Timothy Long: Beyond the Barriers

I aired out the bedroom, with its tiny twin bed, as well. I took the sheets off early and made an attempt at washing them in warm water; some I had boiled and the rest came from the lake. I found a pair of hip waders and walked into the water until it was almost to my hips, giving the sheets a good soak, then I rinsed them and wrung them out. I hung them between the edge of the cabin and a tree, letting them dry all day.

Night came soon enough, and I decided that I had waited long enough, so I took the radio out of the box and wound it up. I flipped through channels that played music or the emergency broadcast message that still instructed folks to get to secure places. These were listed off by county.

I found a radio station that was talking about the virus, but it sounded like a repeat, because it was all old news. Well, not that old, I guess. The collapse of civilization seemed to have happened in less than a week.

I found a bottle of Scotch on a shelf, but I didn’t recognize the brand. I took a pull from the bottle, and it burned all the way down my throat until it hit my stomach. Then I did it again, drinking some water as a chaser. I remember watching old westerns where the guys sucked down shots of whiskey with barely a grimace; they must have had iron guts, because this stuff felt like fire.

The surface of the lake was calm under the glow of the moon. A shadow slid over it, and I chalked it up to an owl on night patrol for a bite to eat. There was nothing to listen to up here, nothing to waste my day away on, like the television. It was so easy to just veg on the couch, but I doubted days like that would ever come around again.

I thought of Allison and took another long pull from the bottle. Was she okay? She and her new guy? I popped out my cell phone, but there was no signal. I wondered if I went onto the roof, would I pick up a tower.

Tomorrow I would scout around the lake and see if there were more cabins with people in them. I would be well advised to meet the neighbors.

After a night of tossing and turning on the bed, I wandered outside and got some fresh water from the lake. There was movement behind me, but a good ways off. I would guess about fifty meters. Probably a deer or elk.

Bored. I had stacked my food supplies, counted the bottled goods, cracked one open and sampled the jam. Tried a jar of pickles, and they tasted decent. I made a list of all the food then figured out what I should eat each day to get a decent mix of veggies and enough starch. I made lists of the beans, how much made a portion, and then the rice, and how much I could get away with eating each day so that I wouldn’t starve. Then I planned a menu where I would be comfortably full each day.

I cleaned my clothes in the tub. Now it was barely noon, and I didn’t know what to do with myself.

I cranked the radio a few times, but all I picked up was more of the emergency broadcast station with the same message as yesterday. I found a station playing classic rock songs with no commercial interruptions, which was weird. Maybe they put the place on autopilot and headed for the hills like I did.

I checked out the generator in the back shed, but there wasn’t much diesel for it. I had decided to rough it as much as possible and conserve the fuel. Well, roughing it in a cabin. It’s not like I had to sleep outside. I broke out my laptop and played a game of solitaire for half an hour, but watching the battery drain made me crazy, so I shut it down.

I stared at the pad of paper I had found in a drawer and the box of pencils. I wasn’t able to find a sharpener, but my new Gerber knife made short work of it. I pulled the pad into my lap and started to recount all that I had seen in the past few days—the very journal you are reading now. How long I can keep up the writing is a mystery even to me. Once upon a time, I wanted to pursue a job in journalism. I even wrote for the school paper and dabbled in a few creative writing classes. The military was a strong calling, even in my early years.

The days passed ever so slowly. I tried my hand at hunting, but it had been a long time. I didn’t even see a hint of game, let alone get a shot at one. A lot of smaller animals raced in the undergrowth, but I was far too slow to catch even a glimpse of one.

One late afternoon, I caught a squirrel trying to shimmy up a tree. I got it in my sights and I was pretty sure I could put a hole in it, but once down I wasn’t sure how to clean and prepare it. So he got a reprieve for now.

I tried to swim in the lake, but it was so cold I started shivering uncontrollably the moment the water reached my knees. Then I regretted not having hot water to shower in. By the time I got the tub full, I would be sweating.

I climbed on the roof a few times and tried to get a signal, but it was no use. The cell phone showed no bars. Either I was too far away or there was a complete breakdown in the cell towers. Either theory was relevant. I thought about climbing a tree, but being this far from any sort of medical attention meant I could possibly die if I fell out—or at least impale a leg or arm on a broken branch.

I tried fishing with a little success. I caught a small fish that looked like a trout, but it tasted plain no matter how much seasoning I put on the chunks of meat.

And so my days passed. I wondered almost constantly if I should leave the cabin and go back to civilization. It had been two weeks, and I was starting to doubt the severity of the situation below. Maybe the military came in and set everything right, cleaned up the infected, and shipped them off to some camp where they were being cured even now.

I was probably fired from my job, having been gone for so long. I bet they would understand. My manager Tammy was the no-nonsense sort, but she did have a sense of humor. I could see it now—her laughing as I told her I went to the mountains and lived like a hermit for a few weeks.

Tomorrow I would walk the mile or two to the road and take a look.

It was cold and gray. Rain threatened from the moment I woke up. I didn’t have a rain jacket, so I decided to wait, and wait I did. For the next six days, it rained almost nonstop. I became so used to the sound of water running down the roof and the side of the cabin that I heard it even when there were breaks in the rain.

I heated water one day, because I felt like the damp had soaked into my bones, and took a long, lazy bath in the tub. I sang songs from memory and even put headphones on and listened to my mp3 player for a precious half hour of music. I planned to fire up the generator in a day or two and charge all the electronic devices.

The rain let up for a few hours then set in again. I went to sleep after finishing off the scotch, but had to keep one foot on the ground to stop the room from spinning. The next day, I felt like shit, but I hauled myself out of bed and drank what seemed like a gallon of water. At least the rain was gone, so I popped a pair of aspirin from my medical kit and ate some food from one of the survival kits. Dry cakes of some shit that tasted gritty, but provided good protein and nutrients. The only downside was that the stuff caused terrible gas.

I had a couple of cans of corned beef hash calling to me, but I was saving them for a special day.

I would suit up and head down to the road in a few minutes.

Nothing. That was what I saw in an hour of standing around behind a tree waiting for a car to pass. Nothing went by, not a car, motorcycle or even a logging truck. I walked out to the street, inspecting the gate first, but there was no one in sight. I wanted to jump in the Honda and head back to town. It was driving me insane—the not knowing. Or maybe it was just loneliness.