S Ison - Russian Doomsday

Pike smiled back. “I think I’ll go with the Barbera, thank you.”

“Great choice, and my pleasure.”

He placed the bottle in the cart and moved on. Going over to the cheeses, he picked out a ball of soft mozzarella for the caprese salad. He’d already got small cherry tomatoes and basil. After he picked out a good olive oil, he went to the bread section. He didn’t know how to make bread, so figured he’d get a nice crusty loaf.

He wasn’t the best cook, but he could follow directions. Once everything he needed was in the cart, he headed to the check out. Standing in the cereal aisle was Ned from work.

“Hey Ned! How are you doing today?”

The old man looked startled to see him, then grinned. “I’m good, I’ve not seen you at work much. Everything okay?”

“Oh sure, I got on at another job, remember, as a realtor? I told you.”

“Oh that’s right. Just haven’t seen you much at work is all.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be in day after tomorrow,” Pike grinned.

“Okay, young man. Look forward to seeing you there.”

“I’ll talk to you later, Ned, take care,” he said, and pushed on past.

He wondered at Ned. the man seemed to have forgotten. He hoped it was nothing to worry about.

Arriving home, he broke out all the pots and pans. He wished he could have made the bread homemade – Joy had given them lessons about making bread, making homemade starter yeast. They had experimented with making rolls in a cast iron Dutch oven. The outsides always looked great, but the insides were half raw. Joy had laughed and said it was a process.

“Yeah, we sure need to work on this,” Margo had said about their first several attempts.

Tonight was too important to Pike, though, and he wanted nice bread, not burnt mush.

Pike was checking on the chicken in the oven when he heard the door. Margo walked in, her brow arching up at the chaos.

He grinned. “I made a sale! Actually two sales, both with huge commissions.”

“Oh my gosh, Pike, I’m so proud of you. Wow, that is amazing.”

“Thanks. I figured I’d make us a special dinner. Chicken parmesan, caprese salad, some nice wine, and bread.”

“Did you make the bread?” she laughed.

Pike could feel his face going red, but laughed. “No, hell no. I wanted to enjoy dinner tonight.”

Sayer had promised to help build an outside wood oven come early spring, maybe in late March. They could then make pizzas and perfect their bread-making skills.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, you go relax. I’ve got this. The wine is on the counter if you want to open it.”

“Oh, heck yeah. I could use some. I also picked up another twenty pounds of rice. It’s out in the car, I’ll go get it later.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it. I’ll put it in the pantry until we can break it down.”

They’d managed to accumulate over six hundred pounds of dried beans, nine hundred pounds of rice, six hundred pounds of pastas and sugars, spices, salt, pepper, dried onion, dried garlic, powdered milk, and freeze-dried vegetables.

“Thanks. Where’s Binx?”

“He’s out looking around the lake. I let him out when I got home. I tried calling him back in, but I think he found something out there,” he laughed.

“Geez, I hope he doesn’t try to bring it into the house. Ewww.”

Margo went to the door and called. A moment later, the small dog came trotting in, a satisfied look on his face. Pike heard Margo tsk at him and looked over. His paws were wet and muddy. Pike handed her some paper towels and she squatted down and wiped Binx down.

“I think he likes life in the woods, Margo. He never wants to come in.”

“Yeah, just hope he doesn’t wander off too far.”

“He shouldn’t. He seems happy with his own domain.”

“I picked up some pineapple as well. I want to try to dehydrate that. The broccoli did good, so I figure I’ll try the pineapple, then maybe bananas,” Margo said, coming into the kitchen to wash her hands. “That really smells good, Pike.”

“Thanks. I think you have to soak the bananas in lemon juice before you put them in the dehydrator, I think that stops them from turning brown.”

“Yeah, I guess that would be pretty unappetizing.”

“If I have any cherry tomatoes left, we can try dehydrating them,” he suggested.

“Sure. I think we have a few more veggies on the verge of yuck. I’m going to go take a shower. Thank you again for making dinner, and congratulations, Pike. I’m really proud of you.”

He could feel his face flushing and his heart pounding. He smiled and watched her disappear into her room.

He shook his head, thinking about when he’d first received her message about the article. It almost seemed a lifetime away. They were doing well, and with Joy and Sayer’s help they’d increased their supplies tenfold. They’d been working hard, making decisions that would provide for an uncertain future.

The one thing they’d been low on till recently was meats, and both he and Margo were cutting coupons to buy meats. They’d even started adding spices to the meat before they canned it.

“Look, if we want a Mexican meal, we don’t have to worry about most of the spices because we put cumin, garlic powder, onion powder and some pepper flakes and boom, you have a nice spicy meat,” she’d said.

Their basement was quickly filling up with canned beef, chicken, pork, and even bacon. Margo had tried her hand at canning butter as well, as Joy had mentioned they’d need fats in their diets. She had also canned several containers of vegetable shortening.

“It can’t hurt,” she’d smiled. “I’m just re-canning it into an airtight glass container.” Pike was smart enough to leave it in her capable hands.

Pike went over to the fireplace and added a couple more logs to the fire. As he stood, it struck him. The cabin was no longer just a refuge, a place to live in an apocalypse. It was a home, a real home. He and Margo had been flirting with each other recently. He was hoping to change that tonight.

After dinner, they sat on the couch watching TV, replete after the meal and celebratory drink. Pike looked over at Margo. Her face was beautiful, her skin a delicate rich creamed coffee hue. She was exquisitely fine boned, her hands delicate. She was so very strong, and more than capable of handling an apocalypse. He knew that what he felt for her now was more than a high-school crush. He loved her deeply. He knew she cared for him, but still she waited. Southern girls aren’t forward, or at least, some weren’t. She was a Southern girl.

He reached his hand over and took her smaller one into his, then pulled her unresisting toward him, into his arms. He watched her hazel eyes. Half closed, sensual, not sleepy. He slid a hand up her neck and cupped the back of her head, leaned in and kissed her, gently at first, then with more passion as she responded. He felt like the luckiest man on Earth, pending apocalypse or not.

“I love you, Margo. I think I always have.”

“I love you too, Pike. I know you’ve cared about me for years,” she chuckled.

“Really? I was trying so hard to hide it.”

Dalton pulled up outside the hospital. He was due for his appointment in ten minutes and was about to head inside when he saw that man once more, still intoning his doomsday message to anyone who’d listen. Since the first time he’d seen him, Dalton had been watching the news. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. The same blustering bullshit from North Korea, Iraq, and something about some torpedo from Russia. Nothing that wasn’t already out there for years now.

Dalton shook his head. He felt bad, and it was cold as hell out today. The man had a coat on and even a hat, but no gloves. At least he’d cleaned himself up a bit, which Dalton was glad to see. Then the man looked over at him and his eyes bore into Dalton’s. The hair rose on his arms and he felt a prickle of apprehension.