The Survivalist - 02 (23 page)

“Don’t know, don’t care.” He put the vehicle in drive. “Let’s go find a place to sleep.”

They drove another half-mile before entering a neighborhood filled with small single-story houses. Cars lined both sides of the street, their windshields covered in a thick layer of pollen.

He pulled up to the curb and pointed to a small blue house that still had its doors and windows intact.

“That one okay?”

Samantha shrugged.

Libby smiled and nodded with sleepy eyes.

Everyone grabbed their gear and approached the house like a party of weary adventurers. The shutters were drawn tight, but there was enough of a gap to see that it was dark inside.

“It looks clear, but let’s be sure.” He banged on the door a few times. No one answered; nor was there any movement inside. He tried the knob and found it unlocked. “We’re in luck.”

They stepped in and set their backpacks on the floor, letting out a collective sigh of relief.

“Do you smell that?” Samantha asked, tipping her head so that her nose was up in the air. “It smells like . . . food.”

Libby rubbed her stomach, smiling.

They walked around the two-bedroom house, quickly searching every room, hoping to find a feast ready and waiting. Despite their noses telling them otherwise, they didn’t find an obvious source for the odor.

Tanner did, however, find a doorway leading down a narrow set of stairs.

Samantha took a whiff.

“It’s not coming from the basement,” she said.

“No,” he agreed. “But I’d like to see what’s down there before it gets too dark.”

Out of habit, he hit the light switch on the stairway wall. Nothing happened. He went back and retrieved the headlamp from his pack that he had taken from Outdoor World. Samantha slipped hers on too. Libby left them to wander the house for a second time, determined to find what smelled so good.

Tanner started down the stairs with his shotgun at the ready. The old wooden staircase creaked and moaned with every step he took. Samantha walked a few feet behind him, carrying her rifle.

“We’re not going to surprise anyone unless you lose a little weight,” she whispered.

He couldn’t come up with a clever rejoinder, so he ignored her.

When they got to the bottom, he swung left, and she turned right. They swept their headlamps and weapons from side to side. On one side of the basement were stacks of boxes, small plastic barrels, and a giant green tank with a spigot on the front. The other side had been converted into an elaborate laboratory. Long metal tables were covered in beakers, glass tubes, and burners. Along its far wall was a huge built-in shelf, spanning from floor to ceiling and stuffed with hundreds of jars and canisters.

Tanner motioned for her to check the lab while he inspected the supplies.

“It looks like where a mad scientist would work,” she said, walking slowly around the equipment. Despite her curiosity, she was careful not to touch anything for fear of setting off some kind of deadly chemical reaction.

Tanner shone his light on one of the small yellow barrels. The words “pinto beans” were written on the side in large black letters. He checked another one. Rice. The boxes also had labels: strawberries, potatoes, green beans.

“Forget the chemistry set. I’ve found food.” He tapped the large green tank. It felt nearly full of liquid. “And beer.”

“Beer?” she said, walking toward him. “Really?”

He laughed. “Okay, probably just water. Still, this is quite a find.”

They heard a knocking sound coming from the top of the stairs.

“Come on,” he said, wheeling around and hurrying back upstairs.

When they got to the top, Libby was standing at a sliding glass door that opened up to the backyard. She waved to them with excitement in her eyes. As they hurried over, she slid the door open, and the unmistakable smell of grilled meat wafted into the room.

Stepping out, they saw a small charcoal grill sitting on a simple concrete slab that acted as the back porch. Tanner lifted the lid and found a pile of smoldering wood ashes. The grill was empty but still slick with grease and the unmistakable remnants of chicken fat. He picked up a small piece of crispy chicken skin and put it in his mouth, closing his eyes to savor the flavor.

“Where’d they get—” Samantha was interrupted by a loud
balk
coming from the rear of the yard.

They all turned to see a large coop, easily measuring fifteen feet on a side and eight feet in height. It was painted barn red and constructed from wood and wire mesh.

Libby hurried over and peeked in through the wire netting at the top. Once again, she gestured for them to come and see. Inside the coop were at least two dozen chickens roosting on straw nests. Even the sight of the birds was enough to cause everyone’s mouths to water.

“Someone must still live here,” said Samantha.

“Yep,” Tanner said, unable to take his eyes off the chickens.

“Think they’d mind if we borrowed one or two?”

“Borrowed? As in with barbecue sauce?”

She shrugged.

“Would you, if they were your chickens?” he asked.

She mumbled something under her breath.

“What was that?”

“I said I was kind of hoping that you’d want to take them. You’ve never minded stealing anything else.”

“I don’t mind taking things from dead people or stores that have closed up. But someone’s cared for these birds for a long time. If some knucklehead took my chickens, I’d knock a few of their teeth out. Besides, you told me that you’d never let me kill a sweet little animal. Remember?”

“They’re chickens,” she said. “They’re supposed to be eaten.”

“They might beg to differ.”

She frowned at him.

“So you’re not going to let us eat them?”

“Sorry Kiddo.”

“What if I was starving? Would you let me die?”

“Are you starving?”

“Well, I’m hungry.”

“I’m hungry too. And I’m sure that goes for Libby, too,” he said, looking over at her. “But we won’t steal another man’s food. Not unless we have no other choice.”

Libby was watching their exchange with great interest. She quickly wrote something on a slip of paper and handed it to Samantha.

After reading it, Samantha pressed her lips together and nodded to Libby. It was the first positive reaction he had seen her give their new addition.

“Okay,” she said to him. “Let’s go find something else.”

He looked to Libby and then back to Samantha.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing,” she said, stuffing the note in her pocket.

“Women and their secrets,” he muttered, heading back toward the house.

The three of them went back in the house and gathered up their backpacks. As they opened the front door to leave, they saw a group of twenty or more people walking down the street. One by one, they slowly broke off and went into houses around the neighborhood. Most carried plates, pans, or other cooking supplies. It was like watching a group of union workers returning home with lunch pails in hand.

Tanner pushed everyone back into the house and stared out the front window. As the group neared the blue house, a man and a young girl, perhaps six years old, turned up the driveway. They seemed tired but relieved to be home.

Samantha stood next to Tanner, peeking out from the edge of the curtain.

“They’re coming,” she said. “Should we hide?”

“No. Just stay cool. They don’t appear to be armed. Let’s try to keep this friendly.”

Tanner had Libby and Samantha stand behind the couch, with the kitchen and back door behind them. If they had to escape, it would take only a few seconds. He stood directly in front of the couch, the shotgun held across his body at waist level.

When the man opened the door, he was looking down at his daughter, and it took him a few seconds to realize that he had uninvited visitors. By the time he stopped, he was already three or four steps into the house. The front door stood wide open behind them.

For a moment no one said anything. The man looked concerned, and the child was nothing short of terrified.

“What are you doing in my house?” he demanded.

“Close the door behind you,” Tanner said in a calm voice.

The man pushed it shut with his foot, never taking his eyes off him.

“Are you armed?”

The man shook his head. His daughter started to cry, and he quickly lifted her up into his arms.

Tanner lowered the shotgun.

“You have our apologies for breaking into your home. We thought it was empty.”

The man and his daughter both looked at him with suspicion.

“He’s telling the truth,” Samantha said, stepping around from behind the couch. “We’re just trying to get home, his home, and then mine. It’s a long story.”

Tanner put his hand on her shoulder. Libby slowly walked around to join them.

The man looked them over carefully before speaking.

“Who are you people?”

“I’m Tanner.”

“I’m Samantha, and that’s Libby. She’s deaf.”

Libby waved to the man’s daughter who was studying her.

The girl gave a little smile and then tucked her face into her father’s shoulder.

“I’m Professor Duncan Callaway. This is my daughter, Rachel.”

“Professor,” said Tanner, “if you could direct us to an empty house, we’ll be on our way. Like I said, I don’t go around breaking into other people’s homes.”

“That’s true,” Samantha said, glancing up at him. “He’ll break into just about any other place—restaurants, grocery stores, hospitals—”

“Sam,” he said, cutting his eyes at her.

“My point is that we aren’t bad people. We didn’t eat your chickens or anything.”

Professor Callaway smiled. “Is she always this lively?”

“She’s usually worse,” Tanner said, sighing.

“You’d probably better wait until morning to move on,” he said, setting his daughter down. “The soldiers would punish you if they found you out past curfew.”

Tanner and Samantha both spoke in unison.

“What soldiers?”

“The VDC.” When he saw the puzzled look on their faces, he continued. “The Viral Defense Corps that was dispatched by the president to kill off the infected.”

Tanner looked to Samantha, and she shrugged.

“We don’t know anything about that,” he said. “But even so, why would they care if we’re out past curfew? We’re not infected.”

Duncan turned and looked out the window.

“Because,” he said, “this particular unit is enforcing its own agenda.”

“Which is?”

“Close as I can tell, it’s to demand homage from the people of Hendersonville.”

“What’s homage?” Samantha asked, looking up at Tanner.

“Uh—” He turned back to Callaway. “Professor?”

“It simply means that they’re demanding that we serve them in every sense of the word. That’s where everyone was returning from tonight. We were delivering our daily food. I even had to kill one of my precious chickens for their fat-cat colonel.”

“And if you don’t meet their demands?”

“They beat us. Or worse. And it’s not only food that they take.” He glanced at Libby and Samantha. “If they find out they’re here, they’ll come for one or both of them, and there’s nothing you’ll be able to do to stop them.”

Tanner tightened his grip on the shotgun.

“The hell there isn’t.”

They spent the next two hours discussing the situation in Hendersonville. Professor Callaway gathered food from the basement, as well as a basket of fresh eggs, and everyone ate and drank their fill while sharing stories of life before and after the pandemic. Samantha stayed by Tanner’s side, not wanting to miss out on anything the grownups were talking about. Libby, on the other hand, seemed content to entertain Rachel by playing games and helping her put together puzzles by candlelight.

Tanner learned that the soldiers had arrived a week earlier, and, after cleaning up the few infected who remained in town, decided to stick around. They set up a small operating post at the Hendersonville Railroad Station, a landmark that dated all the way back to 1879.

Every evening, they required that residents deliver food and drink. Those who resisted or questioned the order were either beaten or publicly executed. The man whom Tanner had found disemboweled was the soldiers’ most recent victim. His crime was refusing to reveal the whereabouts of his fifteen-year-old daughter. The more Tanner heard, the more he thought that the VDC soldiers in Hendersonville were akin to the Nazis in occupied France. They took what they wanted, with little or no regard for the suffering of those around them. They had become occupiers in every sense of the word.