“A chain! That’s the solution!”
She ran to the storage room, grabbed the ginormous sack of zip ties, wire cutters, a bucket, and a tape measure. After setting the items on her bed, she measured the distance from the posts on the bunk bed to the table beside it.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Calculating.”
She returned to her bed and made three zip tie chains—one for his left wrist, a longer one for the right, and a short one for his legs. When the chains were complete, she shoved a handful of zip ties into her pocket and approached her prisoner. After moving the chair and water jug out of the way, she attached new zip ties to the two front bedposts then slipped a plastic strip under each of his wristbands and attached them to a chain. Next, she connected the chains to the just-added bedpost tie.
“I’m not trussed enough?”
She retrieved the wire cutters and the bucket, placing the latter next to his bed. After chaining his ankles together, she released his legs from the post with a snip of the wire cutters.
At the head of the bed, she cut the original ties from the posts. He was now chained to the bed. He could feed himself and urinate, but he couldn’t escape. As long as she stayed out of reach, she would be safe.
Groaning, he lowered and flexed his arms. “Thank you.”
She pointed to the bucket. “For you to urinate.”
She watched while he sat up to ensure she hadn’t given him too much leash. She supposed hemightbe strong enough to drag the entire bunk bed, but he wouldn’t be able to get the bed through the narrow cave entrance. Satisfied she’d secured her prisoner, she went to make a cup of coffee.I can’t believe I took care of his needs before I even had my coffee.She heated water on an alcohol camping stove while she retrieved the instant coffee and a couple of power bars.
Taking her cup, she went to check on her prisoner. He was sitting up. He’d used the bucket. She eyed the amount of urine.He really did have to pee.She deposited the power bars on the table. “Food,” she said, and snagged the travel mug. It was empty. He’d finished off the water. She refilled it and set it on the table.
Immediate problem solved, she sat in the chair out of reach, sipped her coffee, and contemplated him. He looked a little less gray today, a little more silver, the chest wound healed.What does it take to kill these bastards?People did survive gunshot wounds, but not like this.The bullet just popped out of him. They can’t be invincible. Nobody is invincible. Not even vampires and zombies. If you hammer a stake into a vampire’s heart or cut off a zombie’s head, they die.
Except those creatures were fiction. This monster was real.
“What are you drinking?” he asked.
“Coffee.”
He wrinkled his nose. “It smells…pungent.”
“And it smells better than it tastes. Coffee is an acquired taste.” She chuckled and then scowled, angry at herself. There was nothing amusing about this situation. This wasn’t a chat with a friend or a casual conversation with a stranger. It was a confrontation with the enemy.
He stood up, and her heart nearly leaped out of her chest, but he rocked on his heels, and she realized he was stretching his legs. Still standing, he tore the wrapper off a power bar and hesitantly bit into it. He made a face. “This is an acquired taste, too.” He swallowed and washed it down with a drink of water. “Actually, it has almost no taste. You regularly eat this stuff?”
Power bars did taste like cardboard, but he had some nerve complaining about the food. He was damn lucky to be fed at all. She fumed. “Only when our planet is invaded, and we can’t get regular food.”
Thanks to the prepper, she had buckets and buckets of freeze-dried meals: beef stroganoff, spaghetti with meat sauce, chili, chicken fettuccine, mac and cheese, scrambled eggs with hash browns, and more. If she desired other rations, she could shop at any house or market in the area. Perishables had long since spoiled, but getting food wasn’t an issue. At least not yet. Ten years from now, twenty years, might be a different story. Assuming she survived that long.
Heat. Ample light. Electricity. A hot shower. That’s what she needed. The cave stayed at 60 degrees Fahrenheit, but that was still chilly. The oil lamps didn’t light the chambers bright enough, and she needed to conserve the oil. Had they been prescient as teenagers, she and Brent wouldn’t have used the oil lamps so much. But they’d burned through the fuel like somebody else was paying the bill. Somebody was—her future self.
Now, she had to keep the light on around the clock to monitor her prisoner.
If she dared to fire up the generator, she’d have electric heat and light, but because of the harmful fumes, she’d have to place the machineoutside.
Since everyone had died, the world had gone eerily silent. No traffic, no planes, no sirens, no lawn mowers, no yelling kids playing ball. No barking dogs. Pets had been vaporized with their owners. In the dead of winter, wild birds and cicadas didn’t sing, coyotes didn’t howl, crickets didn’t chirp.
In the silence, the growl of the generator would travel for miles.
The Progg or a colluder would hear it.
Plus, she’d need to get gasoline. There was none in the cave. Sheassumedthe red jugs in her parents’ garage were full, but she preferred to save the fuel in case she needed to flee in the car. The vehicles should be gassed, but she couldn’t count on being able to get fuel once she was on the road, especially in rural areas. She’d have to go to town for gasoline for the generator, and every foray in the open increased the risk of detection and death.
Again, she wished she knew how many aliens were in the area. How great was the danger? “Are you alone?” she asked.
“No, I’m with you.”
