Alone Now

Meg dragged the rug through the door, heading for the hole she had dug by the large weeping willow. Inside the rug was her father. He had died last night, not peacefully. Meg had spent the cool autumn morning digging the hole that she needed a ladder to get out of. Her hands ached with open blisters from the manual labor. She was thankful that her father wouldn't suffer anymore. He had burned with fever, the infection had made him smell sour and his wounds would bleed or rain pus making the ranched smell stain anything he touched. Meg took a break from dragging the rug and pulled the bandanna over her nose. It helped only slightly with the smell. She needed to get him in the hole and covered up before nightfall. It had taken her all morning to dig the hole and she was feeling anxious to get him buried and back inside.

There wasn't much time for a proper good bye and burial, Meg pushed the rug covered body into the hole unceremoniously and took a few deep breaths before she started to shovel dirt over the red and cream rug. She tried to focus on her task, ignoring the hand in her hands, counting shovel loads of dirt promising herself she would take a break after 10 more loads.

Tears streamed down Megs face as she patted the dirt in place. Her hands were recked. She would need to clean them and dress them to avoid the same fate as her father. Meg left a blood trail as she made her way back inside the house and into the bathroom. She picked the smallest bucket of water to emerge her hands in. It hurt, terribly, with out even adding soap. The cool water did help to numb the throbbing though. Meg's hand shook as she grabbed a bar of soap and began rubbing it across her torn flesh. She bit her lip as the pain came and doubled over as the stinging continued. By the time the dirt was washed away she had removed the skin that hung off her hands Meg was emotionally exhausted as much as she was physically. She knew her hands still needed work though and promised herself she would rest right after they were wrapped up.

She took a few deep breaths and reached for what was left of the rubbing alcohol. Her father had sold many possessions to buy the bottle, but it didn't help him. Meg glared at it, reminded of his screams when he used it, then took a deep breath and poured it on her left hand. The pain was extreme and she had to fight herself not to yell. After a few moments to breath she did the other hand. Meg had clean strips already torn, they would have been used on her father, she carefully wrapped up her hands and then laid down on a pile of blankets and fell asleep.

Meg had never known the world before the fall. Disease had struck down large populations across the Earth, with it came riots, droughts, earthquakes and tsunamis. Civilization had crumbled. Government was gone, law was no more, and it was everyone for themselves. Megs mother had died giving birth to her. No more medicine and doctors had led to an even higher death rate for mothers and infants. Her father had taken care of her, he wasn't a bad man or father he was just detached and distant. Meg often wondered if it was because he watched his wife die. It was pointless to wonder now.

Adam, Megs father, made sure to teach her what she needed to know to stay safe in this world. Stay inside at night, never seem to be alone, live off the land and stay away from others as much as you can. Those were the rules he drilled into her head. She was alive, so she assumed that the rules worked. He was dead, but that had been the boar's fault mostly not Adams.

Meg awoke dazed and in pain. She tried to flex her fingers but it was too much for her. She sighed and stood checking to see what time of day it was. The first rays of dawn were coming through the clouds. She stepped outside to see something had been trying to unbury her father last night. She couldn't blame the animal. She headed back in to see what there was to eat.

The house had quite a bit of food in it. Meg had managed to can 6 quarts of blackberries, and still had 5 of them left, she had 1 quart of raspberry jam left as well. There were 10 quarts of green beans, 3 quarts of diced tomatoes, 2 quarts of pickled cabbage, 4 quarts of pickles, 2 quarts of sliced carrots, and 7 quarts of roasted duck soup with potatoes and carrots in it. She was behind on her canning since taking care of her father, but since her winter stock was now only for one she believed she could manage to can enough food before the first real frost.

With a knot in her stomach Meg doubted she would be able to eat and keep food down. She decided to go look at the small hidden garden she kept with her father. It was a bit of a walk and Meg wasn't sure if she would be able to pick anything with her hands, but she knew she had to keep going. She stuck her arm through a large wicker basket and headed out the door, she stopped to put on her fathers boots. They were too large for her but happened to be in better condition.

The walk to the garden took a good 20 minutes, Meg checked a few traps along the way finding a half eaten rabbit in one and another that had been snapped but was empty. The garden had been invaded by rabbits or gophers. The birds had been pecking at the corn, Meg put the basket down and readied herself for the pain as she took hold of an ear of corn. It hurt, more than hurt, but she had to make sure and salvage as much as she could. Starvation was not how she wanted to die.

Her basket full of odds and ends, half eaten carrots, green beans that were wilted, half rotten lettuce, corn cobs that were pecked over by the birds, a few late to ripen tomatoes and some larger cucumbers that had somehow been picked over by the animals. Meg carried the basket on both her forearms, cradling her hands against her stomach. They were bleeding, but she was proud of her haul. She noticed the apple tree was dropping apples. There was no way to carry them home with the current haul so she would have to come back tomorrow.