Chapter 4 Lissa
Shots rang out, breaking the near silence of the Nebraskan afternoon.
Lissa dropped to the hard-packed ground, flattening the sparse golden grass with a quiet crackle.
Her heart thumped like a jackrabbit’s warning as the shocking echo faded.
Everything around her froze, like the world holding its breath.
Before long, two additional shots came in quick succession, further shattering the peace.
She cocked her head, pinpointing the direction from which they’d originated. South.
Gunshots were uncommon in her abandoned corner of the country, so she needed to determine who was in her neighborhood. All the better for avoidance.
From her prone position, Lissa slither-crawled to the edge of the nearby bluff where she’d have an excellent vantage point overlooking the old Fort Robinson site.
When she reached the brink, she peered downward, toward the meadow by the river and the former Nebraska tourist stop.
She stifled a curse. Below the cliff face, on the open plain by the river, a large group had set up camp.
Gruff laughter and low voices carried on the wind.
She leaned further forward, as far as she could without exposing herself.
She’d hate for anyone to look up and notice her.
One of the two men with rifles shot toward the cliff—aiming parallel to the ground at a target several dozen yards below her position.
They must be sighting their rifles. She took a deep breath, forcing her heart rate to slow and her breathing to return to normal.
Hunters had used this site before, so this invasion should be temporary.
In the five years since her arrival in the Crawford area, there’d been several hunting parties, the hunters always leaving after a week to ten days.
She’d avoided them, not wanting to risk contact with the wrong sort of people.
If the groups had included women and children, she might have risked an approach for news or a trade.
But maybe not. It had been years since she’d spoken to anyone.
She bit her lip. A group of only men was often dangerous and to be avoided. She was better off on her own.
Still, sometimes the mystery about the state of the country plagued her. She’d kept to herself since leaving the refugee center in Denver, though she’d spent a year wandering and keeping to the fringes before finding her current home in Nebraska. Safer that way.
Lissa focused her gaze on their camp. She counted eighteen men in camouflage jackets, wearing either jeans or khaki cargo pants. Half a dozen sported bright orange visibility vests. They’d be out hunting this evening then.
Many distant figures remained busy, setting up three large white canvas wall tents like marshmallows on the plain, while others milled about further away.
They’d collected an enormous pile of wood, stacking it near an old campground firepit.
She grimaced. With that much wood, they might be planning to stay for at least a week.
She’d best keep to the other side of the ridge.
Better yet, maybe she and her cats would stay inside for a few days.
Despite thoughts of how to stay safe, she’d be back. Drawn to the camp for even just a nibble of humanity. Before Lissa headed home, she finished her reconnaissance, tallying the strength of the new arrivals.
They’d parked five muddy jeeps and a van at the far side of camp—close to the old fort buildings.
Sweat beaded on her forehead. Jeeps probably meant the Slains.
This group felt like the same alliance of rough men that had visited this time last year.
Drunk. Violent. Loud. On their previous visit, they’d fought amongst themselves, tormenting an old man, leaving only a corpse behind when they’d departed.
She slid away from the cliff, probably farther than she needed, before standing.
Better safe than sorry. Checking over her shoulder, she slipped into the thin forest, the newly dropped bed of yellow and brown leaves soft underfoot, masking her steps.
After this much time spent in the forest, she moved without noise in the familiar terrain.
With a glance over her shoulder, she took a circuitous route home, remaining alert.
She’d stayed alive all this time through constant vigilance.
Halfway home, a buck crashed through the bush, bounding away from the hunter’s camp, setting her heart racing once more.
Lissa glanced back in the direction the deer had originated and picked up her pace.
If hunters were already abroad, she didn’t want to be seen—or shot—by an overzealous hunter.
Nor did she want to inadvertently lead anyone to her sanctuary.
Without seeing movement, she continued her cautious circle, arriving at her place from the north.
When she reached the front entrance, she scanned the surrounding area before removing the loose wrought iron spoke near the edge of the main gate. The lonely mansion had been locked up tight, a thick padlock and chain keeping the metal gates closed. She tried to imagine what a stranger would see.
After seven years without vehicles, the driveway had become more obscured—the last time she’d walked its length, numerous saplings, bushes, and a few young evergreens had sprouted through the packed dirt and gravel, and she took care to never leave an obvious worn trail.
She tossed her pack through the slim opening and stepped through.
She replaced the missing spike, ensuring it appeared impenetrable, like the rest of the gate and the three-yard-high brick fence topped with looped razor wire.
Sure, someone could scale the wall to get in or force their way through either locked gate, but casual intruders might be deterred by the work required.
She lived in a corner of the massive stone mansion within the walled grounds.
Lissa had run across this place when looking for a place to stay the first winter on her own.
She’d broken in through the kitchen, discovering not just a place to crash but a hidden interior garden with a deep well.
She’d stayed because of those finds, as well as the sturdy construction that remained cool in the summer and insulated in the long, cold winters.
Not to mention the house’s remote location.
The windows remained shuttered, the hedges overgrown, and in the seven years since the asteroid, she may have been the only one inside.
Though still intact, the exterior of the house wore an air of neglect she did nothing to dispel.
If she’d been stronger, she’d have blocked the lower section of the driveway with boulders, and this place might never be found.
Lissa entered through the back porch into the kitchen.
She’d found the house keys hanging inside and kept the doors locked when she left the property.
With firewood stacked, she paused in the enclosed porch.
She inhaled the scent of fresh wood and sap, which represented safety and comfort.
Despite the filled porch, she’d need to gather more before winter.
With light filtering in through the partially boarded-up windows, she struck her flint and lit a candle before entering the kitchen proper.
Shielding the flame as she walked, she glanced around the space, trying to decide if she needed to hide her belongings better.
Had she grown complacent over the summer?
A quick scan showed she’d stowed everything.
Observant strangers might notice the lack of dust and cobwebs, but the kitchen appeared empty.
She exhaled loudly, the sound abrupt in the quiet building. “Like they’d come here.” Her voice sounded scratchy from disuse. Since living alone, she seldom spoke aloud, except to herself and her cats.
Lissa unpacked her gathering containers with the last few late-season elderberries and the bundles of wild hazelnuts she’d collected.
Though she lived in a different part of the house, she used the kitchen as a storage and food prep area and would process her harvest tomorrow.
Over the summer, she’d canned several dozen found jars with homegrown tomatoes and applesauce from scavenged windfall apples that otherwise would have rotted.
She kept a limited supply of filled jars in the cupboards for convenience, along with a couple of tins of dehydrated food she’d liberated from a house in Crawford five miles away.
She smiled at her good fortune and varied supplies. The gallon-size cans of dehydrated food had been slow and bulky to transport until she’d hit on towing them onboard a sled during her first winter alone. For the first few months, she’d been hungry. Since then, she’d learned a lot and done better.
She kept the rest of her food supply in the cool basement, some stored in the cleaned-out former freezer where vermin couldn’t get it and it stayed dry.
This year, she felt rich after a bumper crop harvest from her hidden gardens.
She had a plastic bin of potatoes packed away and another of cabbages.
Her cold storage also held additional pint-size jars of green beans, a few precious jars of homemade mixed-berry jam, and the rest of her canned produce.
If she were careful, she should have supplies to last the winter.
Though everything seemed normal inside, Lissa found it difficult to settle, a restless feeling preventing her from relaxing, even though she was home. She took a breath and let it out slowly, trying to chase the unease stirred up by seeing people for the first time in a year.
Moving past the cellar door, she made her way into the other of the two main rooms. She’d blocked off this section from the rest of the house, separating the cavernous and dusty section from her cozy space with plywood and blankets. Her main room was all she needed to heat.
Despite her barriers, her cats came and went through homemade cat doors, often bringing nice fat rats, squirrels, and mice back to munch on.
If she were ravenous, like in the old days, they’d share, but she didn’t need their assistance like she had in Denver.
Maybe tomorrow, she would check her route through the bush for rabbit-filled snares.
Her mouth watered at the possibility of fresh meat, though she couldn’t cook it now, or she might attract unwanted visitors.
She didn’t have a rifle for hunting, but she had a shotgun for grouse and other small game—though shooting right now was too dangerous.
Besides, ammunition was limited, with just another box and a half in reserve.
For the last few winters, she’d scattered chicken feed in a few places to bring grouse and wild turkeys in with success.
With those, plus fish from the stream below the bluff, she got enough protein. Not extra, but enough.
Once the hunters left, she would catch another mess of fish to smoke.
For that, she’d venture onto the plain near where they were camped.
She left her basket on the counter. Her list of chores only seemed to grow as she planned.
Survival took endless work, especially alone, since she had to do everything for herself.
Lissa swallowed, thinking of a nice juicy steak or the crispy fat on a fried pork chop. She’d give her left arm for a juicy roast with gravy. She hadn’t eaten like that in years.
Slinging off her canteen, she set her backpack on the hardwood floor, placed her candle on the table, and lit another on the other side of the space.
The room grew brighter, almost cheerful.
When she’d first arrived, she’d dragged a small kitchen table, two chairs, and a queen-sized bed frame and mattress into this former family room.
With the extinct TV removed and the well-stuffed couch pushed against the far wall, she used the fireplace for heat and to cook.
Through the last five cold prairie winters, she’d survived here and made a home.
She stripped off her gloves and held her hands to the candle flame for warmth.
There’d be no daytime fires for a few days—permitting no smoke from the chimney to give her away.
Lissa turned at a faint rustling behind her as Mira emerged from wherever she’d been.
She meowed a greeting and rubbed against Lissa’s leg.
She stroked her cat’s soft black fur, once more thankful for her animals.
They’d been providers and companionship.
Back in Denver and on the road, they’d kept her sane, and without them, she would have been lonely.
Her eyes burned, and she blinked back tears, unsure why the idea of being on her own bothered her today.
Maybe seeing people, even the Slains, reminded her of life before the asteroid.
Her job as a nurse practitioner. Her long-lost husband.
Friends. If Derrick had found her at the refugee center, they could have left together, and she would have had a trusted partner.
For the next several days, Lissa kept a low profile, though once a day she slipped through the woods back to the bluff to keep tabs on the visitors. Her trek, a cautious hour each way, seemed a small price to ensure the Slains weren’t coming near her house.
Twice more, she spotted the six-point buck in the forest, which made her smile.
Hopefully, he was smart enough to avoid the fields in daylight hours.
The hunters seemed to focus their efforts below in the meadow, where deer often grazed at dawn and dusk.
Several times, their gunshots rang out. She didn’t relax her guard in the forest, always taking care where she set her feet as she scanned her surroundings for movement or out-of-place sounds.
On the seventh day, when she slid into position on her bluff vantage point, the camp was being dismantled.
The campers packed the tents and hitched the jeeps to laden trailers.
A stack of wooden crates on the Fort’s main building’s porch was dragged inside, and the door locked.
Hopefully, the Slains wouldn’t be back until next year.
She watched for a few minutes as the first jeeps loaded with the men bounced away down the pitted road.
She sighed in relief as the last group prepared, strapping down their load.
Perhaps she’d roast a rabbit tonight to celebrate their departure. Maybe new potatoes with homegrown dill. Lost in thought, she planned the rest of her meal.
“Who the fuck are you?” A deep voice spoke from behind her.
Her stomach lurching, Lissa broke out in a cold sweat as she scrambled to her feet, ready to bolt.