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

She stripped her bed and tossed the linens in a hamper to tote to the ocean later. Breakfast was cereal, canned milk and apple slices while she scribbled in her journal. First stop – in the Hyundai, since she wasn’t figuring on any major hauling today – was the store, where she suctioned six gallons of gas out of Bilbo’s orange Kia Forte, the only car in the lot she hadn’t drained yet. Five gallons got stored away in the back; the rest she dumped into her own tank. She also loaded up the store’s supply of powdered milk. No powdered eggs, though – darn. She missed omelets.

With plenty of morning to go, she drove over to Holy Green to look at the fields. They were lush with summer growth, but starting to look a little dry, or at least dusty. She knew the farm had an automatic sprinkler system for the crops, but it probably would’ve run dry over a week ago. And the weeds had been left unpulled. Should she …?

No. She had other things she wanted to do. She wasn’t an expert in farming or even gardening. And it wasn’t that long until she’d be back here for the harvest – mere weeks. She’d let it go until then, harvest what she could, maybe spend the winter studying up on basic agriculture (there must be a few books on it someplace around there) and deal with it in more depth during planting time in the spring.

If, that is, she was still here and functioning come spring. A lot could happen in the meantime. She wasn’t even a month into this, had little idea of what it would involve in the long-term and didn’t know enough to make good guesses about the rest. “One day at a time” was in many ways as necessary for her to keep in mind as it had ever been for a recovering alcoholic. All the more reason to make any plans loose, and hold them looser still.

She also went to the dehydrator room and did a little more scrubbing. She’d grabbed another gallon of water from the store before coming, and used part of it to finish cleaning the machines. She put the shelves back in, put their covers on them to keep out dust and inquisitive animals, then headed for the generator, hoping she could make it work for Friday movies.

It was fine, just needed more gas, and in the storage room next door there were lights and sockets that worked and folding chairs. All she needed was a DVD or Blu-Ray player and a TV. She could haul those up, but …

More looking around the farm and she hit paydirt – an audiovisual storage room. Inside were, among other gizmos, several DVD/Blu-Ray players and 4K HD Ultra televisions. For all its focus on Zen meditation and organic farming, they sure hadn’t skimped on the electronics. Some big donor must’ve either tossed a lot of money at them or hit a massive close-out sale at Best Buy.

Deciding to strike while the irony was hot, she whipped back to the store for gas and a DVD from the discount rack, brought them back, filled the generator, cranked it up and hooked up some of the multimedia monstrosities. Five minutes later, she was working a remote for the first time in weeks, running the machines through their paces. It turned out that What Men Want (or the first fifteen minutes of it, anyway) was just as mediocre as she’d heard, but she’d find something better for Friday – if not in the Matchicks’ collection, in someone else’s.

She shut down the media center, turned off the generator and was heading back to her car when she heard a noise she didn’t recognize for a moment. A high squeak, or a whine, or …

She turned around and spotted movement beneath the little gazebo or whatever they called it that they used for outdoor meditation. Just a flicker, something ducking out of sight under the platform. She walked closer, slowly, not wanting to frighten or get attacked by whatever it was. When she got there she crouched and squinted into the shade.

“Mowp?”

“Awwwww …” A black-and-gray kitten was looking out at her from the shadows. She held still and a minute later, a second one snuck out behind the first, then another. They were so cute and fluffy and she had to resist the urge to try to reach one and cuddle it. Not that she’d be able to – they were clearly wary, and she was a good twelve feet away. They’d scamper off before she got close.

But unlike with the deer, you didn’t have to keep silent around a cat. “You guys have enough to eat out here?” She recalled the farm tended to attract stray cats – or to be more precise, the farm attracted birds and mice, which attracted the strays. Even with humans gone, they should have enough prey to keep them fat and sassy, provided Mom or Dad Cat was also around. But you never knew.

“Myert,” the second one replied. The third was busy trying to swat the first one’s tail.

“Well, maybe I’ll bring something by for you later.” A dried hamburger or a bag of jerky might do them good. Maybe mix up some powdered milk – that would be a treat for the little ones. Adult cats didn’t go for milk, but kittens did.

A fourth pair of eyes peeked out at her – ah, Mom Cat had arrived. She began nosing one of the kittens back into the dark, and the others followed. “Bye,” Kelly said, glad to know they were being taken care of. She hadn’t seen any of the dog pack around for a few days, and hoped they didn’t come up here to harass their traditional enemies. She didn’t like the odds of Mom and her triplets (or more) against the