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The Wind that Moved in the Trees
Mar. 13th, 2020 03:01 am1 - The Sound the Winds Made
He could hear the winds moving, high in the trees behind the small house. In the times before, even during the night, there would also have been the sound of an occasional car or truck out on the road in front of the house.
Especially around 2:30 or so, after the bars had closed and the ones who'd answered the last call were heading back into town from the taverns farther out.
Then, and at 5 AM when the earliest deliveries of produce and baked goods were being made to the bars and restaurants and retail stores in town and to the ones down the road from him.
But there was none of that now. Not in the weeks and months since.
Nothing out on the road, nothing since earlier-on when there'd still been the occasional police, fire, or ambulance sirens--whatever they still had a driver for--responding to calls from the small settlement around his house.
And so, for the past few weeks, there'd been only the sound of the winds high in the trees behind the house and he now realized that tonight it was time for him to leave as well.
2 - The Kid on the Bike
The kid arrived at the house just before dawn. It had been windy that night and the wind had made it hard to pedal the bike he'd found abandoned in the park near his mother's house in the village.
He'd never been one to go outside at night. If he was up late--which he frequently was, even when he had school the next day--it was to play video games on his Xbox for a few hours before finally falling asleep.
He'd known his grandfather didn't like hearing about that or about his frequent absences from school or about any of the other things that had slipped away from him, after things had fallen apart at the old house in the city and the boy had moved in with his mother.
So he didn't talk about it much, just made halfhearted excuses for his grades and yawned a lot when he visited his grandfather at the small house where the old man had moved after his wife died.
Now, though, it seemed better to travel at night. There wasn't any traffic to worry about and no one to ask him where he was going or where he was coming from or where he'd gotten the bike.
He doubted, actually, that there'd have been anyone around to ask those questions, even during the day, but he felt that it was better to be sure. He'd never cared to talk much anyway--just with his mother and sister occasionally, but mostly with the old man.
In the times before, the kid would call him on the phone after school and ask the old man to drive him to the house where they'd talk about music and sports and what they'd each been doing earlier in the day. With the old man, it was always the same. He'd gotten up, taken his meds, gone to the gym and then come home.
He'd asked the old man, several times since he'd moved there, why he didn't get a dog to keep him company but the old man had always said that they were too much trouble, he didn't have a fenced-in yard, and he didn't want to leave behind a pet who would outlive him. And so he'd never gotten one, although the kid had mentioned it several times.
And now, since the phones had quit, he hadn't been able to talk to the old man at all, hadn't seen him in several weeks. They'd talked about this, when they knew the sickness was coming, talked about what they might do, what might happen with his mother's family.
They'd talked about it, but never made a real plan. He'd said that if anyone got sick at his mother's house, he'd like to live with the old man like he had before. But that he didn't want to bring the sickness into the old man's house and so, after that, didn't say anything more about it.
The only thing the old man had said was that he didn't care if it ended like that because he'd lived his life for the kid anyway. That if anything did happen, the kid should at least pick up the food and a little money that the old man was keeping for him at the house.
At home, the kid had taken to staying in his room with the door closed, only leaving it to use the bathroom or to search through the nearly empty cupboards and the now-silent refrigerator. And, the last few days, he'd been stuffing a towel along the bottom edge of his door to keep the smell out.
Finally, he'd decided to leave and, passing the park, had found the bike and had ridden it the several miles to the old man's house, up and down the hills in the darkness and against the blowing wind.
3 - The Note
He figured that if he had to leave, he'd better at least write a note for the kid. Tell him what food to grab, tell him where to find the money he'd put aside for him. Tell him how much he'd always cared about him and how much he'd loved his company, especially those last few weeks before TSHTF.
So he wrote the note and left it on the dining room table where they'd always sat when they talked about sports or music or what they'd been doing that day.
He'd decided to do this ahead of time, in case he had to leave in more of a hurry than he might've planned on--because it'd gotten hard to plan much of anything after the sickness had made its way in from the coast, made its way through the cities and towns and villages that lay inland from where the initial onslaught had occurred.
It had been hard for him and the kid to comprehend what people were telling themselves before it had gotten there: that it was really no worse than the flu, that it was a hoax perpetrated by a political party, that it was a plot cooked up in some nameless laboratory with the intent of killing off the older males--after which it would run its course, again like the flu.
The kid had been ridiculed at home for his concerns, for his advocacy of a few sensible things like getting in some extra supplies and enhancing sanitation. And so he'd talked to the old man about it and they'd commiserated over what they were hearing and how nothing was being done by those who had the means to do it..
And so he'd written the note and put it on the table, where they'd had their talks, and ended it the way they'd always ended their phone calls and texts, saying that he loved the kid and hoped that he'd have a good day, a good night, a good always and forever.
4 - The Last Hill
The last hill, in the darkness and wind, had been the worst. It wasn't the steepest--that one was in the first block after he'd turned east from the park, down by his mother's.
But by the time he'd gotten to this one, he was totally spent. He'd always been an athletic kid--his grandfather had watched him play basketball and soccer--and do crazy things on a skateboard--ever since he'd been in kindergarten.
And it wasn't just the hills or the cumulative effect of the miles ridden in the darkness and wind. It was the days and weeks of declining nutrition and the trouble he'd had getting to sleep in the deep silence of his mother's house.
Finally, though, he'd made it, could lean the borrowed bike against the house and open the lock box, between the storm door and the entry door, to which his grandfather had given him the combination. Then, he could use the key inside of it to enter the house.
But as he opened the outer door and leaned towards the lock box, he was immediately repulsed by the same odor that had driven him from his mother's house.
And so he closed the door again and stood, for several moments, listening to the winds as they moved through the trees behind the small house.
Then, without looking again at the door, he pulled the bike from against the house and peddled it back towards the road...
LPK
Dreamwidth
3.13.2020
He could hear the winds moving, high in the trees behind the small house. In the times before, even during the night, there would also have been the sound of an occasional car or truck out on the road in front of the house.
Especially around 2:30 or so, after the bars had closed and the ones who'd answered the last call were heading back into town from the taverns farther out.
Then, and at 5 AM when the earliest deliveries of produce and baked goods were being made to the bars and restaurants and retail stores in town and to the ones down the road from him.
But there was none of that now. Not in the weeks and months since.
Nothing out on the road, nothing since earlier-on when there'd still been the occasional police, fire, or ambulance sirens--whatever they still had a driver for--responding to calls from the small settlement around his house.
And so, for the past few weeks, there'd been only the sound of the winds high in the trees behind the house and he now realized that tonight it was time for him to leave as well.
2 - The Kid on the Bike
The kid arrived at the house just before dawn. It had been windy that night and the wind had made it hard to pedal the bike he'd found abandoned in the park near his mother's house in the village.
He'd never been one to go outside at night. If he was up late--which he frequently was, even when he had school the next day--it was to play video games on his Xbox for a few hours before finally falling asleep.
He'd known his grandfather didn't like hearing about that or about his frequent absences from school or about any of the other things that had slipped away from him, after things had fallen apart at the old house in the city and the boy had moved in with his mother.
So he didn't talk about it much, just made halfhearted excuses for his grades and yawned a lot when he visited his grandfather at the small house where the old man had moved after his wife died.
Now, though, it seemed better to travel at night. There wasn't any traffic to worry about and no one to ask him where he was going or where he was coming from or where he'd gotten the bike.
He doubted, actually, that there'd have been anyone around to ask those questions, even during the day, but he felt that it was better to be sure. He'd never cared to talk much anyway--just with his mother and sister occasionally, but mostly with the old man.
In the times before, the kid would call him on the phone after school and ask the old man to drive him to the house where they'd talk about music and sports and what they'd each been doing earlier in the day. With the old man, it was always the same. He'd gotten up, taken his meds, gone to the gym and then come home.
He'd asked the old man, several times since he'd moved there, why he didn't get a dog to keep him company but the old man had always said that they were too much trouble, he didn't have a fenced-in yard, and he didn't want to leave behind a pet who would outlive him. And so he'd never gotten one, although the kid had mentioned it several times.
And now, since the phones had quit, he hadn't been able to talk to the old man at all, hadn't seen him in several weeks. They'd talked about this, when they knew the sickness was coming, talked about what they might do, what might happen with his mother's family.
They'd talked about it, but never made a real plan. He'd said that if anyone got sick at his mother's house, he'd like to live with the old man like he had before. But that he didn't want to bring the sickness into the old man's house and so, after that, didn't say anything more about it.
The only thing the old man had said was that he didn't care if it ended like that because he'd lived his life for the kid anyway. That if anything did happen, the kid should at least pick up the food and a little money that the old man was keeping for him at the house.
At home, the kid had taken to staying in his room with the door closed, only leaving it to use the bathroom or to search through the nearly empty cupboards and the now-silent refrigerator. And, the last few days, he'd been stuffing a towel along the bottom edge of his door to keep the smell out.
Finally, he'd decided to leave and, passing the park, had found the bike and had ridden it the several miles to the old man's house, up and down the hills in the darkness and against the blowing wind.
3 - The Note
He figured that if he had to leave, he'd better at least write a note for the kid. Tell him what food to grab, tell him where to find the money he'd put aside for him. Tell him how much he'd always cared about him and how much he'd loved his company, especially those last few weeks before TSHTF.
So he wrote the note and left it on the dining room table where they'd always sat when they talked about sports or music or what they'd been doing that day.
He'd decided to do this ahead of time, in case he had to leave in more of a hurry than he might've planned on--because it'd gotten hard to plan much of anything after the sickness had made its way in from the coast, made its way through the cities and towns and villages that lay inland from where the initial onslaught had occurred.
It had been hard for him and the kid to comprehend what people were telling themselves before it had gotten there: that it was really no worse than the flu, that it was a hoax perpetrated by a political party, that it was a plot cooked up in some nameless laboratory with the intent of killing off the older males--after which it would run its course, again like the flu.
The kid had been ridiculed at home for his concerns, for his advocacy of a few sensible things like getting in some extra supplies and enhancing sanitation. And so he'd talked to the old man about it and they'd commiserated over what they were hearing and how nothing was being done by those who had the means to do it..
And so he'd written the note and put it on the table, where they'd had their talks, and ended it the way they'd always ended their phone calls and texts, saying that he loved the kid and hoped that he'd have a good day, a good night, a good always and forever.
4 - The Last Hill
The last hill, in the darkness and wind, had been the worst. It wasn't the steepest--that one was in the first block after he'd turned east from the park, down by his mother's.
But by the time he'd gotten to this one, he was totally spent. He'd always been an athletic kid--his grandfather had watched him play basketball and soccer--and do crazy things on a skateboard--ever since he'd been in kindergarten.
And it wasn't just the hills or the cumulative effect of the miles ridden in the darkness and wind. It was the days and weeks of declining nutrition and the trouble he'd had getting to sleep in the deep silence of his mother's house.
Finally, though, he'd made it, could lean the borrowed bike against the house and open the lock box, between the storm door and the entry door, to which his grandfather had given him the combination. Then, he could use the key inside of it to enter the house.
But as he opened the outer door and leaned towards the lock box, he was immediately repulsed by the same odor that had driven him from his mother's house.
And so he closed the door again and stood, for several moments, listening to the winds as they moved through the trees behind the small house.
Then, without looking again at the door, he pulled the bike from against the house and peddled it back towards the road...
LPK
Dreamwidth
3.13.2020
