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

Hypothesis: she was actually doing really, really well, but the circumstances were so difficult that it didn’t seem as impressive. She might be doing badly under normal conditions, but the conditions were so far from normal that honestly, having only one episode of outright psychosis in a week and a half was quite decent – and even that was a reaction to a serious threat. She’d come out the other side without causing herself, her property or random canines any physical damage.

She was still here. She was still safe – safer, if the Gang of Dog had taken her ravings to heart. She was in good health, at least physically. Mentally, she was probably no worse off than before. She had a whopping food stockpile, an ocean to bathe in, a roof over her head with a hundred backup roofs available, and could probably find anything else she needed somewhere in town so long as it didn’t need to be plugged in.

Short version: she was negotiating the end of the world like an absolute boss. Her therapist would be proud of her. In lieu of that, she’d be proud of herself. “You are kicking metric tonnes of butt, Kel,” she whispered. “Get it!”

Next step: figure out what to get. She stretched, changed her tampon and clothes, went to the kitchen for a bottled water, an apple, some dry cereal and a few slices of leathery cheese, then sat at the dining table to figure out the liturgy for the Second Thursday After the Fall of Civilization. She decided to make a new list rather than working from the last one with all its crossings-out and emendations:

Today’s options:

Make bed / clear clothesline

List food in kitchen

Move food into root cellar

Leave enough in kitchen for at least 7 days’ eating

Scrub down dehydrators

Siphon / store more gas

Read LaSheba’s journal / start own journal

Figure out rest days

Also create more moderate daily schedule?

She considered adding a bath, but she usually couldn’t take one the second or third day of a period. If she got really dank and sweaty today, she’d consider one for tomorrow; otherwise, Saturday would be soon enough. It wasn’t like she had to be presentable. She hadn’t even shaved her legs since before she fell ill.

Well, that was a thought – she might never have to shave her legs again. Another point in favor of Armageddon.

She chuckled and looked the list over. “Options” was better than “work,” less urgent. As far as urgency, it was more or less in order from the top. Not one of them absolutely had to be done today, but they were all good ideas. She could take it easy. Given the carousel of insanity the last several days had been, she should. Balance. Tranquility. Other words she’d expect to be embroidered onto pillows at the Zen farm.

She finished eating and went out to the backyard, where her clothes and sheets waited. She gave them a good reviewing, found no evidence of yesterday’s blood and gore, then inhaled. Mmmm … that whole deal about air-drying laundry making them smell fresher was true after all. She hauled it all in, remade her bed, then folded her pajamas and left them on the pillow. Check.

Going back to her trusty pad and pen, she started going through the cupboards. Once she’d listed every food item (and item that could be turned into food with an effort), she went through and redid it, sorting it into proteins, starches, fruits and vegetables, sauces and condiments, baking ingredients, etc. When she was done, she had three pages that told her pretty much what she had to eat aside from all her dehydration efforts. Check.

It also told her that almost all said efforts could go to the Alvarezes’ basement for now – everything except a few bags of dried meat and cheese, five pounds of potatoes and some of the orange slices and dried broccoli. She started hauling them next door, filling up a laundry hamper to speed the process and keep from dropping things. Her second trip, she saw the Rottweiler mix staring at her and barked at it. The Rott quickly trotted off, but for all subsequent trips she brought the Mizuno with her. Take no chances.

Once she brought over the last bag, she spent some time organizing it – meats and cheeses over here, bread and other starches there, veggies in this corner, apple and orange slices in that one. Despite how much she had, there was still a lot of room to spare, so if she wanted to bring more cans, boxes, bottles, jars, bags and three-dimensional containers from the store, she had options. Heck, her options had options. Check.

Three down at a relaxed pace, and it was … where did she leave that watch? She shook her head. “Kel, no point in having a watch if you’re not going to carry it,” she chided herself gently. Thankfully it was easy enough to find – sitting on the bedside table – and was still ticking away. She wound it up some anyway, put it in the little pocket in her jeans that seemed designed for it, and shook her head again because in the midst of that, she hadn’t checked the time after all. 1:37, she found as she pulled it out again. If it was still accurate, she had plenty of day left.

She stopped for lunch – she hadn’t been doing that enough lately, and she needed to keep up her strength. Deciding to treat herself, she opened a can of chili, poured it over a few pieces of toast and ate it cold with a little leftover cabbage from last night. The chili sauce moistened the bread nicely, and it tasted fine unwarmed on an August day after a morning’s activity. The only downside was a few