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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/954151
Rated: 18+ · Fiction · War · #954151
In which history is mulled over, crocuses bloom and the walls thicken.
Day 7 Still

Late…No clue what time. Busy day. Doc, Duncan, Brittany, John, Steve and Bobby all walked into town today. The Geiger counter didn’t register anything. I wonder if it is still working. Seems to me there would be something in the air wafting our way from Detroit or Chicago. Both Bobby and Steve were surprised to find that many of the people had left and weren’t around town. They did see William Herrick. He told them that near the big cities it was very dangerous. Hospitals are overwhelmed. There seems to be a lot of people already suffering from radiation sickness. They are seeing a lot of gunshot and stabbing injuries as people are getting either very defensive or just out on a killing spree. The guys told us how William was talking about martial law and that he’s heard about gangs forming.

They met the man who owns the hardware store. He is taking things in trade for goods. He won’t take money. He wanted John’s watch and Brittany’s gold earrings. They didn’t ‘buy’ anything. The food store was open too. No one was there, but there was a sign on the door. It said, “Take what you need. God Bless the USA.” There wasn’t much food left. No water. No cigarettes, but they did find loose tobacco and a carton off small cigars on the floor. These were good finds. Duncan told me that there were lots of cans of Brussels sprouts, sardines, okra and spam. Our little group now has plenty of the aforementioned items. They also brought back toilet paper and some dog food for Danny.
Brittany isn’t wearing her earrings anymore.

I think I am awfully glad we are up here in Vermont.

After dinner, John asked who could use a gun. He also said that we might need to start patrolling the fence line so no one would get close to the house. This bears thinking about.

And Day 7 goes down to night.

Day 8—6 am

I woke up this morning from a terrible dream. I had run out of paper. I had nothing to write with. That got me thinking about the places that were hit, and the things that may be lost forever. I am thinking about the Library of Congress and the New York City Public Library, The Smithsonian, the art galleries, the Museum of Natural History in NY. I am thinking about the Statue of Liberty and the Memorials like Ellis Island and all the ones in Washington.

I think John is wrong. I think we need all the history we can get right now.

Is it wrong to be thinking of these things when so many people are dying and fighting to stay alive? We have lost millions of people. Who knows what treasure in other parts of the world? We have lost our history, our relics, our photos, our things. I remember reading about a family who lost their home to a hurricane last year. They were happy that their family was okay and said that although they had lost all their possessions, that those possessions were merely things, and as such, replaceable. But
they aren’t. Not any more. Today is the first full week of life after the end. Yesterday was the 7th day. It was not a day of rest.

1 pm

I took Danny out for a walk today. John asked me to walk the fence line and make sure the fence was intact all the way around. The front gates are closed now. The men had trouble getting them to close as they were almost rusted open. I don’t feel any safer. As the days go by, I seem to feel more vulnerable.

Danny was happy to be outside. He ran and jumped and found an old ball and wanted to play. I did too. Trev, Danny and I had fun outside. It was warm today. 56 degrees and sunny. Daffodils are poking up. There were crocuses blooming by the fence. If you didn’t ‘know’, you’d never know it by looking around here. After 9-11, we all saw the images so many times they became imprinted on our brains. Now we have only 10th hand information and, worse, our imaginations. Looking around today, it looked normal, like any other glorious spring day.

3pm

John was blowing his whistle. This is new and means everyone heads inside immediately. There were people outside the front gate. John and Doc went to talk to them. They told the rest of us to go down to the dungeon and lock ourselves in. John and Doc were carrying guns. We all went. No one wanted to argue with someone holding a gun. Were the rules changed when I wasn’t looking? When did our democracy become a dual dictatorship?

6pm

John and Doc are back. They didn’t say much and no one new was with them. They keep flashing ‘looks’ at each other.

7pm

Our group seems to be fracturing. The sense of group is dissolving before my eyes. A day or so ago, we were a tightly knit group. Now we seem to be unraveling at the seams.
I missed most of it, but there was a huge argument about the house and whether to invite some of the towns’ folk up here. Tempers were flaring and there was an awful lot of yelling. Lilac was in tears. Lanie was strangely quiet. I suggested the matter be put to a vote. Both Doc and John told me to shut the f up! Duncan looked at me and sort of shook his head and shrugged. I am thinking of tribal councils. Who would be ‘voted’ out next?

Thus ends day 8




 Day 9  (E)
In which we establish contact and set new prices.
#954523 by Fyndorian
© Copyright 2005 Fyndorian (fyndorian at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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