The Journey is Our Home by Kathy Miner

Author:Kathy Miner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: plague, metaphysical, evolution, survival, postapocalyptic, dystopian, speculative
Publisher: Kathy Miner

TWELVE: Grace: Rock Ledge Ranch, Colorado Springs, CO

“…ninety-nine, one hundred.” Grace finished her count and rose from where she’d been crouched, in the back yard behind one of the houses that bordered Rock Ledge Ranch to the south. She slipped through a gap in the fence and moved to stand in the middle of the deserted street, scanning in a slow circle, letting her eyes float and probe, her ears tuned to every stray sound: the brush of the late afternoon breeze through the nearby cottonwoods, the rustle of overgrown bushes against empty houses, the occasional chirp of a nearby robin, warning of the coming rain.

By now, she’d learned to trust her senses; she’d know if something was off. When nothing triggered her inner alarms, she turned and ran swiftly down the path to the Chambers House, her footfalls only soft crunches on the gravel. She circled the house when she arrived, once again opening her senses to feel for danger, perceiving none. The house was safe. And deserted. She knew before she even opened the door and stepped into the kitchen that Verity was gone.

Again.

Grace opened the door to the modern bathroom off the back side of the kitchen, and Persephone greeted her with dancing feet, nails clicking a joyous rhythm on the floor. Verity had left the little dog with fresh water and a blanket for a bed, just as she’d done the previous five days. Grace sighed heavily and scooped Persephone up for a cuddle as she carried her outside. Nothing to do now but hang out on the front porch and wait for Verity to bring Death back to the ranch with her.

“Because that’s what she’s going to do, you mark my words.” She set Persephone down on the grass, watching for a moment as she sniffed around before taking care of business. When the dog was finished, she trotted off to sniff around the old animal barns which were empty now. Grace headed for the porch. She settled onto one of the benches and hunched forward, elbows resting on her knees, eyes alternating between Persephone and the trail on which Verity was likely to return. “She’s going to lead them right back here, like some kind of Pied Piper. Like Hansel and Gretel, dropping white pebbles.”

Grace had fallen back into the habit of talking to herself, in part because she was the only person she could rely on to make sense. Verity was prone to announcements such as, “Figs are quite nutritious when they’re not in Newton form,” or, “According to my sources, Channing Tatum didn’t cross over in the plague, but his wife did. I think my chances are good there, even if Raphael says it’s not meant to be...” Grace just nodded. A lot.

By now, she could see the writing on the wall: She was in a race against luck. While she scuttled around on the outskirts of the gang in her corpse-scented clothing, with her pepper-induced hives and streaming nose, Verity did God-knew-what, God-knew-where.

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