WILLA, стр. 11
“So?” I asked.
“We’re near capacity as it is. Our shelves look full. Yet, six months from now, if those creatures are still roaming the Earth, we’ll be hungry. The last thing we need is more mouths to feed,” Kris replied.
He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean I could stomach the thought of turning away a fellow survivor.
I walked back into the house in a somber mood.
“I come bearing eggs. What would you like me to do with them?” I said, holding up my basket for Grandma to see.
“Grab a bowl and start cracking them open,” she said, pointing to a shelf of large mixing bowls.
I did as she ordered.
I was nearly through the batch of eggs when I heard my mother calling my name.
“That woman is going to get us killed,” my grandma muttered to herself.
“Molly, shut your mouth,” Grandma said in a louder voice and turned to the stairs leading to the cellar.
“Where’s my daughter?” Mom all but screamed.
Grandma smacked her hard across the cheek.
Mom froze, looking stunned.
I stood in shock.
Everyone in the kitchen gaped at Grandma.
“The next time you speak above a normal tone, I’m turning you out of the house. There are too many people here for you to be putting their lives in danger. That goes for anyone else,” Grandma said to the rest of us.
“You can’t,” Mom said, rubbing her cheek.
“This is my house. I can do any damned thing I want. Now calm your ass down. We have enough going on without your hysterics.”
“Where’s my daughter?” Mom asked.
“I’m right here,” I said, holding up an egg.
“Get back in the cellar where it’s safe.”
“No,” I said, shocking myself.
“What did you say to me?”
“I said, no. Mom, there are too many people here that we need to feed, clean up after, and keep safe. Everyone has to do their part.”
“You’re a child. You can let the grownups take care of things.”
“I’m sixteen and perfectly capable of cracking eggs.”
I purposely didn’t mention going after the eggs. If everyone else were smart, they wouldn’t either.
“Fine, but whatever you do to help has to happen in the cellar. I don’t want you up here until this is over.”
I opened my mouth to remind her that we were at the beginning of the zombie apocalypse and that the end of the world might never be over. For the time being, though, I complied.
“Willa, if you want to help, start setting up folding tables downstairs for us to put food out on,” Grandma said, stopping me before I got to the stairs.
“Okay,” I said, giving her a big smile.
That first morning, we cooked all of the bacon, sausage, frozen pancakes, frozen waffles, and many other things that Grandma and the rest of us had had in our freezers. What people didn’t eat, we could freeze, or we would have the rest of the week until it was gone.
None of us talked about the possibility of the utilities going out, but we knew they would and sooner rather than later.
Mom and I didn’t talk the rest of that day.
She sat on her cot while I helped with dishes, laundry, cleaning the bathroom, and anything else I could do to keep busy.
Most people thought we were safe because they hadn’t heard any more gunshots. They assumed that meant that no other zombies had reached the farm. I told no one about the field and the few bodies I’d seen laid out in it. If ignorance kept them calm, then so be it.
8.
A week, almost to the day, the power went out completely. We’d been expecting it when it happened. For days, the electricity had been flickering. Mostly, it only stayed out for seconds at a time—a minute at the longest.
Fortunately, when it finally went out, it was in the middle of the night. We woke to uncharged phones, warming food in the fridge, and no hot water.
In the short time that we’d been at my Grandma’s house, our group had developed a working routine. We had the odd person who was lazy or didn’t want to pitch in and help. Once they faced the real possibility of being kicked out of the house on charges of endangering the lives of everyone, they quickly got on board. Some complained that others had easier jobs or that people weren’t carrying their weight. Again, the possibility of expulsion successfully shut them up.
For the most part, life in the cellar was calm. The false sense of security, brought on by the lack of gunshots, was both a good and bad thing. Some would wonder on occasion if it was necessary to stay holed up in the house. They wrongly assumed that the zombies hadn’t and probably wouldn’t find us out in the country. Others refused to live as if we’d be here for years, thinking that the outbreak was on the decline and that we’d be free to resume our everyday lives in a matter of weeks.
At those times, my uncles would turn on the radio, allowing them to hear what was happening in the world. I thought we should just tell everyone every time one of the guards killed a zombie so that they would know how often the creatures came through. I didn’t voice my opinion, though. If one of my uncles or Grandma thought it would help, they would’ve done it already.
Because of the false security, after the first day or so, people started to calm down—even Mom on a small level. The daily chores and routines that Grandma and a few others set up and altered as needed also helped ease everyone’s fears.
Waking without electricity disrupted that calm. The atmosphere in the cellar reverted to the way things were those first few days. People cried. People had panic attacks. Some even made a big show of packing their belongings and threatening to leave. I guess they thought that Grandma or someone had cut the power on purpose to scare everyone.
Those that still had phones