Sympatico Syndrome (Book 1): Infection (A Pandemic Survival Novel) (13 page)

He packed up his tent and stashed it under a bush then brushed his feet across the ground trying to erase any sign that he’d been there. He wasn’t sure why he should hide it, but it seemed like a good idea. They did it in movies all the time. With his pack on his back, he decided to follow the stream until it reached the farm yard to keep out of sight for as long as possible.

It wasn’t a long hike, but he followed the creek as it curved around to the front of the farm so it took a few minutes to get close to the buildings. He stopped to search for signs of life every few yards. He heard plenty of farm animals with the cows still making a lot of noise, he thought he heard a horse somewhere.

A dog barked too, but there wasn’t one in sight. Was it locked in the house? The fact that it was still here meant the dog’s owner was probably here too. Unless they had run out intending to come back. He hadn’t heard any car doors or engines this morning, and there was no reason to believe the people would have tried to be quiet. He watched the windows, looking for movement, but didn’t see anything. A beat-up car was parked in the yard. Did it have gas in it? Then he noted the flat front tire.

Hunter tried to memorize the layout of the yard. The house was closest to him now with the barn on the other side of the yard, slightly behind the house. A couple of smaller buildings were next to the barn and behind the house. The smallest building looked like a chicken coop, and he saw movement within it, but it was just flapping of wings, not a person. The next building had wide double doors, and he decided they would be wide enough to fit a tractor. A fenced pasture came off the barn and circled around behind it. It was empty right now, but the cows were in there. Their lowing continued sporadically.

He waited for what he guessed was about thirty minutes, and nothing changed. The dog still barked occasionally, and the cows lowed. A couple of times, he heard the chickens squawk. While he had been on a few farms over the years, a friend at school had one, he was no expert on what constituted a normal farm day, but on a beautiful late spring day like this, he thought the cows should have been let out to the pasture. The cows on his friend’s farm were always out when he went to their house.

Hunter took one last look around and decided he’d have to go closer. He couldn’t stay in the woods all day. He decided that making his presence known was probably the safest course of action. If they were okay, they might help him, or at least let him take a few eggs or something. If they weren’t, then, he supposed he could take what he wanted. His worry was that they were sick. If they were, he wasn’t sure he’d recognize it. Just before he stepped from his cover, he remembered his mask and dug it from his pack, along with a pair of gloves. He’d felt stupid buying them, as though he was pretending to be a doctor or something, but now he was glad he had them.

“Hello?” Hunter strode into the farm yard like he had nothing to hide. “Anybody home?”

With no answer, he decided to go right up to the door. “Hey, anyone here?” He trotted up the steps and knocked on the door. The dog went nuts inside, and he heard toenails clicking against the floor. He waited then tried the doorbell. He heard it ring so he waited again. “Hello?”

It went against everything ingrained in him his whole life to enter a strange home uninvited, but he reached for the doorknob anyway to test it with a quick turn, not expecting anything so when it turned in his hand, he jumped away from the door in surprise. His heart raced.

Taking a deep breath, and one hand turning the knob, the other knocking on the door again, he entered the house. The stench of death assaulted him along with the dog he’d heard. Only the dog assaulted him with happy yips and licks, not at all fazed that he was a stranger. He gagged on the stench. Where was it coming from? He eyed the dog, a black lab, looking for signs of blood around his mouth, praying the pet hadn’t feasted on its dead master.

“Hey there, buddy. It’s okay.” The dog was so happy to see him, it circled Hunter’s legs like he was a long lost friend. Hunter scratched behind the dog’s ears, looking around to see if the source of the stench was lying nearby. He or she wasn’t.

“Come on, buddy. Let’s find your master.” Hunter glanced into the living room, taking in the scattering of dirty glasses and empty beer cans. It looked like a party had taken place. A dining room opened off the side of the living room, and that was empty and neatly kept. The party had not made it into that room, apparently. Hunter moved through it to the kitchen. Two bare feet, dead white on the bottom as they faced the ceiling, were attached to an older woman. He guessed her age at around sixty. She lay face down, a puddle of dried blood near her mouth. The stench penetrated the mask, making him gag as he back-pedaled. The dog whimpered and wouldn’t go near her.

“Smart dog.” He stroked the dog’s head, finding the action as comforting for him as it was for the animal.

Hunter had never been this close to a dead body except for at his mother’s wake, and he’d been so young then, he hadn’t really understood what death meant. He’d just wanted his mom to open her eyes and smile at him. That was his clearest memory of seeing his mom in the casket. This woman hadn’t been washed and made to look like she was merely taking a nap. With her wide, unseeing eyes, and contorted, blood-stained mouth, she looked anything but asleep.

On one level, he felt sorrow that she had died, but he hadn’t known her so there was no grief. On another level, he was repulsed by the sight and the smell. He turned away, bending over and gagging until he was afraid he’d puke. He couldn’t do that because that would mean removing his mask. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on willing his stomach to settle.

After a moment, he opened his eyes and glanced at the dog who whined at a door to Hunter’s left. Afraid of what he might find, but having to know, he reached for the doorknob.

Cringing as he pulled the door open, he blinked in surprise. Instead of another dead body, he’d found the pantry. On the floor was a large bag of dry dog food. So that’s why the dog was whining. Poor guy probably hadn’t eaten in a few days.

Canned goods lined a shelf. Beans, peas, soups and several other items. He cast a glance over his shoulder. It wasn’t as if the woman was going to need this food, but what if someone else who lived here needed it? Only, where were they and why hadn’t they at least removed the body in the kitchen? Hunter shook off his hesitation. The food was fair game and better to take it than let it waste here. He snatched a few of the paper bags with handles that were hanging on a hook inside the door. Not picky, he took as much as he could carry and hauled it outside, setting the bags on the grass.

Hunter grinned. He’d feast tonight. But first, he had to find a way to clean the cans. He wasn’t worried about the contents, but what if the woman had touched some of them before she’d died?

Returning to the pantry, he found a bag of rice and another of lentils and a few pouches of tuna fish. It wasn’t his favorite food, but he’d eat it if he was hungry enough. Right now, it sounded delicious. The sugar and flour were opened, so he left them alone. It was the same with a package of crackers and boxes of cereal. He even wondered if the dog food was safe, but he hadn’t heard anything about dogs being susceptible. Rolling the top of the bag down so it wouldn’t spill, he lifted it in one arm, and took the bag with the rice, tuna, and lentils in the other hand.

He dumped the bags on the grass beside his first pile and lifted the mask, drawing in deep breaths through his nose to erase the putrid odor that seemed permanently lodged in his nasal passages.

The dog had slipped out behind him, and Hunter chuckled when the poor pup raced over to the nearest tree and lifted his leg. Had he been holding it for days? Hunter called the dog over when the animal was done with the tree and squatted down, looking into the trusting eyes. Hunter smiled but backed away when the dog tried to lick him. “Easy, fella.”

He wasn’t normally opposed to a dog licking him but worried the black lab might have been nosing the dead woman. Dogs might not get sick from this virus, but what if they could carry it? Why hadn’t he paid more attention to his dad’s comments around his work? Maybe then he’d know what the chances were that the dog could contaminate him.

Hunter straightened and surveyed his haul of supplies. Food wasn’t going to be an issue for a while. With any luck, this would take him all the way to the island.

He looked at the house, his relief at finding the food tempered by the reality of how he’d acquired the items. What he felt wasn’t guilt, exactly, but close to it. It was crazy to think that only a few weeks ago, the lady lying dead in there was going about her life, buying these groceries, probably chatting with the cashier as she completed her purchase, and then putting the items in her pantry. She probably never thought she’d be dead before she had a chance to eat the food. It was a lot to wrap his mind around.

Had the epidemic already begun when she bought them or were these just staples? It seemed like an awful lot of food for one person, and he had a feeling she wasn’t the only body he’d find on the property.

H
unter shoved more
gloves into his front pockets and an extra mask into his back pocket. It was time to check the car and the other buildings. He’d had to toss the other mask, not sure if it was contaminated or not. He already worried he’d somehow contracted the illness just from being in the same home. After gathering the food, he’d made another run through the house for any other useful items and found a bottle of bleach and rolls of paper towels. With them, he’d made some wipes and cleaned everything he’d taken.

In his sweep of the house, he hadn’t found a set of car keys. It was possible whoever else lived here had them or maybe he had missed them. The car was unlocked, which was a relief, and before he did anything else, he wiped every surface he could reach with the wipes. It wasn’t a late model car but wasn’t a junker either. He sat behind the wheel, checked the visor and the glove box for a set of keys. Nothing. He got out and ducked under the wheel to check beneath the seats. Shit. Empty except for a few crumpled receipts and a scattering of loose change. Well, he didn’t need a car anyway. He just needed gas. And a container for it.

“Come on, Buddy,” Hunter called to the dog and smiled when the dog responded to his new name. It seemed he’d decided that since Hunter had fed him, they were best buddies now. It made the name a natural fit for the dog.

When he approached a small shed, Buddy stopped and whined. His tail tucked between his legs and he refused to go any closer to it.

“What’s the matter?” Hunter eyed the shed. Nothing about it looked scary, but before approaching any closer, he circled around the back, found a window and peeked into the building. Flies dotted the inside of the window, and Hunter tapped it, scattering them long enough to see inside.

He’d found the farmer.

“Ugh…” He pulled away from the window, gagging. The body looked to be in advanced stages of decomposition compared to the woman in the house. The man must have died a day or so before, and the heat in the small shed had sped along the rate of decay.

Despite the glimpse of tools hanging on the walls of the shed, he decided any he needed would have to come from some other place. Hunter pulled out one of his homemade wipes and used them on his hands where he’d touched the window although he knew logically the chance of the outside of the pane being contaminated was low.

Shuddering, he imagined he could feel the virus crawling up his arms. Scrubbing the wipe across his skin then using it to wipe the bottom of his shoes. Throwing the dirty wipe aside, he gave the toolshed a wide berth as he crossed to the barn.

The cows were still making a lot of noise and Hunter wasn’t sure what to do for them. They weren’t in the big red barn he’d been watching, but another building next to it, hidden from his view when he’d been at the creek. He was sure they needed milking but other than a few times he’d milked a couple of squirts from one at a county fair demonstration, he wasn’t going to be able to help them. Even if he knew how to run whatever milking equipment the farm had, he couldn’t stay here and milk them indefinitely.

About all he could think to do was to make sure they could get out of the barn. There was lots of grass and a creek nearby. A few might live. He slid open the barn door, wrinkling his nose at the smell, but here, it was just barn smells. Not pleasant, but expected. The cows set up an even louder racket when the door opened. There were no conventional stalls, but a center section covered in straw and where some cows were standing and others lying. More cows wandered freely in the aisle that was almost like a track around the center.

Hunter thought about trying to milk one, but what would he do with the milk? He didn’t have a way to keep it cool and no way could he milk this many animals. He took a quick look around for anything useful and spotted a bucket hanging on a hook beside the door. He grabbed it.

He went to the chicken coop and left that door open too, knowing most of the chickens would end up as a meal for some coyote, but he couldn’t leave them to die slowly of thirst or starvation. Digging in the straw, he found nine eggs and wrapped them in a rag he found in the coop. He set the bundle carefully into the bucket and found a bag of sawdust, using it to protect and insulate the eggs. He had two more buildings to check.

One was locked, and he couldn’t get in. The other was a small pole barn. The pasture he’d seen ended on one side of the barn. He opened the door and was greeted with a loud whinny and stamping of feet from the two horses in stalls. The barn reeked of manure and urine, but he ignored the odor as a glimmer of an idea took root.

Horses could take him home. It might be safer too since he could cross remote land and stay away from people and highways. The horse in the stall closes to him pressed against the door, his head bobbing and his nostrils flaring. Hunter held out his hand. “Hey there. Whoa, shhh…it’s okay.” He stroked the silky muzzle. Peering in, he noted the bone dry bucket. “Thirsty, aren’t ya? I’ll get you a drink. Just give me a sec to find the hose.”