One in a Million
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2019 by Cutlass

A dog barked somewhere in the distance, and I looked up from my impromptu workbench to scan the area. My propane-powered delivery truck used a special connector to refuel, and I was building an adapter to fuel from portable propane tanks. There was no Internet, so I was working from my own knowledge, along with a bit of trial and error.

Propane was both readily available, and it did not deteriorate with time, so it fit my needs. As long as my truck remained mechanically sound, I could drive it wherever I wanted to go. The next question was, where would I want to go?

I sat down on the pickup tailgate that I was using as a workbench, and looked up at the sky. It had rained the night before, and low clouds moved on a light breeze from the southeast. It was a typical spring day in Houston, much like many others I’d experienced.

At first glance, the subdivision around me looked normal, too. A closer look, though, revealed some. The lawns were uncut, the grass standing nearly knee high in places; garage doors and house doors stood open, and I was the only person left alive in the community.

It had been two weeks since I’d seen another living person, a young woman lying in a home two blocks from where I sat. She’d died the morning after I found her, and her body was completely gone by the following day. She had taken a little of the water I’d offered, but she was beyond any help. All that remained was her clothing and two handfuls of dust, just like my wife and everyone else I’d seen die.

Three months ago, my life had been, if not perfect, then satisfying to my wife and me. We had been married for eight years, and we had decided to not have children. We operated a small bakery, where my wife did the baking, and I made the deliveries and helped with the store front. We had a satisfying niche in one of Houston’s trendy downtown neighborhoods, which provided us a good living.

Then, one morning, I noticed an odd rash on my wife’s forehead and cheeks. By that afternoon, she was so weak I had to carry her to the car. I rushed to the nearest clinic, only to find dozens of other people with the same symptoms. I checked online, and every social media outlet was flooded with similar reports. The student nurse that examined her said that the doctors were completely mystified, and that they had no treatments that worked. All of the hospitals and emergency rooms were completely overrun, and so I took my wife home.

Over the next two days, she became weaker and weaker, until she could barely walk or eat. Then, I became violently ill with vomiting, diarrhea, fever, and chills. I was so sick that my wife tried to care for me. She had none of my symptoms, but she still had the strange rash and debilitating weakness. We did what we could for each other over the next two days. The worst of my symptoms passed, but my wife’s did not. By evening, she was unable to walk or eat, and all I was able to do was have her drink a little water.

At ten forty-five in the evening of the fifth day, my wife died in my arms. By morning, all that was left of her body was about two pounds of gray powder. I carefully gathered it into a decorative jar and stored it in my closet until I could find some way to make her a memorial.

I recovered quickly from my own symptoms, but others weren’t so fortunate. The Internet was so inundated with reports from all over the world that the service collapsed in some areas. My neighbors came down with the illness in droves, and the nightly news carried stories of a pandemic of a magnitude that no one had ever even imagined. There were no treatments, and no cure. Oddly, no one else reported vomiting, fevers, or the rest of what I’d experienced. The killer symptoms were a rash and a general weakness that worsened until the victim died.

By the beginning of the second week, it was far too dangerous to venture out. So, I stayed in our subdivision and, along with a few armed neighbors, patrolled our little area to keep rioters and looters at bay. The show of force worked most of the time, but by the third week, we’d shot a dozen people who simply didn’t care if they lived or died. Many of my neighbors fell sick and died, too. They all said to take what they had for those of us who were still healthy. The worst part was the children. They perished within three days of the rash’s appearance, weakening quickly as the disease took its course.

After the sixth week, the utility services began to shut down for lack of manpower. Nearly all businesses were shuttered, including the petroleum plants that lined the coast. I spent my time gathering supplies, especially propane tanks for my vehicle and generators. My neighbors’ empty houses yielded food, weapons, ammo and other supplies, and I gathered the surviving neighbors into the empty houses closest to mine, so I could help them.

By the time my last neighbor died, everything was shut down. There was no electrical power, no natural gas service, no phone service, and no Internet. Before the lights went out, the local television station, manned only by one of the cameramen, broadcast that they were going off the air. His face was covered in the now-familiar rash, and he talked in gasping breaths as he said goodbye.

When everything went dark, I thought of just putting my rifle’s muzzle under my chin, and ending it all. Something, somewhere inside of me, stopped me. I was not sick. Surely, I couldn’t be the only healthy person on the planet. Of course, I could contract the disease and die, too, but I was still here. Maybe it was stubbornness, or just pure hubris, but I refused to simply give up like so many others had.

So, I continued on with the business of living. This was a new world, and I had to learn the rules if I wished to survive. Although the humans were gone, the animals were not. I’d seen groups of dogs wandering about, and I knew better than to dismiss them as lost pets. Prudence demanded that I be armed at all times, and that my home be well protected.

As nice as it was, my suburban home made a poor fort, and I’d spent the last four days investigating several industrial buildings in the area. I’d found a building late yesterday that fit my needs. It was solidly built with concrete walls and a steel roof, all designed to survive a hurricane. It had a garage area with a rollup door and an office area that would work nicely as my new home.

As I worked on the propane fuel system, I thought about my next steps. By now, most of the gasoline in the area was useless, so that made most of the cars and trucks available to me useless, as well. The diesel powered vehicles would be reliable for another eight or nine months, and then their fuel would deteriorate, too. After that, propane would be the only choice for vehicle fuel. Breaking down or worse, running out of fuel would be a death sentence with no one around to help, so I was very careful about that.

I had salvaged three diesel powered pickups from my neighborhood, and I could refuel all of them at a business’s vehicle maintenance facility close to my new home. With the trucks, I planned to move everything I could salvage from my subdivision. I’d have to abandon the trucks, since the new home was ten miles away, and I refused to risk riding in anything smaller than my delivery truck, just in case I broke down and needed a temporary base with supplies.

I sniffed, which startled me, and then I felt the tears running down my cheeks. I had not cried during the whole ordeal, not once. Maybe I was too focused on survival, or maybe I pushed the grief away. Now though, I sat on that tailgate and started to cry, and then to weep. I screamed at God in my grief and fury – and then it started to rain.

The cold water shocked me, and then I didn’t care anymore. I sat there screaming and cursing while the rain shower soaked me to the skin. How long I sat there, I don’t know. Finally, I took a breath and sat up straight.

“Hello?”

I scrabbled for my rifle, bringing it up reflexively as I jumped off the tailgate. I saw two women standing twenty feet away, with one half hidden behind the taller one. Neither of them had any visible weapons, and they were obviously startled at my reaction. I lowered my rifle and pointed it to the side. “Sorry,” I said, my voice rusty from disuse and all the screaming I’d done. “Is there anyone else with you?”

The taller woman shook her head. “No, you’re the first person we’ve seen in two weeks.”

I looked at her more closely. She was probably in her late twenties, nearly my height at something around 5’10”, and she wore BDUs that concealed her figure, but fit her. She had a medium complexion and dark eyes that spoke of her Hispanic heritage, but she had only a trace of an accent. The other girl was some 4” shorter, African-American, and very slim. I guessed her age at thirteen or so. “Where did you come from?”

“Can we go in the garage and talk,” the woman asked. “I don’t want to get sick out here from the rain.”

“Are you armed?” They both shook their heads. “Okay, let’s go, but keep your hands where I can see them, okay? I promise that I won’t hurt you in any way.” I led them through the open garage door, grabbed three lawn chairs, arranged them in a circle, and pointed to them. “Please, sit.”

They both had small packs, and they slipped them off and sat down. I set my rifle on the floor by my chair, and sat also. “I’m Norm Ayers, and this is my home,” I began, “although I’m in the process of moving. What brings you here?”

“I’m Abby Vernon, and this is Chanelle Wells. I’m a middle school teacher from Baytown, and Chanelle is a student from a nearby district. I found her a week ago, and we decided to try driving to my mother’s house in Galveston. My apartment complex burned down three weeks ago, and I’ve had to scavenge for food and other stuff. Our car broke down on the highway, and we started walking. We heard you screaming, and we came to see who you were.”

“I could be a serial killer,” I answered calmly.

Abby shook her head. “You might be, but they aren’t known for screaming at God over losing their wife and friends.”

“I’m not dangerous,” I said with a smile. I hadn’t smiled in three months, and it felt odd to me. “It’s really hard being all alone, and thinking that you’re the only one left.”

“How can we trust you?” Chanelle asked with suspicion plain on her face.

“We might well be the only people left alive in the Houston area,” I replied with a shrug. “And, if there are more people, we’d be better off together.” I pointed at my rifle. “I’m armed, and I have more guns, too.”

“I hate guns,” Abby said. “I was in the Air Force, but I messed with them only when I had to.”

“I wasn’t a big shooter, either, but I think they’re a good idea, now. Even if there are no more people, the animals will become a problem. I’ve seen dogs starting to pack up, and that’s not something you want to face without a good firearm.”

“Dogs?” Chanelle looked out the door. “Aren’t they just pets?”

“They were,” I replied calmly. “They will do what they have to to survive, and their instinct is to form packs. We’re talking about doing the same thing, after all.”

“We need to change clothes,” Abby said. “All of us. We have some dry clothes in our packs, and you need to change, too. We can’t afford to be sick.”

I stood and picked up my rifle. “Come inside. You can use the guest room to change, and I can heat some water if you want to bathe.” I led the way inside, handed each of them a rechargeable LED lantern, and showed them the facilities. “If you use the toilet, dump the water from that bucket into the tank for the next customer.”

A half hour later, we sat around a table I’d arranged in the garage. I’d made sandwiches from bread I’d baked the day before, sliced shelf stable cheese, and canned ham. “I never liked this cheese before, but I think this is the best meal I’ve ever eaten,” Abby said as she sipped at her warm canned drink.

“What do you think, Chanelle?” I sipped my own cola.

“It’s good. I didn’t eat this stuff before, though. Are we going to die?” She stared into her plate, not looking at either of us.

“I don’t really know,” I replied evenly. “We can probably find enough food to last us a good while. I don’t know about any other people who might be left, though. But, unless we get badly hurt or really sick, we should be okay.”

“But, what about later?” Her voice was almost pleading.

“Honey, we just don’t know.” Abby reached out to touch her hand. “This is all new to us, too. We’re scared, too.” The girl looked up, and Abby nodded. “Yes, we are scared. We don’t have the answers, and we don’t know for how long we can keep finding what we need to live. I’m sorry.”

“What do we do for now?”

“First, we eat lunch,” I said with a smile. “Then, we move this stuff to a new place I found that’s better than staying here.” I thought of something. “Can you drive?”

“What?” Abby jerked her head to look at me. “She’s twelve!”

“Cool!” Chanelle exclaimed.

“Abby, I don’t think the police or the other drivers on the road will mind. The truck will survive the odd dent, too.”

Abby smirked. “Okay, so you have a point. What’s the rush in teaching her?”

I sighed. “She needs to learn how to survive, Abby.” I looked at Chanelle. “Starting after lunch, we will begin teaching you how to live out here. You need to know how to drive, which means learning to put fuel in the vehicles. You also need to have a gun, and learn to shoot them.”

“Cool!” Chanelle repeated with a grin.

Abby inhaled sharply, and I looked at her. “There are no police, no army, no one to call for help,” I said gently. “You know how to shoot, right?”

“Do you know that I’ve spent the last decade on the side of ‘sensible gun control’?” Abby shook her head and pointed at my AR-15, which was leaning against a nearby cabinet. “We wouldn’t have any of those had I succeeded.”

“From what I saw on the Internet before it went down, politics doesn’t matter anymore. We’re all just trying to survive.”

“I wouldn’t have expected that response from a gun owner.”

I nodded. “I can understand that. Before they all died, my neighbors and I shot some looters who came into this subdivision. If we hadn’t been armed, it would have been ugly. Not that it mattered much in the end for them.”

Abby touched my arm, and I looked into her dark eyes as I felt something stir inside me. “Norm, I’m sorry that you’ve had to go through all that.”

“Well, I’m still alive, and I’d like to stay that way.” I took a breath. “Let’s finish lunch, and then I’ll show you our new place.”

“Are we staying here?” Chanelle asked brightly.

Abby tilted her head and regarded me. “I don’t know. Are we staying here, Norm?”

“Uh,” I started, and then closed my mouth. “I’d, um, hoped you’d consider it, anyway.”

Abby’s giggle was infectious, and I grinned back at her as she laughed. “You could at least ask first.”

I stood and pushed my chair back. Bowing deeply, I intoned: “If you ladies would be so kind as to grace me with your presence for the indefinite and uncertain future, I would be so very muchly honored.”

Chanelle giggled, covering her mouth with one hand. Abby sat back and crossed her arms, while a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “That’ll do. We accept.”

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