The Prophecy, Part II

August 13, 2013

Our faces fitted with air-filtering masks, our eyes covered in night vision goggles, we pass through the hidden passage. Inside our home, I look around. As far as I can tell nothing has been touched since our departure. He cautiously raises a corner of the window shade. We both peek out and see stars, so we take off the night vision goggles. Stars, millions of them. I run around to another window saying, “Where’s the moon?” He cautions, “Just a peek! Don’t raise the shade.” I find the moon. He takes a look. We smile and hug each other.

He checks out the electrical plugs with a voltage tester he calls his “wiggy.” No power anywhere. “And no generator until we figure things out,” he says, “so, don’t even ask.” In the bedroom we carefully remove the tarp that enwraps our bed, then fold back the blankets. With the air masks on I crawl into my old bed. He says he’s going to look around for a bit. For the first time in a very long time I immediately fall asleep.

I had a dream that I was dying from a poisonous gas and just as I was slipping away, I sat bolt upright in bed. It’s 4 a.m. on my watch. What is that smell? It’s what has caused me to wake. Somehow I’ve incorporated it into my dream. I make a slight move, just to go peek out the window. “Don’t leave the bed!” he says. “But, I have to pee,” I lie. “Wait for me.” “Do you smell anything?” “Yes. Come on, I’ll walk you to the toilet.” He checks the house again, trying to find the origin of the smell. “I dunno, I think it’s coming from outside.”

We sit up together and wait for the sun to rise. And, oh yeah, it still comes up in the East.

August 18, 2013

I think back to my dream last night. Maybe we did die and maybe this is hell we’re in. That’s what I get for wishing I was dead. I know for sure were not in heaven. If it’s hell then hell doesn’t look at all like what I imagined. It certainly smells like what I’d imagined. Our house looks completely normal in the daylight and outside looks like a typical bright sunny day. It’s only when you stare out the window all day, as we have, that you begin to notice the subtleties. He’s determined that we shall not venture outside until we’ve spent some days in careful observation. As we sit side-by-side, I think of the Cat in the Hat kid’s story, except my version would read “So we sat in the house. All those hot, hot, dry days. I sat there with him. We sat there, we two.” 

The first thing we noticed was little or no wind. The trees seemed immobile. We looked for a sign of an animal or an insect. Every so often one of us would exclaim, “Wait! I’m sure I saw a flicker of movement right over there.” But, we’d been unable to confirm anything. Was it our imagination?

And there weren’t any clouds, not a whisper of one. “Well, we’ve had a string of days like that before,” he says confidently. No, not that I ever recall. But, I keep silent. We’ve binoculars and a telescope. We use the binoculars to check out the trees and shrubbery around the house. The trees are definitely stressed, with premature fall foliage, curled dried leaves and showing some canopy loss. We’re no experts so who knows if it’s some type of fungus or disease. “Maybe, it’s a combination of heat and a long dry spell. You know the lawn looks drought-damaged as well.” And still not one sign of a bird, or a plane, and certainly no superman, either. No movement in the sky, no sign of a jet’s vapor trail. Nothing. It’s as if the world were frozen in place outside of our window. We use the telescope to look at our nearest neighbor’s house, which is about a quarter of a mile away. We can see his truck in the driveway, but no sign of him or his dog.

August 20, 2013

After two days of seeing nothing, I had a bit of a breakdown last night and removed my air mask. And since I didn’t keel over and die, he’s decided to take his off, too. And today we’re going outside, although he’s making us wait until twilight to do so, and we’ll have to put the air masks back on, with new filters. He’s mostly worried now about other survivors finding us and harming us or stealing our supplies. “They’ll most likely look for us in the broad daylight or they’ll use thermal imaging and look for us at dark.”

We’ve discovered that the grid on the lawn where the septic field is, has completely collapsed. That could account for the bad smell.

August 21, 2013

Outside, the smell permeates the newly filtered air mask. We don’t see any signs of life around the house, but it is semi-dark and hard to see much. He decided we should try the car and to our surprise, it starts. It’s around 7:40 p.m. when we back out of the garage. He’d already disabled the break lights and interior lights. We drive to our neighbor, Rick’s, house in the semi-dark with the headlights off. I keep my window cracked and the stench follows us. So much for the septic field theory. We pull into our neighbor’s driveway, right behind his truck. He makes me wait in the car with the engine running, while he goes to the door. He knocks, no answer. He tries the doorknob and it turns. That’s the thing about living in the country, lots of folks still don’t lock their doors. He looks back at me and motions for me to stay put. He enters, leaving the door ajar. My heart is pounding. It seems like an eternity, but he returns in just a matter of minutes. He stands for a moment next to the car, then removes his mask and vomits. He looks like a stunned deer, but then gets his composure back, climbs in the car and drives home, all without saying a word.

When were in the house I ask, “He’s dead, isn’t he? And what about his dog?” He just nods and stares out of the window, off into the distance. Finally he says, “That’s what the smell is. It’s the death all around us. I’ll just bet all of Ralph’s hogs are gone along with Ralph and his family. Same for the Roody’s farm and all of their cattle.” Now he’s staring up at the ceiling. “It must be some kind of poisonous gas....” My skin crawls, “What!?” “It must be a gas that’s killed all of the people and fauna, but left the buildings and most of the flora in tact.

September 1, 2013

He’s gotten a lot bolder since our visit to Rick’s house. We still only go out at daybreak or eventide, but today he drove us as far as town, which is almost 9 miles away. He was right about the Roody’s farm. We can see the cattle rotting in the hot sun. No vultures around though. That’s the thing about vultures, they’ll pick apart a carcass until all that’s left is some fur, a spine and a few bones. We sure could use some vultures.

He says that we’ll leave our neighbors be for the time being, but in the winter, we’ll have to bury Rick, Ralph and his family and even the Roodys. 

September 2, 2013

We broke into Casey’s today. Zach must have been late opening up that day. 

So I figure “it,” whatever “it” was, must have happened around 7 a.m. or so. There were two cars parked out front, and the driver in each car was slumped over, rotting in the hot sun. They were probably been waiting for the manager, Zach, to show up. That’s Zach for you, always late.

We smashed the window and it took two of us to do it. We took all of the bottled water, and some soft drinks and gatorade, beer, wine, canned food, basically anything with a good seal. He also siphoned gasoline from the cars outside which we’ll need to run the generator. Finally he cut the lock off the propane tank case and we took as many tanks as we could find that seemed pretty full. We’ll use those for cooking.

September 11, 2013 

It rained last night! Not for very long and the rain gauge barely shows a quarter of an inch, but it was wonderful. I wanted to go out and run around, but he said we’d better let a few rains pass and test the water before we “roll around in it.” He was smiling as he said it though.

We went for an early morning walk near the river. Or what used to be the river. The area we’re near was once nearly 12 feet wide and between 5 and 7 feet deep depending on the time of year. It’s now just about a foot wide and a few inches deep. We’ve still had no rain. Although this month we’ve seen some clouds on occasion. Once in a while the wind picks up as well.

We talk about it constantly and we’re certain we aren’t the only survivors in the world. Just like they say about the universe, we can’t be the only ones. But, where are the others? “They’ll find us eventually,” he says.

September 12, 2013

We were making plans to make a run at the end of the week to Sully’s Food Market, which is about 12 miles away. It’s bigger than Casey’s and if we use Rick’s truck, we can make a nice haul. “We’ll go early,” he says, “and beat the crowds.” I don’t know why, but I laugh out loud. He stops and hugs me. “It’s so good to hear you laugh again.”

We were walking along side the river that’s now a stream, just walking and talking. Mostly talking about making a stop after our trip to Sully’s, to see how the lake looks. There’s a small lake, less than 900 square acres about a mile in from Sully’s. In fact it’s fed by this stream.

And that’s when I saw it. I wasn’t certain at first, so I didn’t say anything, just kept walking, but I could feel my heart quicken. Then, I saw it again. And this time I was certain.

Tune in tomorrow for the conclusion of The Prophecy...