Read Online The Rabid (Book 1) by J.V. Roberts - Free Book Online
Authors: J.V. Roberts
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Ads: Link
bad and worse.
Hope for the bad, pray for the worst to remain at bay.
Hell of a motto.
But, it is a hell of a time.
11
No power meant no stove.
Know power. Know stove.
I helped Lee dig a fire pit in the backyard. We circled it up with cinderblocks that’d been stacked against the base of our house since we’d moved in. No purpose, just stacked, one on top of the other, cobwebs and crusted dirt filling the gaps. We brushed em’ off and tossed em’ down.
“Pine, you want to fill the bottom in with pine, the meat will soak up the flavor.”
I don’t know pine from birch from oak; it’s all wood where I am concerned. So while Lee is in the house collecting the afternoon meal , I fill the pit with whatever cast off twigs and branches I can come by. We use a lopped off piece of chain-link fence as a grill face. We wash it down with the hose first (our water, at least the cold water, isn’t dependent upon power). After coating the chain-link with some artificial butter, and striking a fire with a book of matches and some lighter fluid, Lee drop the burgers.
Momma is inside with Bethany going through the dry goods and creating a menu for the days ahead. I haven’t mentioned the conversation I overheard. No point in it. It wouldn’t change anything. Far as my momma knows, her kids are shielded from the reality of our circumstance. No point getting her all worked up. She’ll simply pull me in and try to comfort me with some half-truths and a few outright lies.
“We’re going to need to keep this fire going and boil some water for drinking once the burgers are cooked. Your momma doesn’t trust the water supply, and I’m inclined to agree with her.”
“You think whatever started all this is in the water?”
“I don’t know about that. But all this death , and God knows what else, is soaking into the soil as we speak…just, its better safe than sorry, you know?”
I am inclined to agree as well.
There is sizzling now. Juices flowing. Aromas in the air. It feels normal. It smells normal. It sounds normal. Birds are still calling from the tree line, evidence speaking to their oblivious nature. The world keeps spinning while we keep dying. That’d make a doozy of a song, it's probably already been done, but if not, someone should get on it when all of this blows over.
The backdoor swings open causing the loose bottom window shade to slap hard against the wood , as Momma and Bethany rush out to join us by the pit.
“We have the menus finished for the week.” Momma kisses me on the cheek before sheltering herself beneath Lee’s arm.
“Hope you like canned chili.” Bethany gags.
“Well , it’s better than starving now isn’t it.” Lee says, pulling momma in tighter.
Bethany rolls her eyes and frowns at the fire.
“This food smells delicious; I sure hope they lost their sense of smell along with their minds.” Momma laughs. But it's not a joke. We're all quietly hoping for the same thing.
They being the shambling harbingers of the apocalypse.
They being the ill-tempered monsters that have us roasting our food over a square cut out of old chain link.
Lee stills my momma’s ponderings with a kiss on the forehead and a less than convincing string of bullshit. “We’re far enough out. They aren’t going to hike ten miles of country side to gnaw at your neck, that’s my job.” He nuzzles into her throat with an animated growl, snatching her up by the waist.
We laugh.
Fond feelings.
The food.
The great outdoors.
One big happy family (and Lee).
It all feels so…
…normal…
…almost.
***
We finish out the evening with tuna fish sandwiches. Slices of soggy tomato line the plate. A side dish of sorts.
We bathe ourselves with a lukewarm pot of fire-brazed tap water.
I don’t feel clean. I feel wet. And sticky.
Once again, we bed down in the living room. The heavy silence keeps my eyelids light. I stare up. Into nothingness. The scarce breathing and the shifting
Hope for the bad, pray for the worst to remain at bay.
Hell of a motto.
But, it is a hell of a time.
11
No power meant no stove.
Know power. Know stove.
I helped Lee dig a fire pit in the backyard. We circled it up with cinderblocks that’d been stacked against the base of our house since we’d moved in. No purpose, just stacked, one on top of the other, cobwebs and crusted dirt filling the gaps. We brushed em’ off and tossed em’ down.
“Pine, you want to fill the bottom in with pine, the meat will soak up the flavor.”
I don’t know pine from birch from oak; it’s all wood where I am concerned. So while Lee is in the house collecting the afternoon meal , I fill the pit with whatever cast off twigs and branches I can come by. We use a lopped off piece of chain-link fence as a grill face. We wash it down with the hose first (our water, at least the cold water, isn’t dependent upon power). After coating the chain-link with some artificial butter, and striking a fire with a book of matches and some lighter fluid, Lee drop the burgers.
Momma is inside with Bethany going through the dry goods and creating a menu for the days ahead. I haven’t mentioned the conversation I overheard. No point in it. It wouldn’t change anything. Far as my momma knows, her kids are shielded from the reality of our circumstance. No point getting her all worked up. She’ll simply pull me in and try to comfort me with some half-truths and a few outright lies.
“We’re going to need to keep this fire going and boil some water for drinking once the burgers are cooked. Your momma doesn’t trust the water supply, and I’m inclined to agree with her.”
“You think whatever started all this is in the water?”
“I don’t know about that. But all this death , and God knows what else, is soaking into the soil as we speak…just, its better safe than sorry, you know?”
I am inclined to agree as well.
There is sizzling now. Juices flowing. Aromas in the air. It feels normal. It smells normal. It sounds normal. Birds are still calling from the tree line, evidence speaking to their oblivious nature. The world keeps spinning while we keep dying. That’d make a doozy of a song, it's probably already been done, but if not, someone should get on it when all of this blows over.
The backdoor swings open causing the loose bottom window shade to slap hard against the wood , as Momma and Bethany rush out to join us by the pit.
“We have the menus finished for the week.” Momma kisses me on the cheek before sheltering herself beneath Lee’s arm.
“Hope you like canned chili.” Bethany gags.
“Well , it’s better than starving now isn’t it.” Lee says, pulling momma in tighter.
Bethany rolls her eyes and frowns at the fire.
“This food smells delicious; I sure hope they lost their sense of smell along with their minds.” Momma laughs. But it's not a joke. We're all quietly hoping for the same thing.
They being the shambling harbingers of the apocalypse.
They being the ill-tempered monsters that have us roasting our food over a square cut out of old chain link.
Lee stills my momma’s ponderings with a kiss on the forehead and a less than convincing string of bullshit. “We’re far enough out. They aren’t going to hike ten miles of country side to gnaw at your neck, that’s my job.” He nuzzles into her throat with an animated growl, snatching her up by the waist.
We laugh.
Fond feelings.
The food.
The great outdoors.
One big happy family (and Lee).
It all feels so…
…normal…
…almost.
***
We finish out the evening with tuna fish sandwiches. Slices of soggy tomato line the plate. A side dish of sorts.
We bathe ourselves with a lukewarm pot of fire-brazed tap water.
I don’t feel clean. I feel wet. And sticky.
Once again, we bed down in the living room. The heavy silence keeps my eyelids light. I stare up. Into nothingness. The scarce breathing and the shifting
Similar Books
