The Survivors

Colorado

February 15th

1

“Damned spider wasn’t even the size of my fingernail.” Samantha was about to cause herself a lot of pain because of it. Her leg was bad. The wound was hard and swollen, black in the center with angry red lines of infection crawling up toward her heart.

Green Falls and Woodland Park had been looted, like every other place she’d come through, but the pharmacy had been intact. Samantha had tried all the antibiotics she found, giving each a few days to take effect. Though they had slowed the infection that had made walking impossible, it was now life or death. She had to do surgery on herself.

Samantha was holed up in the Devil’s Head Hunting Lodge, taking shelter in one of the large, rustic cabins. Old, uncomfortable furnishings sat around a beautiful stone fireplace, with an outhouse in the rear, and huge glass windows in the front that gave her a view of dwarf birch trees with black moss. The other walls were decorated by a buck, a bear, a snarling bobcat, and a calendar showing December. Isolated, she was hoping to recover here while waiting out the approaching blizzard.

Terrified of passing out and bleeding to death, Samantha let her mind go where it wanted as she worked on her courage. The thick layer of dust on the floor said no one had been here since all hell broke out. There were a few bloody smears outside, but no bodies, not even a stray cat. That worried her. It said predators around here were cleaning up the carrion.

Her stomach dipped. Samantha saw the doomed press secretary on the sofa again, heard the single shot. The compound was fifty miles behind her, but Pat’s grotesque face was a daily companion.

“You won’t last as long as he did if you don’t do this, Sammi.” She could only hope this drastic action would succeed. Bandages and supplies were spread out next to her; flames were roaring in the fireplace at her booted feet. Samantha pulled her cap over her long braid. “It’s time to shoot, Luke, or give up the gun.”

Samantha, who had once created useful technology for the government and saved the life of a president, picked up the hot knife. A second blade glowed in the fire. A shoelace was tied around her upper thigh, cutting off circulation. She clenched her teeth as she pinched up the swollen flesh around the stinking wound. Thick, yellow clots gushed out and rolled down her thigh.

“Don’t need someone to ride the river with.” The leg of her sweatpants was cut away from the thigh to the knee. If she passed out, she wouldn’t freeze to death. “It’s do or die time, Sammi.”

The steel in her spine stiffened into an iron bar. After a quick prayer that she had no faith in, Sam drew in a deep breath and pushed the glowing knife against her leg.

It sank into her flesh like it was butter.

She screamed as pain raced up her leg. White and yellow pus shot out, followed by scarlet streams.

She cut again, hoarse cry never completely stopping as a chunk of her leg slid to the sticky floor.

Stomach and teeth clenched, the sobbing woman forced her shaking hands to drop the knife and grab the full, open bottle of rubbing alcohol.

Sam dumped it over the bleeding wound, still screaming. She snatched up the second knife before the agony could overwhelm her. Tears blurred her vision as she shoved the red-hot end over the gaping, bleeding hole.

Her lungs were raw before she stopped shouting.

Sam used the iron twice more to be sure she had closed the odd, deep wound. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest, but nothing else except the flames that had become her leg. She dropped the bloody metal into the fire and grasped the syringe of morphine with jerking fingers.

She gave herself half of the green liquid; the pain immediately sank down into a monster she could tolerate. The morphine was powerful, consuming. She was unprepared for the strength as it made her mind swim.

When she thought she had herself under control, Samantha shot a generous dose of antibiotics into her thigh and then sat still, trying to stay awake. She was afraid of the wound breaking open and terrified of her dreams. Melvin and Henry were her companions most nights, often joined by the press secretary from the bunker. She knew it was just her mind sorting through it all, but she couldn’t help being afraid. If this surgery succeeded, she might make it to Cheyenne by April Fools’ Day. If it didn’t, she would die here.

Pain came in thick waves, stealing her breath. Samantha reflected on her Seattle office as a distraction. She had spent more time there than in the condo she’d inherited from her parents. She hadn’t been a public member of the weather service, just a computer message they had been told to listen to no matter what their own data said. She’d been well treated, with a home office full of luxuries designed to keep her happy and working.

“Prize rat in a cushy run,” she slurred, crying. I was part of the problem. Some of this is my fault.

Samantha slumped against the bed of cushions and pillows she’d made.

Outside, snow began to fall.

2

Wwhhhoooo!

Sam moaned in agony before her eyes were even open, hands going to her wound. She screamed as clumsy fingers found the raw, angry flesh of her leg.

Sam jerked awake. She took shallow, rapid breaths as she slammed the needle into her other thigh, shoving in the rest of the morphine. Her empty stomach churned. She gagged. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Sam concentrated on holding in her guts as the pain started to sink back down.

After a moment, she pried her lids open. Cleanup had to be done. An animal outside had woken her. The mess was already drawing predators, even though she could hear wind beating against the cabin. Her dream flashed. A blizzard was coming. Places on the edge of the storm would experience sudden temperature drops. The war’s death count was about to climb.

As if to prove her point, the storm picked up; freezing rain slammed against the windows.

Sam jumped at a blur in the corner. Squinting, her blurry vision told her it wasn’t a threat. The long mouse appeared normal.

Samantha forced herself to use the bedpan, leg flaring at each jar and wobble. She cleaned herself with alcohol pads, relieved to see the infection lines were already lighter.

She forced herself to drink a cup of water and eat a pack of stale peanut butter crackers. She also tossed one into the corner for the mouse to find.

Samantha missed the fire. She hated shivering in the dark, but she wasn’t up to the effort required to relight it. For now, she had a big stack of blankets and a couple of flashlights. That would have to be enough.

Sam took another half syringe of morphine. She tugged the covers over herself with numb hands. “I’ll rest a while and then I’ll be okay.”

She told herself that repeatedly, needing comfort now that loneliness had caught up on her solitary journey. Samantha had finally come to hate the constant silence of the new world. She needed to be with people again. As soon as she was able, she would get on her way to Cheyenne and the EPA weather shelter that was there. She would check it out and stock it for the winter, then make it her hideout. She couldn’t help hoping other survivors would be there, but she knew that was too much to ask for. All roads lead to death now. It’s just a matter of how we get there.