Tales of the Derry Plague , Anselmo, Ray [fun to read txt] 📗

were bent inward, but not seriously. Looking over the road’s edge, she didn’t see anything burst into flame, but the thick stench of the rotted food remained. That would take at least a few days to dissipate. But it was out of the way. The highway was clear all the way to the Tam Valley.

She patted the top of the Ram’s cab. “Well done, old bean.” For a moment she was tempted to start using it as her regular vehicle, but thought better of it. Her Hyundai was more suitable to conserving gasoline and going around the town’s twisty roads. But she would definitely keep this one around for its carrying capacity – she could move a lot more stuff with it than with her car. Another tool in her arsenal.

With a tired smile, she headed back to the ranch parking lot. She could find some rope, put her car in neutral and tow it home so she’d have it and the truck whenever she needed them.

15

SKED

Kelly thought she’d be tired when she got the vehicles home, and she was, a little. But she’d rested the previous two days, so all in all she felt pretty good. Add the satisfaction of a job well done (or done, anyway) and her spirits were moderately high. She boiled some rice on the barbecue for dinner, adding chopped cheese and vegetables, and after eating she went down to the ocean to wash up.

She watched the sun setting as she air-dried and though about how good she had it. She had plenty of everything and no real responsibilities – by surviving the plague, she’d turned into a rich woman purely from lack of competition. Even her mental health was improving – less stress from not having to deal with people, less depression with plenty of work to do, less mania due to tiring herself out with all that work.

This wasn’t how the end of the world was supposed to go. But it hadn’t ended for her. In any circumstance, no matter how horrid, someone was bound to benefit, and this time it happened to be her. She could feel guilty about that, but it wouldn’t help her or anyone else.

She went back uphill to home, getting there before it got too dark to navigate. She locked her door as the chorus of the night started up: dogs (thankfully not in her driveway), cats, insects, frogs, unidentified animals in the forest. “Children of the night, vhat music they make, ha ha ha ha,” she said, quoting Dracula or the Count from Sesame Street or maybe both. As long as those creatures stayed outside and she was inside, it was fine.

Another point in favor of this end of the world: no undead. No vampires, no zombies fast or slow, no strange beast-people, no aliens looking to serve man – as an appetizer. Not even ghosts, of which this town should have plenty if they existed. Loneliness seemed like a small price to pay to avoid all that horror-movie mess.

Despite the growing darkness, she wasn’t ready to go to sleep just yet. She got out a candle and lit it, changed into her pajamas and flipped through the pages she’d printed on survival techniques. She felt like she was forgetting something, but couldn’t remember what it was before her eyelids started drooping and she took her lithium and headed for bed.

But she recalled it the next morning. “Schedule,” she mumbled into her pillow. “I was gon’ make a schedule.” It wasn’t a necessity, but it was a Thing She Could Do, and she’d feel more comfortable with one. Not a bad idea for day 23 …

… darn, she’d forgotten to do a journal entry yesterday. Already she was slipping on that? Well … now she knew one thing to add to the schedule, didn’t she? Daily journal entry. Morning or evening? Or did it matter? She could …

A while later, she woke up again and giggled. At least she wasn’t on a tight schedule. And she probably shouldn’t put herself on one – there was no need. The watch was handy for gauging hours until sunset, but she no longer lived in a world ruled by clocks and timesheets and just-in-time shipping. “Loosen up a little, Kel,” she chided herself as she untangled from the sheets. Another surprise from the apocalypse: no more Industrial Revolution push for efficiency, at least not after the first couple of weeks. She could take her time.

She took her time deciding what to wear – shorts would be better for the heat, but pants would be better for avoiding sunburn. She compromised on jeans and one of her favorite T-shirts, featuring Sadness from the movie Inside Out and the words ONE OF THOSE DAYS.  Depressive humor. She liked that a film existed where depression turned out to be the hero. “I miss watching movies,” she sighed. Well, there was always the generator at the farm. Maybe a weekly film night could be part of the schedule?

Breakfast was bacon and cheese and a bear claw that was hard as a rock (intentionally), apple slices, two bottles of water and the legal pad. Ideas kept popping into her head, and she wanted to get them on paper before she lost track of them. Same thing she used to do with her phone over breakfast, so she was adjusting. Get more water, canned milk from store … look for bird eggs? … what are the dog pack eating? …

Meal finished and a half-page of random ideas jotted, she flipped that sheet over and started thinking about daily activities. Meals, obvs. Baths. Taking her meds – that was pretty much ingrained in her mind, but it couldn’t hurt to write down. A journal entry each day – she’d do one as soon as she finished this list, cover what happened yesterday. Maybe that was how she should do it: detail