The Great Mother Page 3

  Chapter 3

  As a child, she had always liked the snow. There was a mystical beauty to the silence that fell over the world with the gentle white blanket. Hush, it said. Sleep, it said. There will be a nice warm spring for you after your much deserved rest, it promised. As a child, she couldn't wait to romp and roll in a fresh fall of snow. She'd wake and race to get on her coat and boots and run out the door before her mother's eyes had opened fully from the first morning coffee. After playing, she would sit at the window and watch the flakes fall fresh on her footprints in the snow while she warmed up with cocoa and felt the icy tingle of her cold cheeks melt away.

  But she was not a child. She did not have her hands wrapped around cocoa. She was an adult responsible for her entire micro universe in thigh-deep snow that would just not stop falling, struggling to keep a path to the barn cleared so she could help her one friend in the world stay alive. It was only January. They had plenty of winter left, and already she would crawl into bed and sob every night, hoping for a break, one warm break. And every morning she would get up and race upstairs, hoping to see the sun, a real sun, a warm sun beat back the endless white monster. And every morning she'd choke on the bitter disappointment and steel herself against another miserable day.

  It was a bad winter, worse than any she could remember. Whether it truly was or not would probably have been up for debate. Mood played a huge factor in survival, as the books all said over and over, and it honestly could have been her mood that made the weather seem worse than it really was. It didn't snow every day. No, on those days without fresh flakes, the wind from hell itself would kick up and undo all the shoveling from the day before.

  Every day she had to get to Phil. He seemed antsy from the snow as well, even though his life barely changed in his safe, dry barn. He was fed on a more irregular schedule, and that was it for his personal winter hardships. Sometimes she got bitter that he didn't have to help with the shoveling. Or wished he could offer more than a random snort or lowing for conversation. Sometimes at the end of shoveling, after she'd fed and talked to Phil, she'd start back towards the house and wish she had something else to do, anything that would keep her outside her prison. The need to get in out of the bitter cold always drove her back inside, where she'd try and fill her day.

  The survival guides said it was critical to do things, to not sit idle. She did everything she could think of to keep busy. She read until her eyes hurt. She made list after list in the notebooks. She played music on the stereo, even though she didn't particularly care for the CDs she found in the boxes of personal items the people never got to unpack. She tore pages out of the romance novels she found in a box upstairs and used the paper to make origami swans. After about fifty of them, she wished she knew how to make something besides swans and made a mental note to go back to the library and find some craft books. She spent hours cooking different meals with her supplies, randomly picking out cans and challenging herself to make it work together like they did on the cooking shows she used to watch.

  In a nutshell, she was going out of her mind with boredom.

  Phil got annoyed with her. She went to the barn far more than was necessary, even if it did mean screaming muscles from more shoveling. She could tell when he was getting annoyed with her because he'd snort and stamp and toss his head when she tried to brush him for the third time in a day. "Fine," she said, throwing the brush in the hay. "You don't have to tell me twice. I know when I've overstayed my welcome!" She stormed out and slammed the barn door behind her. The nerve!

  She stomped her feet off inside and took off her coat. She couldn't blame Phil. She was highly annoyed with her own company, too. She looked around the kitchen. She'd already eaten lunch and the canned ham and peas casserole she had concocted wasn't sitting well. Cooking was out. She walked through to the den. Her stack of torn pages sat on the coffee table next to the portable stereo. The thought of folding one more damn swan while listening to stupid country music made her spam-laden stomach roil even more. She had to think of something else to do.

  Her eyes went to the tv. She had only tried it once, gotten nowhere, and then written it off. She decided to fiddle with it and give it another try. At least it would be something different to do. She walked over and checked the back of the dusty flat screen. It was plugged into the wall, but there was no cable. She opened the tv stand and found a box with a cable company name. She sat down and opened this new treasure. Inside was a cable box and a modem, and she got truly excited.

  Two hours later, she was ready to throw the damn tv and cable box out the window. She sat flicking though the channels with the remote. All she got was a neon green number in the top corner of the black screen. Nothing she tried would make it work. She supposed the cable company could simply have stopped working. Perhaps it was not an automated system like the electricity was. The modem was set up but useless. It had a row of green lights on it. Great. A lot of good that did her without a computer.

  It was a thought she couldn't shake all the next day. A computer. Why hadn't she thought of that before? She used a computer every single day in her old life. Just when had she cut them out of her life? Was it when all the sites were filled with early, horrible news? Was it when her cell phone just rang and rang no matter who she tried to call? Was it when she no longer got emails back from online friends? Was it when she stood up and walked away from that last grave?

  Phil was against the idea. "I'm just going to go down into town," she justified. "They've got that electronics section in the hardware store." Phil chewed his cud and stared at her and she could see the condemnation in his eyes. "I've got the truck and it's got those big tires. I'll just slide down the hill and climb my way back up." Phil snorted. "Come on. Rednecks do it all the time. I'll just put it in low gear and chug my way through it." She finished brushing him. "Fine. You can have you opinions. I think it's a good idea and when I get back, be ready to hear me say 'I told you so'." She made sure his hay was topped off and headed out to the truck. It was late afternoon, but the hardware store was less than a mile away. She'd have plenty of time to get there and back before dark.

  She didn't.

  She ended up spending a terrifying and cold night stuck in her truck at the bottom of the hill. The truck got down just fine, but she could not get it back up. The tires spun uselessly until she was certain she was buried to the axles. The snow was so deep that she was afraid if she got out, she wouldn't be able to make it back to the truck before it became full dark. So she huddled and waited and wondered if Phil would end up being right after all. The sun broke clear in the morning, and she could see well enough to discover her problem. She had gotten off the track of the road and one tire was in a ditch. It took well over an hour of frustratingly slow digging, but finally she got back on the right path and followed the road up to her barn.

  A hot pot of soup and a long bath later, she sat in a fluffy robe and thermal pajamas staring at the laptop she took from the hardware store. There hadn't been much to their electronics section. There were a few laptops, all of them pretty basic, a couple of phones, and a few clock radios. Aside from a small display of a handful of other accessories, that was it for the Arlington technology cache. Maybe if she raided the houses...

  But it didn't matter. That would be for later, and only if the laptop didn't work, or wasn't sufficient. She had grabbed the few laptops and the extra batteries they had at the store. She selected the one she wanted and set it up on the coffee table. She hooked in the cable from the modem and plugged the laptop into the wall. She was ready.

  Then why couldn't she do it?

  It was there, all set up. The little green light labeled "connectivity" on the modem was flashing. There was some kind of signal. The laptop's orange charge light was also glowing, so the cord was good. All signs indicated that she could get the computer working, and that she might have internet. All she had to do was hit the power button.

  Her fingers tapped nervously on her lap and sh
e bit her lower lip. While not the first moment of trepidation in this new life, it was certainly feeling like the biggest. This was important. What if she got online and didn't find anyone? What if she didn't get online at all and her isolation was complete? What if she found people but they didn't want anything to do with her, or thought she was stupid for being so desperate, or...

  Stop whining! Just do it, her brain commanded. Her hand darted out and hit the power button. The flash screen told her the model of computer. It said it was loading the operating system. She bit at a hangnail while she watched, her stomach in a knot. She had to set up her desktop, which she did with annoyance and impatience. She had forgotten this part of getting a new computer. It was quite some time later when the system was ready to check for an internet connection. She watched the little green waiting bar zip across the screen over and over, anxiety building with each pass.

  She couldn't sit still another second and jumped up to pace. She walked to the modem and looked to make sure the cable was still in place and the connectivity light was still flashing. Everything looked fine. She went back to the laptop and glared at the "this may take a few minutes" disclaimer. "Come on you piece of shit!" She threw her hands in the air and snatched her empty mug off the table. She'd make some more coffee and let the computer do its thing. She stood tapping her foot impatiently as the cup spun in the microwave. She only set it for a minute, but that minute felt like days. When it beeped she pulled the cup out so fast the lukewarm coffee splashed on her hand. She hastily dumped in some sugar, then hurried to the den. She stopped dead in her tracks. The bar was gone, the disclaimer had vanished. She sat and leaned forward. Did it work? She clicked on the browser icon. A familiar white screen opened. "Come on," she whispered. A popular website loaded.

  She jumped up and gave a holler. She pumped her fist in the air and did a shuffly little happy dance in her stocking feet. The smile on her face was real and stayed for hours. She was online. She was connected to...well, to whatever was left. She pulled the computer onto her lap and settled in to relax with something from her old life she truly missed. She spent the rest of the day trying to navigate the internet. It was full dark by the time her eyes were tired and her spirits were slightly dashed. She decided to leave the computer on, not wanting to lose the connection, and went downstairs to try and sleep. Instead, she stared at the ceiling above her bed and tried to process what she learned through the computer.

  It was definitely some illness, a virus. Or bacteria, but most of the sites who had anything about it at all seemed to agree a virus was likely. The first mention she saw on any of the major news sites was only four months ago, that there was a troubling illness in New Mexico that had everyone stumped. That was it. A little news blurb, just a mention and nothing else. She only knew that because a later article mentioned it and had a link. By the time the majority of the media picked up the story, it was far too late. Some nicknamed it "Pandora's Pandemic". That pissed her off. It was just like them, just like them all to take something so serious and try to make it sound catchy, to be the one to coin the phrase that would stick. Pandora's Pandemic? She'd be damned if she'd ever catch herself calling it that.

  Most of the news sites stopped updating in September. It happened so damn fast. That knowledge brought her a little comfort, actually. To her in her little bubble, it seemed fast. It felt fast. It was good to know that it wasn't just a twisted observation from someone gone crazy. She didn't see one news site that had updated anything in the last two months at all. And she found a whole lot of malfunctioning sites already. Unlike the seemingly automated utilities, the websites must have taken a lot to keep them going.

  She checked her email, both accounts. There was certainly lots of spam, even several sent just the day before. Okay, so some parts of the internet would endure without human intervention. She spent an hour picking through her inbox to see if there was anything important from friends or family. The last personal email she had was from a cousin she barely knew down south. The date said it was sent in mid-October, and she felt a simultaneous thrill of excitement and stab of guilt. It was that email that kept replaying in her mind. It wasn't a personal letter. Her cousin sent it to many people, some names she recognized, most she did not. After giving a brief list of other family members she didn't really know who died, her cousin begged whoever got the email to join her.

  The army reopened Fort McPherson in Atlanta and that's where I am. More and more people are being brought in and we've got plenty of food and shelter. We've all been asked to try to find as many of our families as possible for the rebuilding effort. If you get this, please reply and we'll figure out how to get you here.

  She tried to conjure up an image of the cousin in her mind. She couldn't. It was probably one of the blond ones she only met a few times at weddings or funerals. Should she reply? She searched herself, deep inside, trying to find a tie, a tug one way or the other. She certainly didn't feel any familial responsibility to do so. If she couldn't even put a name to a face, then the woman had never really been important in her life. She did feel a stab of guilt at that, but it didn't make the sentiment any less true.

  The only thing to consider was the offer of a new home. It wasn't the first she read that day about military bases being opened for emergency housing of survivors. Not only was there an official message from the president on every news site, she had many emails containing the same statement.

  Did they even still have a president?

  The statement began by declaring an official order of martial law, then urged anyone reading it to contact the nearest armed services base, center, or recruitment office immediately. The statement told the readers not to panic, to follow instructions, that the government had control blah blah. And it reiterated the "not panicking" idea several times.

  She should contact them?

  She should. She had always been...well, if not an active citizen, at least a law-abiding one. She minded her own business. She didn't meddle. She didn't break laws, she didn't buck the system. She didn't vote, but she also didn't get in the way. Her president, the one she didn't vote for who was probably dead, told her it was her responsibility as a citizen to help the rebuilding effort.

  Responsibility was a tricky thing. She was responsible for Phil. And herself, once she made the conscious decision to make a life again. The president's words talked about her responsibility to the nation. What nation? She hadn't seen any nation yet. A cousin she barely remembered a thousand miles away was the only nation she knew existed, and even she could be dead. October was months ago. Anything could have happened in three months. The cousin hadn't tried to email her since. One email and then nothing. That didn't seem like the army was trying very hard. There were others. Her cousin said so. Was her responsibility to them? To people at large?

  She rolled the idea around in her head while a bitter wind whistled around the house outside, and she slept poorly when she finally drifted off. She had to force herself outside to feed Phil the next morning. She barely said anything to him, her mind still weighing options. By the time she got back inside and was cooking up some cream of wheat for breakfast, she had made up her mind to do some more investigating. If there were people in Atlanta, then there was a good chance there would be people near her. She'd look around, see if she could find some, then go from there.

  She spent the next two days investigating. She checked for individual military base sites. They all carried the same presidential letter, though some had newer links to names of survivors. She went to the Fort McPherson site, but it hadn't been updated since the first week in November. She found a naval base about a hundred miles from Arlington that said they were moving to a base in Massachusetts, but when she clicked on that link, she got another frustrating "file not found" error message. Dead link, and she wondered idly if that was some grand internet metaphor.

  She couldn't make up her mind on the army, but the snow was falling heavily again outside and she decided that even if s
he did end up planning on joining some base, she'd have to wait until spring anyway. Instead, she decided to try and look closer at her area. She concentrated on the few local newspapers and tv stations her region used to be very proud to run. Following the advice of the survival books, and the basic format of the army information she'd see, she posted open letters on every one of their forums, and then to any classified section she found. Her message was short, simple, and to the point.

  I'm looking for any survivors near Arlington, New Hampshire. I am one person with a cow and a farm. I will check back frequently and hope for a response.

  She signed it with the handle "ArlingtonSurvivor", and bookmarked every page where she posted. She planned to keep checking those and the local bases. And then, she logged onto an online game site and blew a whole afternoon on stupid java-based games that were leaps and bounds above folding another damn origami swan.

  After feeding and chatting with Phil, she came in and put her own dinner to cook while she refreshed every page she had posted on. She hadn't really expected much to come of it, but, as the survival guides pointed out, doing something was always better than doing nothing. The microwave dinged to let her know the frozen boxed fried chicken was as edible as it would get, and she jumped up to get it, then dropped like a stone back to the couch as a page refreshed.

  There was a response.

  She blinked. Right next to her post, there was an orange message that said "1 response. Click to view." She blinked again, and the message was still there. She reached her hand out and clicked.

  If you read this, download the link and install the chat program at the end of this message. Phone lines in my area are down, no cell service, it'll be quick communication. -NHWolf

  She read the brief message over and over, then clicked on the link to download the messaging program. She followed the instructions, getting impatient when it took awhile. NHWolf. He was in NH. Or she, she told herself. It could easily have been a she. Her stomach rumbled and she popped up and ran to the microwave. Over the greasy fried chicken that really had started to get past its prime, she watched the progress bar on the installation screen. When it came time to input a user name and information to begin messaging, she wiped her greasy fingers off on her pants and typed it in, then entered.

  "No I do not want to take a tour of the program!" she yelled at the screen when a tutorial window popped up. "Just get me to chat!" She clicked "x" over and over to get through the other bullshit, agreed to the terms of service without reading it, and then finally a chat window popped open. She typed in NHWolf, then sent a simple message. And then it was time for more waiting. She threw her hands in the air. "Always waiting!"

  She jumped up to take her plate in the kitchen, and then ran back in case she missed something. Nothing. She went back in the kitchen and washed her one dish, then hurried back to check the screen. Still nothing. She needed a shower. She hadn't taken one in two days. But she didn't want to leave the screen. In the end, she lay on the couch and turned the laptop so she could keep an eye on the screen. It was well past midnight when the friendly little bing rang clear through the dark and quiet house.

  NHWolf: Are you still on?

  She hurried to answer, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: I'm here.

  NHWolf: I meant to be on earlier but we had issues.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: We? And what issues?

  NHWolf: Yes we. 46 other we. And just basic training issues. Nothing I can't handle.

  A bubble of something close to happiness welled inside her. Forty-seven people. There were at least forty seven-other people in the world. She wasn't alone. She really wasn't alone. Forty-seven people! Her smile spread wide as she continued to type.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: There are really 46 people with you? This isn't some sick joke?

  NHWolf: People? More like animals. But yeah, 46. I take it you really are all alone.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: Yes.

  NHWolf: Don't ever tell people that.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: I was following what the survival books say.

  NHWolf: What survival book has ever said to make yourself vulnerable??

  ArlingtonSurvivor: They say to clearly state your status and what you might have to offer.

  NHWolf: That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Don't ever tell anyone that you're all alone.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: ?? You just asked. So I'm supposed to tell you and no one else?

  There was no instant answer and she chewed her fingernail, wondering if she lost the connection or said something that made whoever was on the other end of the conversation angry. She opened another browser window and it loaded fine, so she knew she was still connected.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: Hello? Still there?

  NHWolf: How old are you?

  The warnings from her childhood about internet safety reared up inside. Never tell your name, never tell your age, and never, ever tell your location. The very basics, the first things kids learned. Even though they no longer lived in that world, it didn't mean there weren't still predators. She bit her lip thinking of how to respond.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: Don't go creepy on me.

  NHWolf: If I was a creeper I'd already have you. I know you are alone and I know where you are. If I wanted to, you could have a real problem on your hands already. You telling me your age won't put you in any additional danger. Bad people survived, too. Never forget that.

  He was right and she felt her face burn in embarrassment. She made a note to track down all her postings and change them.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: Point taken.

  NHWolf: You said you have a farm and a cow, right?

  ArlingtonSurvivor: A bull. With real big horns. And he's trained, so don't try anything funny.

  NHWolf: Har har.

  She grinned. It almost felt like the old times, like firing up a chat program after her parents thought she was long asleep. She pulled the afghan around her and settled back into the couch cushions comfortably.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: Yes to the farm. It's huge.

  NHWolf: What kind of farm?

  ArlingtonSurvivor: There was some corn and wheat. But it's new. I don't know what else they were going to do with it. The barn is enormous. Maybe more cows? It wasn't a real working farm yet.

  NHWolf: Bodies?

  ArlingtonSurvivor: Just a cow. I dragged her off with a tractor.

  NHWolf: What's the rest of the town like?

  ArlingtonSurvivor: What do you mean? It's a town.

  NHWolf: No shit. Really?

  ArlingtonSurvivor: You can say what you mean without sarcasm.

  NHWolf: I don't know if that's possible.

  She sighed, torn between amusement and annoyance.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: What specifically do you want to know about the town?

  NHWolf: There ya go, Sparky. Size, number of houses, former population estimate, how many grocery stores, clinic? supplies? clothing store? hardware store?......

  ArlingtonSurvivor: Oh, so just general knowledge I'll clearly know off the top of my head. Got it.

  NHWolf: I always tell people sarcasm is contagious.

  She didn't know specifics, but she could see what he was getting at. He was looking for an overall picture of Arlington. Why, she wasn't sure. And why did she keep thinking he was a man? It could have a been a woman. She just got a guy-vibe.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: Didn't you JUST get done telling me to keep info to myself?

  NHWolf: From everyone but me.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: And why should I trust you?

  NHWolf: Because I'm not in this for me. I've got no stakes. I'm trying to find a place for these other people.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: Well where are you now?

  NHWolf: Jackson, about twenty miles north of you.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: I know it. It's a pretty big town.

  NHWolf: For the area.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: What's wrong with staying there?

&n
bsp; Again there was a long pause before he answered. She tapped her fingers lightly on the keys waiting for a reply. Jackson was the closest thing to a city for over a hundred miles. It had tons of houses, stores, supplies, a real hospital...it seemed like a very good place to set up a new life.

  NHWolf: It's not the town that's the problem, it's the people.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: What's wrong with them? Are they sick?

  NHWolf: No. Just beat.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: ??

  NHWolf: God. You really haven't seen anyone else, have you?

  ArlingtonSurvivor: No.

  NHWolf: Your whole town is gone?

  ArlingtonSurvivor: I've been here a couple months or so and haven't seen or heard anyone.

  NHWolf: I don't know how to explain it to you.

  A heavy dread filled the pit of her stomach. She swallowed a gulp of her coffee and braced herself.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: Just tell me what's wrong with them.

  NHWolf: They're beat, like I said. Beaten down. Lost. Wandering around like zombies.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: You sure they aren't sick?

  NHWolf: Look, these people buried or just walked away from everyone they knew. Wives, husbands, kids, sisters and brothers. All rotting somewhere without them.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: No shit, Sherlock. We all did.

  NHWolf: I didn't mean to piss you off. I'm not putting you down. But you are clearly like me.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: Like you how?

  NHWolf: Able to shut it off, able to flip that switch. We can still function.

  The simple words made her shiver. His words made her feel cold. Less. Inhuman.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: I was just like them for a long time, too.

  NHWolf: Are you getting defensive?

  ArlingtonSurvivor: I'm just saying that it hit everyone like that.

  NHWolf: Not me, and I'm not ashamed. If it did hit me like that, then all these people would be dead where I found them.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: Conceited much?

  NHWolf: A lot. But in this case, it's true. These people are numb and hurting and right now they are beyond thinking and doing for themselves. They need a place.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: I think Jackson has more to offer.

  NHWolf: For stuff, yeah. But they also need someone to help them.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: They've got you.

  NHWolf: Sorry it took a minute to reply. I was too busy laughing my ass off. Look, I picked them up and dragged them into a herd so the army couldn't dig their claws in. I'm just keeping the livestock calm until someone else takes over.

  She sat back and stared at the words on the screen through tired and bleary eyes. What he meant was that she should take over. She should have them to her town. She should fill the houses below her castle with real people, not just imaginary subjects. Of course that's what he was doing. That's why he wanted to know the situation of the town. That's why he wanted to know about supplies. That's why he wanted to know the number of houses and all the details. He was trying to find a place for the people, and someone willing to step in where he would not.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: If you don't care about them, why are you still there?

  NHWolf: It's winter. There's nowhere else to go.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: So you're just going to foist them off on the first person who'll take them in?

  NHWolf: That was the general idea.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: Pardon me, but you sound like an asshole.

  NHWolf: Yep. So what's your town like?

  ArlingtonSurvivor: What makes you think I'm going to take them off your hands?

  NHWolf: Several things.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: Like what?

  NHWolf: First, you went looking for people. You actively sought them out.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: You did, too.

  NHWolf: No, I just found them. Big difference. I'd be much happier in life if I listened to my gut and took the detour around Jackson. Instead I went right through the damn center and stumbled on them.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: Then finders keepers.

  NHWolf: .....

  ArlingtonSurvivor: You're still there.

  NHWolf: Secondly, you listed your location and the facts that you have not only a farm, but a food source.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: So?

  NHWolf: So you're making it clear that you have a place for people to stay and food for them to eat. If I was a betting man, I'd guess that you've got rooms filled with food to the ceilings.

  She frowned. He was a man, he just confirmed that, and a very astute one.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: Are you a shrink or something?

  NHWolf: You've got to be kidding me. I'm about as far from a shrink as they come. But I do know people. You don't just want to find people, you want to take care of them.

  Did she?

  ArlingtonSurvivor: Maybe I'm just looking for a roommate.

  NHWolf: Ha. And last, but not least, I know you're interested because you haven't told me to fuck off yet. I bet you're sitting in your house looking around and judging whether or not you could fit everyone in there right now, aren't you?

  Her frown deepened. She was.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: Now I'm SURE you're a creeper.

  NHWolf: Oh come on. I can't be making any great revelation here.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: I can't be responsible for 47 people!

  NHWolf: You wouldn't. Only 46. I can take care of myself.

  She ran a hand through her hair. It was absurd. It was all so absurd. Having them move into the town around her was one thing. Telling her to be in charge of them was a different matter entirely. They were adults. They didn't need a babysitter. They were Americans. They didn't need a queen. No matter what scenario played in her head through the lonely nights, there was absolutely no way she could force herself on these people. Did they even ask for it? Did they even know what NHWolf was up to, deciding their fates in the middle of the night?

  ArlingtonSurvivor: You know nothing about me. What if I'm a mass murderer with a really clever cover story?

  NHWolf: Your cover story isn't clever. Besides, I don't give a damn if you're a serial killer. Have at them. Just take them off my shoulders.

  She scoffed out loud and her fingers pounded the keys angrily.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: So you'd really gather up all these people and just hand them over to a serial killer?

  NHWolf: You're not a serial killer.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: I could be.

  NHWolf: And I could be a shrink, but I'm not. Let's cut this back and forth. Does your town have room for them?

  ArlingtonSurvivor: Of course. It's a town. It used to have a couple thousand. It can take 47.

  NHWolf: 46. And what I'm asking is body status.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: ??

  NHWolf: How many houses are empty?

  His meaning sank into her tired brain. He was asking about bodies. How many were without bodies. Shit. How in the hell should she know?

  ArlingtonSurvivor: I don't know. Mine. There's gotta be more, right?

  NHWolf: You haven't cleaned.

  It wasn't a question and she knew she didn't need to answer.

  NHWolf: Shit. How big is your barn?

  ArlingtonSurvivor: You want people to live in a BARN?

  NHWolf: Until you clean out some houses.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: My farmhouse is big. People can stay in here.

  NHWolf: Holy hell. How old are you really??? Look, you can't have people stay in the same house with you if you're going to be in charge.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: Who said I was going to be in charge?

  NHWolf: I'm really hoping that you're just tired and that a good night's sleep will let you follow a simple conversation.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: Screw you. An hour ago I was all alone in the world and now you're telling me there are 47 people that you seem to want me to bring to my house and be in charge of immediately. Pardon me if I'm a little slow to jump right into the fire! r />
  NHWolf: I won't apologize. Decisions have to be made and either you're the person to make them or you're not.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: And I have to make them in five minutes? I didn't see a timer.

  NHWolf: There's ALWAYS a timer. Come on. What's it going to be?

  ArlingtonSurvivor: I can't take a minute to think about it?

  NHWolf: You've already made up your mind you just won't admit it. Stop being a baby and let's move forward.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: You are the rudest man on the planet!

  NHWolf: Since there aren't many left, you may just be right.

  ArlingtonSurvivor: You were waiting for the fuck off, right? Well here it is. Fuck off.

  She slammed the enter button and had the urge to throw the laptop across the room. The nerve! The unmitigated nerve of the man! She stood up and stomped to the kitchen. She ignored the bing from the laptop as she scrubbed out her mug. She ignored it again when she put her coat on and shoved her feet into her boots. She needed to get out. She needed the cold of winter to take the angry heat from her cheeks. She needed to see Phil and vent.

  Phil knew she was agitated and tried to step away as she angrily dragged the brush through his fur. The thing was, she didn't even understand why she was so angry.

  "The first person I talk to in months is an asshole. God. What a cold, unfeeling dick!" The bristles caught on a snarl and she tugged. "He'd just dump them off on anyone."

  Was that it? Was it pride? She stopped brushing for a minute and frowned as she mulled that over. Was it really just a matter of pride? The brushing resumed, but, much to Phil's relief, at a much calmer pace as the heat of the moment passed from frantic thoughts to careful consideration.

  She had worked very hard to prepare her farm. She worked her fingers to the bone to gather as much as she could by day and then spent many late nights reading anything that would help guide her future. The fact that nothing she did mattered, that he'd have led the people to her no matter what, was kind of a let down. But that wasn't what really pissed her off.

  "He was just such an asshole, Phil," she said, tossing the brush away and patting his big neck. That was it right there. She had built up an image in her head of the first contact, the first meeting with another survivor. She assumed there would be tears, happiness, hugs and kisses and rainbows and unicorns. And there wasn't any of that.

  There were laughs in their conversation. He had a sarcastic sense of humor that she could appreciate. But there were no other warm fuzzies. There was no kindness, no happiness on his end for finding someone after all this time. He wasn't happy to find her, and that stung. She snorted at the thought and the sudden noise startled Phil. "But I wasn't the first person he found, was I buddy?" She took a deep breath and leaned her head against Phil. "I doubt there were warm fuzzies then, either. He doesn't seem like the warm fuzzy sort, does he?" She shook her head and, after topping off Phil's trough, headed back inside through the dark. After she removed her outer gear she paused on her way to bed to look at the screen of the laptop one more time.

  NHWolf: Fuck off, eh? Maybe you've got a backbone after all.

  NHWolf: Since it's been like five minutes, I assume you've stomped off in a huff.

  She had to snort at that. There was one more message.

  NHWolf: Fine. Take your time to think. But while you're doing that, ask yourself the things I've asked you. Yeah I'm rude, but I'm right. You wouldn't have reached out if you didn't want it. Personally I think you're nuts. I think it's insane for you to actually WANT people under foot. You've got a barn, a cow, a nice house, and a proven crop? Keep it. That's my two cents for you. Keep it and guard it and look out for Number One. That's MY advice. That's what I'd do in your shoes. I'll keep checking back to see if you realize we don't wear the same shoes.