Graham's Resolution Trilogy Bundle: Books 1-3 (41 page)

The snow had nearly stopped by morning and Graham wanted to get into town and back again before darkness took hold. He wanted to think for a while on his own. Despite Tala trying to hide it from him, Graham had detected she’d been sick to her stomach lately and suspected she might be pregnant, and that brought back recent memories of his wife succumbing to the pandemic and the loss of their unborn child. He didn’t feel good about any of this. In fact, he felt like a jackass, but if terminating a pregnancy meant saving Tala from heartache, he’d do his best to convince her to take the drugs. He wanted to save Tala from going through the agony of losing another child at birth, or later, from the virus itself. He knew she’d never agree to the termination, so he would try to prevent the risk. If he spared her the loss of another child, it would be worth the guilt.

Tala peeked out the front window as Graham warmed up the pickup truck. He waved to her and nodded. She was sad from the weight of the secret he suspected, and likewise, pale from morning sickness.

Graham would like nothing more than to keep the child, especially since it belonged to him and Tala. But he suspected deep down that he’d lose her, too, if they dared to try. He had to save her at least. With that last thought, he put the pickup in gear and headed out into town, taking the drive slowly and keeping to the forested tree line where the drifted snow accumulation gave the tires a better grip.

He had never believed much in God, but after losing so many loved ones he had even more reason to negate God’s existence.
Why would he allow this to happen to man?
It was a question that would never be answered to his satisfaction.
And don’t give me that crap about cleansing the earth
.
I’m no Noah.

Despite how bad the storm had been for a brief period, the snow on the drive wasn’t bad; there was one spot where it had drifted, and Graham had sweated, despite the cold, while shoveling his way through it. He couldn’t wait for Mark to get back home. Graham would never withhold praise where it was due, and Mark was the master of snow clearing.

As he drove Graham thought of how far they had come since the apocalypse began. He knew his father would have been proud of him now. Though he’d struggled against his dad in almost every way, from his politics to his style of dress, he now laughed to himself as he realized he’d become just like the man, with his rifle by his side and nearly the same practical daily attire out of necessity. The irony hit him all at once, and he laughed yet almost cried at the same time. His father, deserving of heaven, was surely chuckling too.

How unimportant the things he’d thought vital this time last year had become. He remembered how he’d tried to convince his dad the marijuana bill being passed in Washington was the right thing to do, and how outraged his father had been. In retrospect, many more important things should have been debated, like the increasing avian flu mutation research for one. What a horrible waste. Even after the shit hit the fan, legalizing marijuana for tax revenue remained the number one issue being debated. Tragically this issue would be the least of their worries. If only they had known what lay right around the corner.

Because Graham’s mind wandered, the drive took less time than he thought it would, and he soon found himself well into town. The first order of business was to go to the doctor’s house first and grab the meds—both the pain meds for Ennis and the others. When he’d last been there the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind that he would need them. Tala took birth control, so they never suspected she could get pregnant, but he knew the pill didn’t provide 100 percent coverage—even taking an antibiotic or cough syrup could foul up the system. He should have at least remembered that.

One thing about the breakdown of society was the lack of general rules and laws. One could choose to drive off-road and through sidewalks or front yards whenever necessary. So when Graham found a snowdrift three feet tall blocking the road he simply drove around it, through the front yard of an old weather-beaten white church with a sign in the window that read
aa meetings down below
. The sign struck him as odd, and he wondered many times a little room below the old church might have been dedicated to those who overindulged. The
down below
seemed humorous and, to satisfy his own curiosity, he planned to check the location out someday this spring.

Once he reached the doctor’s house Graham realized he had forgotten his handheld radio. He had always proclaimed this to be a big no-no, and here he was, the first one to break the rule. “Damn. Well, I’ll get this over quick.” The door was frozen to the jamb, and releasing it took several encouraging pushes to coax an entry.

A smoky scent seemed to permeate the old home. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it took Graham back to his own grandfather’s home, where he’d often found the old man toking on big Churchill cigars. The aromatic smoke had permeated every fiber and even clung to Graham’s memories. The old home, decorated in what Graham thought of as 1800s antique shop, mesmerized him as a welcomed blast from the past. The deep green plush carpet was accented with fuzzy burgundy baroque wallpaper and floral Tiffany type lamps set atop dark mahogany craftsman-style end tables. Somewhere a clock continued to tick despite the owners’ deaths. Graham wished he could conjure up the doctor. His expertise would be useful indeed.

Though they had access to Clarisse on the radio, she wasn’t “theirs.” After the previous incident, he and Dalton had made an agreement that their first encounter would be the last time they would intervene in each other’s camps. Because of Sam being separated from his daughter, he would never allow anyone from his camp to enter theirs or vice versa. With the risk, he didn’t want to be responsible for another tragedy, be it death or otherwise.

Graham found himself wiping his feet again, even though it wasn’t necessary in these times. Such
a blasted habit!
he thought—one instilled in him by his mother. He listened for anything to indicate he might not be alone, then walked quietly through the kitchen and into the adjoining rooms that served as the doctor’s office. These rooms, unlike the rest of the home, were stark white—rooms of serious intention. On their previous visit they had found a lot of helpful supplies here, but had only taken what they thought they might need; they’d left the rest, knowing it would be here if they needed it later.

Well, they had a use for it now. Graham opened the cupboard where he’d found a box containing the pills. The carton consisted of several foil packets of pills. He read the directions and found that the prescription only recommended a dosage for up to eight weeks’ gestation. If Tala was at six weeks now, he had little time to convince her to take them. He honestly had no idea how far along she might be. The set contained one larger pill that was to be taken first, and then the others, one by one as needed until the fetus expelled a few days later. Graham took a deep breath. He’d never given abortion much thought before the pandemic, though women’s rights had always been a subject of much discussion among his peers and friends. He’d thought of himself as a progressive thinker, and he didn’t disagree with a woman’s right to choose. But to be faced with such an option now, made him think of the tiniest of details and the subsequent consequences. This aspect of taking care of the specifics couldn’t be glossed over.

He shoved the foil pack back into the box and concealed the whole container in his coat pocket. He then scanned the shelves for Ennis’s medication, and seeing the bottle lined up under P for phenazopyridine, he took the whole container and closed the cabinet. He backtracked through the quiet house and out the front door, closing it behind him to preserve the smell within for him to enjoy another day.

Next he pulled up outside the post office. He always checked there in hopes the young man they’d met in Carnation on the way up from Seattle so many months ago would show up at some point. He often thought of the kid, living completely on his own. He and Sam had contemplated going back to check on the boy when spring came, on their way to scout out how things were closer to Seattle. Hopefully they’d be able to convince him to stay with them. The more people they had, the better chance for survival these days.

Always careful in town since the bear incident last fall, Graham checked out his surroundings before stepping out of the truck. Seeing nothing, he took his rifle out of the truck, slung it over his shoulder, and went into the post office to see if there was any word from the Carnation boy.

The foggy gray morning still showed some snow blowing in the wind gusts. He thought of Sam and the kids and hoped they were holding up well through the storm they had had last night.

This trip inside the post office was like many before. The bell on the metallic handle of the door clinked as it always had; the sound still bothered him and provoked little hairs to stand on end. It was a hard habit to break: waiting for someone in the back to come out and ask if he needed help.

After he had stepped onto the tiled floor he scanned the counters for any obvious signs of the teen. He’d done this at least once a week for months now, and he didn’t expect to find anything new. But there on the counter, where long-gone patrons had once tossed various pieces of unwanted and discarded junk mail or picked up tax forms every April, lay a piece of paper folded along the middle to stand at attention.

Graham grinned ear to ear. “About time, kid.” He picked up the paper and read the few lines:

I’m the guy from Carnation. I met you last fall. You said to meet you here. I’m staying in a brick house down the road.

McCann.

“Man of few words.” Graham said aloud, then smiled to himself as the phrase echoed in the small, cold post office. At least this good news would bring a smile to the others. They would have another person there to help with things, and Graham could quit worrying about the boy’s welfare.

Excited at the prospect of meeting the young man, Graham read the note once again as he exited the door. The bell tinkled as he stepped outside, his gaze still on the note. At that moment, an attack was the last thing on his mind, and he would forever regret not taking the usual precautions.

Three feral dogs sniffed at the truck parked right outside the building, and when they heard the bell ring, they knew a human was close by. As Graham took one step, and then the other, they lowered their chests close to their front paws with their fur raised in alert. When the man looked up, they sprang on him and attacked him with a vengeance.

Graham, caught completely unaware, yelled out desperately. With his rifle slung around his back, he couldn’t reach it; one dog already had its fangs sunk deeply into his thigh. Another leaped for Graham’s neck from behind, and a third tugged at his calf, ripping it with its long fangs.

He managed to pull away from the second, but the first two had a great hold on his legs and would not let go. Instead, the bastards shook with aggression, tearing flesh free. Again, Graham went for the rifle when the second dog dived for his side, catching him in the chest, knocking him over, and gouging fangs deeply into his upper arm.

A shot rang out. Graham thought for a second he had somehow managed to get a hold of his rifle, then realized he’d never made it. The one dog tearing at his arm lay dead right beside him, but the others attached to his legs would not let go. Graham grabbed at one’s head and tried to keep him from doing any more damage when he heard someone yell, “Get out of the way!”

Graham knew that meant he had to let his enemy loose to gleefully resume its mutilation of him, but letting go of his self-preservation held the only hope to free him from the attack. He pulled back and lay as flat as possible to help give his rescuer a clear shot at the beasts. A second shot rang out, and then a third. The gruesome growling ended, and a great weight fell onto his torn-open leg.

McCann had dared to close his eyes for more than a few minutes before his ever vigilant subconscious picked up on something: tires traveling on compact ice. His ears were attuned to the distressed whinny of his horses tied out back behind the one-level brick home he currently occupied. Every hour or so, overnight, wolves continued to try and mark the horses as easy prey.

Coming from Carnation through a snowstorm hadn’t been a good idea after all, and McCann soon regretted the trek, but when the flakes began to fall in sheets, turning back made no more sense than going on. He pushed through and had finally made the last stretch the previous morning, but so far, because of wolves and wild dogs, he hadn’t slept more than two hours straight.

“Aw shit! Now, someone comes? I’m never going to get any goddamn sleep,” he grumbled, even though the prospect of seeing someone—anyone—after many weeks alone brought a kind of giddiness he would not admit to.

McCann lifted himself off the living room couch of the little redbrick house and grabbed his cowboy hat and his rifle from the coffee table in one fell swoop. After inching toward the door, he peeked out the window and spotted someone’s truck parked at the post office a block down the road. “I might as well wait for him to find the note,” he mumbled.

In the beginning, when the pandemic had first hit, McCann had nursed each member of his family—as in, helping them to die as peacefully as possible. After they were all dead and buried he had no plans to leave his family’s ranch. One afternoon while checking on the cattle stock, a movement caught his attention down the dirt driveway. Of all the people in the town of Carnation, he never envisioned his elderly fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Goode, walking to his front door. As frail as her ancient body appeared, having come this far out of downtown must have been a tremendous feat.

Once he approached her, she informed him that they were the only two still alive. She also chastised him for trying to keep up the livestock on his father’s ranch.

“Let ’em go, son. They can take care of themselves better than you can. You can’t keep doing this all on your own; it’ll wear you down. I won’t be on this earth much longer, and I’ll be grateful for the end when it comes; I don’t much like living this quiet. However, you need to find some people to herd as you take care of these cows. McCann, you can’t stay here by yourself.”

She took up residence in his little sister’s vacant room and stayed with him from that point until her death. She stopped taking her heart medication, but McCann didn’t know that. He only knew she became weaker every day. It wasn’t long before he sat by her bedside one night as her life drifted away in a hush. Later, he found the medication hidden away in her bag and knew what she’d done.

He’d planned to hole up at the ranch as best he could despite what Mrs. Goode had said. However, once winter really took hold, the quiet that snuck in through the doorways and cold windowpanes strangled his hope. He soon realized he wouldn’t want to repeat another winter there alone and began to think of the man who had stopped in town months earlier. The blue-eyed girls he’d seen in the Scout’s backseat that day visited him often in his dreams, and soon plans to make his way to Cascade formulated in his mind. The next thing he knew, he stood watching the cattle scatter as he held open the metal gate for the last time.

The snarling of feral dogs and the first hollers of pain jerked him back into the present. He spun from the window and took off running, armed and already guessing what had taken place. As he rounded the corner, seeing the man with three dogs on him sent McCann into action. The first dog went down easily, but the man himself was in the way of other shots. It took some horrified patience and careful angling to get a clear shot of the mauling targets. Immediately the oversight of not warning this man of the wild dog activity he’d already taken notice of in his short time in Carnation weighed on him.

With the dogs dispatched, McCann holstered his gun and reached down, sinking two fists into the deep matt of the dog’s gray fur. He grabbed and pulled the weight off the man. With the blood already staining the surrounding snow, his injuries appeared pretty bad. Flesh torn wide open hung out of his upper right thigh. McCann helped Graham sit up and checked the injured left shoulder. It bled, but luckily, the coat padding had saved him from too much damage.

The pain must be gruesome
McCann thought as Graham groaned. “I’m real sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

“Me too. Not your fault. Goddamn assholes,” Graham said, staring at the downed menace. McCann tried to help him up, but he yelled out in pain.

“Ribs,” Graham said; then he gasped and passed out.

McCann dragged Graham to the pickup, hoping his ribs were cracked or bruised, not actually broken and about to pierce a lung; that would be way beyond his abilities in first aid. He opened the back door and pushed Graham inside. He had lost a lot of blood, and McCann needed to get him back to his temporary residence to stem further bleeding.

He couldn’t drive the man to his camp; he didn’t know where the hell that might be. Besides that, he suspected more dogs might show up with the smell of fresh blood in the air. McCann hated the damn things. Despite the loneliness, predators were the second-best reason he’d decided to abandon his own home and come here. Well, that was the story he was going with, anyway.

After he got Graham inside the brick house, he instantly went to work to try to stop the bleeding by using kitchen towels and anything he could find to apply pressure to the wounds.

Graham was still out cold, and that was a good thing. McCann had learned first aid on his father’s ranch, most of which he’d used on cattle, not people. More often than not, steers tended to open themselves up by rubbing their fool selves along barbed wire or the sharp ends of fence gates. He’d had numerous chances to practice his surgery skills, fine-tuning his techniques with each incident. He’d also helped deliver many calves during the season, and when a heifer had a vaginal prolapse, McCann was the first to replace the tissue and suture the wounds, just like his father taught him.

Before the pandemic, he had far-fetched plans to go off to med school. Now he was just thankful he’d learned as much as he did for everyday survival because, sadly, those dreams were over.

McCann pulled back the compress and saw mangled tissue bleeding badly. Luckily, the injury was on the outside of Graham’s right thigh and not near the major arteries on the inside, near his groin. Almost sure the wound would get infected, McCann knew the man was in for a long recovery. He felt for a pulse and then used his pocketknife to rip Graham’s jeans open. McCann removed his coat and put another log in the brick fireplace because he had a long day ahead of him. Then he got busy collecting and sterilizing the supplies he would need to treat this guy’s injuries if there were any hope of getting him through this.