Chapter 3: Preparations

August 2026

Clark knew they could not get through the winter without additional food supplies and adequate clothing. He was worried about them falling victim to the spring “starving time” when they would need more calories to hunt, gather food and eventually plant a garden. He talked about going down the mountain to see what he could scavenge.

On their way up to the cabin along the gravel road, they had passed a few houses that he thought might still harbor food supplies, as well as tools and other useful things. Clark also remembered seeing an apple orchard across from a farmhouse.

In the meantime, they made small repairs and patched up crevices between the logs of the cabin with sticky mud from the bathing pool and moss to avoid heat from escaping. The girls gathered dry fallen leaves and pine needle boughs to close off the crawl space around the cabin and insulate the floor from the bitter cold.

They hung a drying pole from the ceiling over the wood stove to dry washed socks and other small pieces of clothing, but used an outdoor wash line to dry larger ones like jeans and bedlinen that still dripped water.

They also gathered seasoned, dry wood and dragged it to the clearing. Clark set about chopping a cord every week which would last a month. He hoped to have it all finished before the first snowfall.

It was a monumental task for which he and the girls were physically unprepared and had little to no practical experience. The hot days of summer were brutal, and progress was slow and exhausting.

Between gathering and chopping wood, they opened up a foot path along the trickle of water to make the hike up and down the mountain quicker and safer. They set aside a stretch of ten or twenty yards each time, working their way uphill, clearing away fallen branches, rocks, and thick layers of leaves. It took them several weeks to complete the project. Clark’s ranger friend would have been proud of their team conservation effort.

Relying on his engineering and land surveying know-how, Clark promised that eventually he would construct trail steps using split logs and wooden stakes in sections where the incline was a bit too steep.

Between rests, Clark taught the girls simple things that in the City were inconsequential, relying on sayings he learned from his grandparents like “leaves of three, let them be” to identify poison ivy. Most important of all, he taught them how to handle the shotgun and pistol. He wanted to make sure the girls could defend themselves in case of an emergency.

His ranger friend had received reports of sightings of black bears far to the north and west in the forest preserve, but they could be closer now that the area was unpopulated by humans. If they were, they most likely would be down below foraging for food, putting on fat, before seeking higher ground to hibernate.

September 2026

The first Canadian geese appeared in the sky flying south bringing with them a changing climate. The days were getting shorter and it rained more often followed by cooler weather. Clark presumed they were in the month of September, and they really had little time to waste. He was restlessly eager to go on his adventure, leaving early one morning and promising to be back before supper.

“What if you don’t come back?” Katie asked with anguish in her voice. “What will happen to us?”

For a moment, Clark had some misgivings about leaving the girls alone. His thoughts turned to his rifle strapped to his back, and the things he could do with it. “I will be back. Stop worrying,” he tried to sound confident and dispel her fears.

They gave each other long hugs and words of encouragement before he descended the mountain. Katie held onto him the longest like she didn’t want him to go. Clark reached to touch her chin and turn her face up to his. Her eyes were moist almost in tears.

“I’ll bring back the biggest, reddest, juiciest apple for you if you promise not to worry,” he said planting a kiss on her forehead and trying to reassure her that everything would be all right.

Katie smiled and loosened her grip around him.

“I love you girls,” he said and started walking away, waving.

“Love you too, Daddy,” Sally shouted, waving back, like he was leaving to report for weekend guard duty.

Katie stood there for several minutes until she could no longer see nor hear Clark. “Please God, bring him back safe.”

Sally was moved with emotion seeing how much Katie cared about her dad. She was probably still feeling the trauma of losing both her parents. Sally thought about her mother who was killed in similar violent circumstances. She was fortunate, however, to still have her dad which helped to overcome the grief. Sally tried to comfort Katie, telling her that it was alright to feel like he was her daddy, too.

Clark descended the mountain in less than half the time it took to climb it three months ago with the girls. Soon he reached the place where he had seen the apple orchard. First, he made sure he wasn’t being followed or watched. Cautiously, he circled the house. The tall, dry grass looked undisturbed and there were no other signs that anyone was there or had been there for quite some time. Even a Christmas wreath with a big red bow was still hanging on the front door.

He marched over to the barn. It was built with troughs and stanchions to hold cows, but was surprised to see stalls, bridles, saddles, and grooming supplies. Piles of spherical shaped droppings, or road apples as his Grandpa called them, were signs that the barn was used not long ago to keep horses.

Strange sounds came from the hayloft, and he was even more surprised to find chickens. They were busy scratching for something to peck at among the small, separate stacks of hay bales. The chickens appeared to be the last standing survivors, abandoned by whoever lived here. The hay still looked green and smelled fresh from the previous summer. The chickens definitely seemed satisfied with it.

His next stop was to check out the apple orchard. The trees badly needed pruning. The orchard wasn’t large with only about a dozen rows or so and Clark could clearly see where the orchard ended.

There appeared to be only two types: a green variety and a red one. The green were too tart for his taste, but picked a few of the less scabby ones for the girls to try. The red variety had no blemishes whatsoever and was sweet, crisp and juicy. He ate a couple while picking and filled the two backpacks in no time. He returned to the barn to leave his stash to go explore the house.

All the doors - front, side, and back - were securely locked including the cellar bulkhead. A big, old rusty padlock grinned defiantly at him. However, it was no match for a chisel and sledge hammer he found in the tool shed in the barn. The lock broke and Clark lifted open the doors to a stone stairwell that led down to another door. Each stoop was worn smooth from decades of use.

The cellar door was short and Clark had to duck his head to enter into the dark bowels of the house, advancing slowly, brushing cobwebs out of the way. He was met by the musty scent of withered vegetables and cool dampness. Fresh air swept into the darkness and the stone walls breathed again.

As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, objects began to appear, old wooden barrels and crates, wicker baskets, stoneware crocks, shelves lined with vegetable and fruit preserves in glass jars perfectly aligned and labeled. Most of the raw vegetables like carrots, cabbage heads and potatoes were shriveled or spoiled. Across the cold stone floor, hiding in the shadows against the back wall were steps that led up into the house.

He quietly scaled the steps and found himself entering a spacious kitchen. It looked untouched and smelled of apple pie. A vintage cast iron wood burning stove stood in contrast to all the modern cabinets and kitchen appliances one could imagine. It looked like a time machine if it hadn’t been for a red whistling tea kettle patiently waiting on top to let off some steam.

Before scouring the cabinets for food, Clark quickly roamed the downstairs to make sure he wasn’t intruding on anyone. His ears strained to catch any sign of activity, any life that might still be present.

The kitchen connected to a formal dining room by way of a walk-through pantry. The dining room was complete with a large oval table and eight high-back chairs. In the center of the table under a large ornate chandelier was a beautiful bouquet of artificial silk flowers of greens and yellows. An elaborate Persian rug covered most of the hardwood floor. A china cabinet was framed by paintings depicting scenic landscapes and natural still life, tastefully providing just the right ambience for a delicious dinner. The dishes inside were symmetrically arranged, their gold trim gleaming. A fine layer of unsmudged dust had settled on the table, dulling its smooth surface, assuring him no one was there.

The dining room led into a carpeted living room where a six-foot, artificial Christmas tree still stood before the window looking out over the front yard. The room was quaint with a folksy country décor and charm. It was nearly as large as the cabin and had a fieldstone fireplace built into one of the corners. Framed pictures of various sizes depicting couples, kids, weddings and other memorable family events were generously displayed over the fireplace mantle, atop an upright piano, and on every end table.

Two sofas, an overstuffed recliner, cabinets, and even a vintage grandfather clock stuck in time completed the furnishings. Everything was carefully coordinated and neatly arranged to reflect an old-fashioned character of its residents. Clark felt like he had been transported back in time and stood in his grandparents’ house. A flat screen television was the only contemporary piece, standing smartly, but mum atop a vintage console. The contrast couldn’t have been more obvious.

The living room led out to a main hallway with a vestibule at one end and stairs leading to the second floor at the other. Across from him were sliding doors that opened up to a very formal, private chamber with a thick Persian rug over a dark hardwood floor.

The entire wall to his left contained a library with a vast collection of books. Two chairs, each with their own floor reading lamps and a small end table between the two were arranged in front of a side window directly across from the entrance. This part of the house was probably the parlor ages ago turned into a cozy reading room.

To his right, a large bay window with laced curtains framed a curvaceous, traditional chaise lounge sofa with cushions, suitable for an Egyptian queen. Large emerald green ceramic vases stood on either side like bookends, their exotic plants sadly withered and bone dry.

A vintage roll top bureau stood next to the wall-to-wall bookshelves. Pictures of serious-looking people in ornate frames hung like metals of honor over the fancy writing desk. They were mostly black and white with tones of sepia probably taken when the first cameras were invented. The only item lying on the desk was a thick Bible. Its edges worn at the corners and the pages yellowed with age.

What really grabbed Clark’s attention was a large wooden storage trunk sitting in the far corner of the room. Each furniture piece appeared to be a family heirloom, but the trunk looked like a sixteenth century pirate chest. The corners, sides and all around were banded with embossed metal strips. The lid was locked. He tried to lift the trunk by one of the side handles to see how heavy it felt. It wouldn’t budge and he quickly abandoned his curiosity for treasure.

He exited the parlor and tiptoed upstairs. A few steps creaked under his weight making his approach less than stealthy.

Carefully, he opened the door right across from the landing. It was a girl’s bedroom with a pink, brightly colored floral patchwork quilt on a perfectly made antique queen size bed, as if the girl who slept here was expected any minute from school. It sat three feet off the floor, which was good for storage, but atrocious for getting in and out without the aid of a foot stool. Boy bands on posters tacked to the wall stared at him. Sally and Katie would probably recognize them, and he wondered where the bands like the LMNT of his youth had gone. The room also contained a bunk bed with miniature toy farm animals arranged on the top like a Nativity scene.

Past the bathroom was another bedroom. It contained a huge round braided rug laid out before a daybed smothered with cushions. A sewing machine and a solid oak Shaker style armoire occupied one of the walls. On the seat of a cozy recliner lay an unfinished crocheting project its yarn trailing down to a ball of yarn in a colorful glass bowl resting on the floor like a sleeping cat.

The bathroom with its bright tile floor was spacious, accommodating an old-fashioned bathtub with claw feet sitting proudly across from the door.

Towards the front of the house, there were two more bedrooms. In the larger of the two, a king-sized four-poster bed and companion nightstands complete with tiffany lamps stood facing a large bay window overlooking the front yard. A handmade quilt of patriotic colors and symbols gave him the impression that he was a guest standing in a bed-and-breakfast home.

The smell of mothballs irritated his nose as he began opening drawers to find them filled with clothing neatly folded and arranged. Elegant dresses, suits, shirts, and more hung in the walk-in closet, their colors and styling a bit out of fashion. It confirmed his earlier suspicion that the place belonged to an elderly couple who had either passed away or had given up on the old family homestead.

The bedroom next door was not as large and arranged for a married son or daughter with kids who would visit to spend summers or holidays with the elderly couple. There were plenty of bed linens, blankets and comforters, as well as lots of shirts, underwear, socks, pants, shorts and dresses. He took a duffel bag from the closet and helped himself to some thick knee-high socks for the girls and thermal underwear for himself. He planned on returning with the girls so that they could pick out what they liked. He learned early that women are finicky when it came to choosing clothes.

On his way back downstairs, he took another look in the bathroom where he found towels, a couple of unused tubes of toothpaste, some toothbrushes, razors, soap, toilet paper, and feminine hygiene pads. A stack of thick towels in an upright storage cabinet captured his senses and he felt compelled to grab two wrap-around bath towels for the girls.

Then, a thought dawned on him. He had never noticed the girls having their monthly periods and decided to take several pads, too. The girls’ reaction might shed some light.

He stuffed the duffle bag with the bath towels, hygiene pads, and a few toiletries and headed for the kitchen to refocus on the purpose of his visit.

There, Clark combed through every shelf, cabinet and drawer, especially the pantry, which had the aura of a general country store filled with temptations. He found cans of food, sugar, salt, spices, rice, beans and spaghetti in an assortment of glass jars and plastic containers. He placed everything on the kitchen table to get an idea of the extent of the treasure trove he had found. The rumblings of an empty stomach made his mouth start to water.

There was nothing big enough to hold and carry away the unexpected cornucopia of delights. However, staring at him from the wall next to the old wood burning kitchen stove was a large galvanized metal washtub. Both were probably kept as keepsakes of the past. Clark knew that he and the girls needed something better than a pail to do laundry and take baths during the coming cold months. The old tub was an ideal solution to kill two birds with one stone.

He also piled food on top of a tablecloth and pulled the corners together, tying them to make a large hobo bindle for easy carrying. The girls could decide later which kitchen utensils were useful and needed.

Winter clothing was still on his mind and he stepped over to the door of what looked like the mudroom. Hanging next to the door above the key rack was a calendar. It was open to the month of January of the current year 2026, with notes scribbled next to the first seven days complaining that there was no electricity, the phone wasn’t working, and the car wouldn’t start. On day eight, a note read “Leaving with Jake.” There were no other notes after that.

The mudroom had a few jackets and boots, but the hallway closet was filled with real winter clothes, coats, and artic jackets with parkas in adult and younger sizes. He grabbed another duffle bag and filled it with jackets, boots, gloves, and colorful scarves for Sally and Katie.

He brought the washtub with food, the two duffle bags and the bindle with food out to the barn where he had left the two backpacks filled with apples. He knew he couldn’t carry everything up the mountain. He had to hide some things and come back for them in a day or two.

As he turned to leave the hayloft a couple of frightened chickens sped past him and ran off in different directions. Another idea flashed through his mind. He counted about a half dozen of the feathery birds. If he could catch three and a rooster, he and the girls could have fresh eggs every day for breakfast and save some of the MRE’s. He spotted a hemp sack and started chasing after them.

It took him nearly an hour to catch the best looking ones. The rooster was a bit scrawny and gave in quickly to the chase. Clark himself was winded and sweaty. He stuffed two of the feathery birds into separate sacks and tied the openings together to make it easier for him to carry them.

Clark emptied the two backpacks of apples and filled them with food, topping them off with a few apples. He put the bundles of food in the washtub and hid everything under a pile of hay bales. He also buried the duffle bag containing the bath towels under the same pile. The only thing he removed were the hygiene pads which he stuffed inside the boots.

Finally, with one backpack in front and the other on his back, the duffle bag with winter clothes in one hand and the sacks with the cackling chickens in the other, Clark marched back to the road and up the mountain. Occasionally, he stopped not only to catch his breath, but also to make sure he wasn’t being followed. It was imperative to be constantly on the alert.

AFTER NEARLY TEN HOURS, he arrived back at the cabin like Santa Claus brimming with gifts. The cabin was abuzz with excitement. Sally and Katie each devoured an apple like candy on Halloween night as they listened to Clark’s adventure and watched him remove the clothing from the duffle bag one piece at a time followed by lots of ooh’s and ah’s. The girls put on the gloves, the scarves and the jackets. They looked like they were ready to go out to make a snowman.

Clark said he had one more thing and fumbled around in the duffle bag to create suspense. He removed two boots, a red one and a purple one and handed them to Katie. Then he removed the other two, a red one and a purple one and gave them to Sally. The girls looked puzzled.

“Oops, you might want to trade. I wasn’t sure which color either one of you liked most.”

“Well,” Sally offered an opinion, “the red boots go well with the maroon colored gloves, and the purple ones, with the blue gloves.”

“Before you try them on, make sure there’s nothing inside,” Clark warned, holding back his curiosity as the girls made the exchange.

Katie pulled out a handful of packets from one boot and studied them closely. “What are these?”

“I haven’t seen these in ages,” Sally proclaimed looking at her packets. “Now we don’t have to use our socks every month.”

Katie’s face turned red like the boots she was holding. She looked away from Clark. It became clear as a bell to him, that the girls were having their monthlies and had found an unusual, but practical solution for their feminine needs.