Dead Country (Book #1)

Chapter 23: Winter Torment

Coyotes howled outside under the darkened sky, stars scattered throughout like any other typical night when the sky was void of clouds. I laid in bed, unable to sleep as my mind raced. Time had been passing by so quickly lately. My dad proved that undeniably the day before his birthday. With everything that had happened in close succession, days didn't really matter. They lost their meaning as we battled through more and more struggles. The only thing a calendar and dates would be good for was recalling when things happened to mark an anniversary – a death anniversary, more than likely.

Mom had been gone for about two months now, her fingers and ring finally marked by the gravestone I had painted. The flowers we originally planted to mark the grave stood behind the large oval stone. I had found it on one of my scouting trips, but kept it a complete secret until I was able to bring it inside the house without my dad seeing. Knowing him, it would have looked suspicious for me to be carrying a large smooth stone into the house without question.

I was now peering out the kitchen window by the sink. Since the patio door was still covered with plywood – and would remain that way for quite some time – I was forced to lean over the sink and peer upward to catch a glimpse of the night sky. The coyotes that were yapping earlier had settled down, but my mind still hadn't.

There were no more current news reports on television, and the radio – although fixed again by my dad – still wasn't picking up anything. We were flying blind, so to speak. It didn't bother me that we were left alone out in the country, but I felt like I was changing, and not in a good way. Things were taking a toll on me.

A couple weeks later the weather was still getting worse. Strong winds were becoming more and more present, cold air becoming the norm. Leaves on every tree in the area were changing colour. The large tree near the garden actually looked beautiful with the mixture of colours. I fancied the red leaves that had fallen onto the cultivated soil, some beginning to turn brown with black spots. Not entirely sure what I would do with them, I collected a few that caught my eye and sandwiched them in an old phone book that never got used. Maybe I was drawn to them because they symbolized what I was seeing, or feeling with the world being turned upside down. The red was blood, and also life; the browning edges represented the decaying world around us, and the black dots were the virus.

I never told my dad about how I was feeling. We never really spoke much about emotions, or one's mental state. Maybe I should have... but then, he would have been burdened with the fear that resided within me: what was I becoming because of this new world?

Winter neared ever so closely each passing day. With no forecasts being made, all we could rely on were weather applications on our phones. That was if they were still accurate of course, which they didn't seem to be. We tested them as we waited for winter to arrive, but they didn't match up. Despite the internet still being available, updates were not. Our phones became outdated as the days progressed, leaving me to wonder if there was even a point to having access to something if it didn't properly serve its function anymore.

When the snow finally began to fall, it was mid-afternoon. By the time the sun had completely disappeared behind the horizon, there was a blanket of white covering everything outside. As scary and crippling as the virus and undead were, the falling snow made the world look beautiful again. It covered up the pile of ashes in the field across from the house, hiding the ugly side of what our life had become.

My dad and I had been cooped up inside for so long that I had upped the frequency of my workouts. Not only was I doing stretches with a band for my old work injury, I had now incorporated some cardio exercises, as well as increased my weight routine. Sculpting my body was a lot easier than I had originally thought, but I couldn't workout all day long.

Bundled up with snow shovels in hand, we waited for the garage door to open. A chilling wind blew inward, caressing us in welcoming fashion. It probably didn't feel overly welcoming for my dad, but I loved the cold, especially since it now meant no more zombies.

Our last encounter with zombies was a complete massacre. We had physically survived it... – mentally, now that was a different story. Neither my dad, nor I spoke much of what bothered us deep down. I knew we both missed my mom, but aside from that, I had no idea how my dad was coping.

Shoveling the few inches of snow from the driveway was a nice distraction. If we needed to leave for some reason, we had the option. Snow tires had long been swapped, the summers stacked just inside the garage next to the wall-mounted bicycles. When I was working full-time, I didn't have time to go riding. Walking in after clearing the driveway, I was reminded of how much I missed the activity.

"Maybe we can go riding in the summer." Forcing words through the scarf wrapped around my face.

"Maybe," my dad replied. "Let's make it through winter first."

Even though he was just being realistic, it would have been nice if he had endorsed the idea a bit more. Having something to look forward to would help us get through the winter much easier. I guess he didn't see things the same way as I did, either that, or he was struggling with the mental changes the apocalypse was having on him.

As winter pushed further into our lives, drowning out the memories of zombies, the virus, and the things that we had to do to survive, my dad and I finally gravitated toward one another. We started watching movies together again, as well as television series like The Walking Dead. The likes of Star Wars and Jean-Claude Van Damme movies were also included, entertaining us through the long winter nights.

During the day I would do workouts, making sure my body stayed in shape and my shoulder injury didn't get aggravated again. Sometimes I would read books, or play video games, or even sort through old papers I had stashed away in boxes in my closet. CDs that I hadn't listened to in years were pulled from the rack and played one after the other as I passed the time. And despite being a horrible painter, I also began creating landscapes on the back of old bank statements and other pieces of paper that had lost value.

I thought it was funny seeing my dad with a beard. He had been so diligent his whole life, maintaining the clean-shaven look. Then one day at breakfast I looked across the table at him as we both ate oatmeal.

"Trying something new?" I asked.

"What?" Scrunching up his face as he put a spoonful in his mouth.

"You're lookin' pretty scruffy."

"Oh..." He rubbed his cheek as he felt his thickening beard. "Yeah," he began with a shrug, "we'll see how long it lasts. I'll probably shave it off if it gets too itchy."

His definition of itchy was not what I expected. As the weeks went by, it grew to a length that resembled what I had on a regular basis during the summer. I always let mine go wild during the winter, so I still looked like an outdoor survivalist compared to him.

One night during the middle of December – yes, I started using my calendar again – I found myself having a very vivid dream:

My mom walked out the door of Laura's house, pulling her keys from her purse. I stood as a witness in the middle of the street as she continued to her car, oblivious to the zombie on the sidewalk to her right. It stumbled along, nearly dragging its feet, bee-lining for my mom.

The car door unlocked with the push of the key fob button, but as my mom opened the door and began to pull her purse off over her shoulder, she became distracted. Laura's arms waved frantically from the living room window, so she waved back.

I yelled out to my mom as the zombie chomped on her fingers, but no sound came from my mouth. She screamed in pain as I shot straight up in bed, sweat covering my entire body. Breathing heavily, I peered around my dark room, the blue light from my wall-mounted charger helping me see the outline of objects. It was just a dream, I told myself. As I laid back down on my pillow, coyotes began yelping loudly outside as if they were in the backyard.