right here, asshole. Drop the shotgun.”

George takes a step closer, the shotgun barrel pointing directly at Sam's chest. “Sam, we can't survive without that food. We're in a desperate state. Madam, would you please place the rifle on the ground? I don't want to hurt my friend, but desperate people do desperate things.”

“Then consider me desperate,” Kaylee says in a menacing voice. She steps down to the second step, the rifle tucked tight to her shoulder.

Sam holds up both hands in opposing directions. “Both of you put your guns down. We can work this out.”

Kaylee takes another step down. “George, you kill him, then I kill you. Then your wife will starve to death. Is that bloody heap of meat worth three lives?”

No more than six feet now separates the two guns. Killing range for a blind man.

Sam works to keep his voice calm. “George, you're a professor of history. You know as well as I that we must depend on one another during times of crisis. How many times have you emphasized that fact to your students when discussing some of the greatest calamities in our nation's past?”

The shotgun barrel lowers ever so slowly.

“Kaylee, lower your weapon, please.”

“Not until he does, Sam. He might have been a professor but he's out of his fucking mind right about now.”

Sam says in a gentle voice, “George, you can take as much meat as you need. We can always go hunt for more.” He turns to glance at Kaylee in the wash of the light. The rifle is unwavering in her grasp.

A moan of despair escapes from George as the shotgun barrel swivels toward the ground. Kaylee takes two steps and puts the barrel of the rifle to his temple.

Sam lurches to his feet and pushes the barrel away before wrapping an arm around George's narrow shoulders. “Kaylee, take the shotgun and put that damn rifle away.”

Sam leads George over to one of the steps leading to the deck and helps him down. He glances back to see Kaylee with the shotgun in one hand, but the rifle is riding against her hip, still pointed in George's direction. He steps in front of George, placing himself between the two sudden adversaries.

“Kaylee, would you mind getting a bag from the kitchen?”

“You're going to give up the meat we busted our asses hauling back here?”

Sam turns and fists his hands, ready to lash out. But her trembling arms and false bravado force a pause. “Please?”

As though reacting to a hypnotist snapping his fingers, Kaylee's posture relaxes and she exhales a deep breath. She retreats inside as Sam sits next to George, who's now sobbing.

Sam wraps an arm around his stooped shoulders. “Do you have any antibiotics at home?”

George swipes at a tear and shakes his head.

“I have some, but I can't give you all of it. You understand, right?”

George nods. “Anything would be a help.” He rakes both of his knobby hands across his cheeks. “Listen, Sam, I don't—”

Sam puts his hand on George's forearm. “You were right. We are in desperate times. But if we can work together we might just survive.”

Kaylee returns with a black garbage bag. Sam unfurls it and loads in a good portion of the venison before handing the bag to George. “Hold on—I'll find some antibiotics.” Sam disappears inside, leaving the two would-be killers alone.

“I'm very sorry for my actions,” George says, looking at his feet.

“All you had to do was ask. Sam is such a softy he'd have probably given you the whole damn deer.”

George chuckles, then sticks out his hand. “I hope you can forgive me.”

Kaylee shakes hands. “You're already forgiven. I'm not the type to hold grudges.”

Sam returns with a small box of Augmentin. “This is a five-day supply. Hopefully it will be enough to get Janey over the hump.”

George pushes to his feet, takes the offered drugs, and reaches for the bag of venison. “I'm so very sorry.”

“Do you want your shotgun back?” Sam says.

“Why don't you hang on to it for a while.”

George retrieves his flashlight and lugs the heavy bag around the corner of the house. Kaylee and Sam drag the remaining meat into the garage and slide the door home. Sam begins stripping the bloody clothes from his body. Kaylee stands aside, watching him strip down to nothing, but his days of feeling uncomfortable in front of her have come to an end. Kaylee glances down to see her own clothes covered in blood. She strips down to her panties and bra and each takes turns washing up in a bucket of cold meltwater.

“I think I see some blood on your bra and panties,” Sam says.

Kaylee looks down, shrugs her shoulders, and strips off the last remaining garments. They walk quickly into the house and climb under the large overfilled comforter draped over the sofa.

Sam takes Kaylee's still-trembling hand in his. “Would you have really shot George?”

“Two weeks ago—not on your life. But today, you bet your ass.”