Tales of the Derry Plague by Anselmo, Ray (most inspirational books of all time TXT) 📗

timepieces. The store stopped selling cheap wristwatches last year for the same reason, and those had been battery-powered anyway.

But the generator was filled, the dried food collected, the food to be dried prepared, and tow of the other four items found. She had a little wiggle room now. Enough to afford her a little house-to-house searching, anyway. Find a watch, find a dry basement. There had to be at least one of each in Sayler Beach. And she’d already broken into every house.

She walked next door to the Wilkinses’. They’d been an older couple, who’d bought the house as a retirement dwelling. And sure enough, within five minutes she spotted Henry Wilkins’ old pocket watch. It wasn’t ticking, but a little winding and it started humming right along. Old school for the win. She set it from her phone’s clock – she hadn’t used it much today, so it still had some life in it – and dropped it in her pocket. Pity the Wilkinses didn’t have a cellar.

But going to the house on the other side, the Alvarezes did. Keith Alvarez had a woodworking hobby, and the basement served as his shop. And since the Alvarezes had money, the basement was weatherproofed to the hilt to keep moisture away from the wood. That meant not only a nice place to store her dried food, but the scraps and planks lying around meant plenty of firewood as well. And she could store more down here if she liked – she’d just have to move the lathes and table saws and other machines against the walls for extra room.

Kelly sat for a minute and sighed happily. With the exception of company, electricity and hot water, she was finding everything she needed.  She still felt sorrow for all the people who’d passed away, that couldn’t be denied. But with a whole town to glean from, the business of living was coming along well for her. It wasn’t ideal, but she was still breathing, and she had (or knew where to find) everything she required for many moons.

She wasn’t usually heavy on church or prayer – a childhood spent with Mom would be enough to burn Joel Osteen out on religion. But she’d never stopped believing, and once in a while her fragile faith came out to stretch. “Thank you, God, for all this. Comfort anyone else who’s left on Earth, if there is anyone. Help me to stay balanced and act wisely and … not take anything for granted. I don’t want to be that person. Keep me safe, please, and, um, if you have anything specific You want me to do, find a way to let me know. Thanks again. Amen.”

As she left the Alvarezes’, she looked at the list, and found to her surprise that she’d done everything on it, with a couple of hours of daylight to go. Would Wonders never cease? She’d missed lunch, so she decided on an early dinner. Securing the Alvarezes’ door with a bungee cord – she only had to worry about pets getting in, not humans – she returned to the Matchicks and hauled out the grill. Soon it was full of charcoal, smoldering nicely, and she put a pot of pasta and bottled water on it. Then …

Then she slapped her forehead. All the non-dry food in the house was at the store, prepped for dehydration. Oops. She walked back to SBN&N, shaking her head. But she’d had a lot on her mind that day – something was bound to slip. It was a minor kerfuffle.

By the time she came back with some swai fillets and a small red cabbage, the pasta was done. She drained it, put the fillets on to grill, chopped up the cabbage and put it in the pot with more bottled water, then added margarine, canned Parmesan and a little garlic salt to the pasta. When the fish was done, she put the cabbage on, ate her fill of the swai and noodles, then drained the cabbage and had some of that, plain. The leftovers she sealed in a plastic container, figuring that even without refrigeration it would keep for tomorrow’s lunch.

That left time for one last task. Driving to the store again, she loaded up all the prepared food, took it to the farm dehydrators, set it up and fired up the generator. If her good fortune held, she’d wake up with or before sunrise – and before the gasoline ran out. That would probably be the last dehydrator shift for a while, but if she needed to do it again, there were still plenty of cars and trucks to swipe gas from.

Strange as it seemed, things were going well – by apocalyptic standards. No zombies, no warriors of the wasteland, no nuclear radiation, no climate collapse, plenty of food and clothing and shelter, hopefully enough water to get her to the rainy season, definitely enough gas to keep the Accent running for some time. As bad as it was, it could’ve been a whole lot worse.

And yes, maybe the other shoe would drop and she would find herself between a rock and a hard place. But a lifetime of mood swings had taught her how to force herself to be optimistic, until it had become habit. That habit was serving her in very good stead right now.

Sitting in her car at the Zen farm, she watched the sunset, feeling lonely and yet content. She would manage. She would get through this – if there was anywhere to get through it to. She would survive. She found herself humming “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life,” then decided it was a little too morbid and stopped.

Once the sun disappeared behind the Pacific, Kelly drove home. She thought about lighting a candle and staying up, maybe reading LaSheba’s journal, but she was tired from a full day’s activity and a big meal, so