Debbie: Country Mother

“Stop!”  The voice came from the side as we squeezed through the partially ajar auto doorway.  “Put up your hands!”  It was a woman’s voice, intense, the probable owner of the missing munitions from the tire store across the road, judging by her orders.  You just don’t give orders like that unless you have the hardware to back it up. 

I dropped the heavy bag of dog food and followed her instructions.  If she had wanted to, she could have already fired, assuming she was armed.

“Please!  I don’t want to break these,” I heard Lise say. 

“Turn this way,” was the next order, ignoring Lise’s request.  We were facing a rather young woman, perhaps in her early thirties, a bit unkempt hair-wise and definitely in need of a cut but otherwise clean, eyeing us down the barrel of a 12 gauge.

“Hello,” I said, hoping to keep the situation calm, realizing that it could turn sour at any moment.  Just a little twitch at this range, and both Lise and I would be seriously air conditioned.

“Who are you?” she questioned, ignoring my greeting.

“We’re survivors,” I answered, allowing the stranger to remain in control of the scenario for the time being.  “What are you doing here?” she continued.  She had been inching closer and was now about 15 feet from us when a scruffy, malnourished animal, with peanut butter breath, began to growl behind the female.  Momentarily, she took her eyes off of us, in an attempt to eliminate a threat from behind.

Like that proverbial speeding bullet, Lise was on her.  A brief struggle ensued, ending with the woman lying on her back while Lise stood above, now in charge of the 12 gauge and the situation.  Slim, tail wagging, came to my side. 

“Slim, you have a really good sense of timing.  What are you, a police dog?” I asked, patting his scrawny body.  Meanwhile Lise was busy with her interrogation.

“Now, you’ll kindly answer some questions for me.”  Lise was in no mood to tolerate resistance or nonsense as she addressed the female.

***

“Debbie.  I’m Debbie,” she answered obviously shaken and with trembling voice.

“Besides you, how many others are there?”  Lise pushed the gun closer to the lady, as if its proximity would make the woman more verbal. 

I detected hesitation in Debbie’s voice, like when I had had to question students at school and they were hiding something.   “Just me,” she answered.   I pulled my gun and approached the prone woman, aimed the gun at her chest and questioned her again. 

“You’re lying.  You might be able to fool her, but you can’t fool me.  Your mouth is saying one thing, but your body’s saying something else.  You’re hiding something important.  What is it?”  I asked Lise to move the 12 gauge off to the side while I kept the handgun trained on our guest reclining on the asphalt. 

“I’m telling the truth.  I’m alone,” she repeated.  “Why would I lie?”  But the more she spoke, the more obvious it became that she was not being forthright.  Lise, who was amazed at my behavior with this stranger, began to see where I was coming from as she studied the woman. 

We were both concerned at this moment.  Who were the others?  Men?  Women?  Children?  How many?

Lise, now with a gentle, kinder manner, typical of the young lady that I had fallen in love with addressed her former foe.  “You have children, don’t you?”  Then she continued, “Don’t be afraid.  We won’t hurt you.  We are as you are.  We are truly survivors.  We are not the enemy.”

But, she continued to insist that she was telling the truth.  When all else failed, I decided to make one last attempt to squeeze the truth out of her.  “Lise, we’ll just have to take her back to camp with us.  We’ll leave the bike and get a van.  There are lots of them sitting around.  We picked her up and started toward the nearest dealership to find a van with a set of working keys.  It had been years before that I found out that even the key to ignition wouldn't work on the new vehicles unless the code in the key matched that of the ignition system.  Slim wanted to jump up into the back, but he was in no condition to make it.  I lifted him in.  Then after having located some duct tape, we strapped Debbie into the middle passenger seat while Lise sat behind her with her hand gun aimed at the back of Debbie’s head.  We didn't want any trouble in the vehicle.  There was none, until we made it to the highway.  When Debbie suddenly realized that we were actually going to take her away, she suddenly freaked out. 

“No!  I can’t leave.  What will they do without me?  Please don’t take me away.”    Debbie’s eyes began to water as tears streamed down her cheeks. 

“Who are they?” Lise asked quietly, but stressing the word “They.”

“Promise me that you're not them.  Promise that you won't hurt my babies.”  Lise had been right.  I pulled over to the side of the road and made a U-turn. 

“Miss, we have no intention of hurting anyone.  We know exactly what it feels like to meet strangers.  We are human, just like you.  We have been hiding out from whatever or whoever those things are, just like you.  We are not the only ones.  We're not unlike you.  We do what we have to, to protect our family.  We don’t hurt people, we don’t eat people, but we sure are happy to see people.  There are just a few of us.  My name is Warren.”

“And I’m Lise.   Where do you call home?”

Seeming to be a bit more relaxed now that she had surrendered so to speak, she said, “You were right.  My two children survived with me.  I've been returning to the store regularly to get supplies.  I saw you come here this morning.  You’re the first people I’ve seen in…how long has it been, two and a half years?  I wanted to believe that you were human, but when the creatures attacked us, there were some with them that looked just like us.  I couldn’t be sure.”

“We can understand that,” I reassured.

She had been smart.  When the attack began, she had been near the meat department.  While the store personnel in that department had run out into the store to see what all the fuss was about, Debbie, who had been shopping with her two children, and had caught sight of the invaders, slipped back into the freezer and hid at the back of the room behind several carcasses of beef.  Sometime later, the door had been opened, but it shut just as quickly.  We weren’t sure why this had turned out to be a safe place, maybe it had something to do with the cold.  Neither Debbie nor we could figure it out, but she survived the original attack.  She was nearly frozen when she finally decided to leave.  The store was pitch black inside and so after a brief encounter stumbling over overturned shelves and canned goods, she decided to remain inside for the night rather than suffer broken bones in a fall.  She would have to look after her children.   

***

We turned down a nearby street and parked beside a small inconspicuous home.  “This is it,” Debbie said.  “My kids will be hiding inside.  That’s what they do when Mommy leaves to get food.”  I noticed that the store was visible from the house.  Debbie could see every movement from this vantage point if she wanted. 

“Good location,” I complimented.  “I wonder why this home wasn't wrecked at the time?”

“Maybe, because it was for sale," Debbie suggested.  "Nobody was living in it.  When they were gone, all I saw was clothing lying on the ground.  There were no clothes inside this house.  It was so creepy.  I got the feeling that those things could see through the walls."  That had made a lot of sense, because we too had noticed that houses without residents hadn't been damaged.

When Debbie was out of ear shot, Lise spoke quietly.  “Warren, you really scared me with that gun.  What if it had gone off?  We wouldn’t know about her kids and she’d be…”  She left the sentence unfinished.

“You needn’t have worried Lise,” I replied.  While you were busy with her, I removed the clip and the cartridge in the chamber.  The gun was completely empty.”  

Lise got a chuckle out of that.  "Mine was empty, too."

I wasn’t ready to trust Debbie fully at this point, so as I slipped out of the van, I put my gun behind me in my pants, this time fully loaded.  I needn’t have worried though. 

“Do you mind if our friend comes inside?  I'd like to feed him.”

“Sure, as long as he won’t hurt anyone.”  Debbie had good reason to question her safety where Slim was concerned, considering how he had reacted to her at the store.  I began to marvel that he might be a police dog after all.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” I said, but was sure he would behave himself.  I did wonder why a dog would bond to a new person so quickly, but was happy that he had.  I really liked large breed dogs and I was going to do my best to make sure that this one would once again be considered a large breed. 

We slipped in through the back door.  Once inside, I quickly made a place for Slim on the porch, borrowed a bowl, filled it with packaged dry dog food, and watched him scarf it down.  “Wow!  You sure are a hungry puppy.”

Debbie shouted, “All clear!”  And the children came running from somewhere in the house.  As they saw us, they froze, I was thinking that the youngest probably had never seen other humans other than its mother or brother and certainly had never seen a person of color.  The two of them looked at their mother and then back to us.  They said nothing.  The young lad reached out and touched Lise on the arm.  She immediately slipped to the floor.  The boys stepped back for a moment.

“It’s all right kids.  These people are our friends.  They are here to help us.”  Then Debbie got quiet.  She turned to me with a question mark on her face and repeated, “Why are you two here?  Why today?”

“We’re on our honeymoon,” Lise chimed in.  The younger boy began to poke and probe Lise’s body.  At one point, he seemed to be trying to rub the color off as if it had been painted on.  Lise giggled with delight.  I doubted I had seen her happier except on the first night we spent together.  Looking closer I detected an expression I had never seen before.   What was at the bottom of that!

“Honeymoon?” she repeated skeptically.

“Yup,” I said, and Debbie’s face betrayed her shock.  “You’re surprised eh?  Not as surprised as me, though, I’ll bet,” I added.  “We decided to take out the bikes and do some camping, just the two of us.  We were just married yesterday afternoon.”

“That sounds pretty human.”  Debbie began to laugh, probably something she hadn't felt like doing in quite a while.  “Would you like to have a tour of the place?  Perhaps I should show you to the uh…honeymoon suite.”

At the sound of those words, Lise jumped to her feet to stand beside me.  We nodded laughing, as Debbie led the way through the house pointing out this and that, while Slim remained constantly at my side.    I wasn't surprised to find a large bore telescope in the living room window trained on the store area.  It even had a special lens to invert the image for terrestrial viewing; otherwise, she would have had to watch everything upside down.  Nor did it surprise me to see a couple of loaded gun racks on the wall.  The triggers had locks, but I hoped that she kept the ammunition out of the reach of the kids, too.

There was the four-piece bath.  At the far end sat a relic of the war years, an object that decorated many a bathroom in the wartime houses which were built, according to my father’s recollection, to be shipped to England after the war to help rebuild that bombed out country, but later, he said replaced by cold cash as being more economical.  I don’t know about the accuracy of Dad’s tale, but what I was looking at was one of the old cast iron porcelain coated tubs that sat on four foot-like corner supports.  The overflow was high enough so that you could get a really good soak.  I remembered that as a kid, I was able to hold my breath and submerge myself well below the water.   Be that as it may, I didn’t expect that we would be fortunate enough to actually get to use it. It had a wrap around shower curtain suspended from the ceiling that hung inside the tub.  A genuine toilet sat in the corner.  I was amazed to see that it was not only unsoiled, but that it contained clean water. 

Next, came the “honeymoon suite,” a small bedroom by most post 2000 standards, but large for this house and was probably where the parents had slept in years past.  A double bed squeezed itself between a dresser and a night table and a closet hid behind the door.  A flower box filled with herbs flourished in the sunshine pouring in from a south window.

***

We spent the rest of the day with Debbie while she related her personal experiences since the day of the invasion.  If it had been hard on us, it was doubly so for her.  She had lived in terror for weeks, never knowing when or if she would be discovered, all the while thinking that she and her babies were the only living survivors.  She had remained in the store for quite some time.  It had only been in the last eighteen months that she had dared to live more openly, risking being seen by what she described as hideous creatures. Debbie seemed to relax more as we shared our own experiences with her.  Meanwhile, Lise entertained the children who now climbed freely onto her lap.

***

As we ate a simple meal of canned beans and pineapple, Debbie continued to share, but her reminiscences were occasionally marred with tears.  Yet, she pressed on, accepting her emotional response as the medicine her mind needed in order to began to absorb the reality of others, us.  This was no ordinary woman and it was due to this fact that she was able to maintain her sanity while their lives had been in constant jeopardy. I realized at that moment, that without a doubt, wherever we found survivors in our travels from this point on, they would be of only two kinds, the very strong or the extremely lucky.  Where did we fit in?

The invaders had visited the store more than once, but did not venture near the cooler again.  When the stench had become unbearable and she had determined by vigilant surveillance that the invaders appeared to have vanished during the night hours, she had the eldest, her son, watch the baby in a more agreeable part of the store, while she carefully stole outside to search for a safe place to move. 

What she determined was that the houses had already been emptied of survivors.  This was much the same as what we had discovered when we had returned to check for survivors back home.  Seeing no one during the night, she assumed that they had left.  This caused her to be careless, when she should have been paying better attention and proceeded to step out openly during the daylight hours.  While in a nearby neighborhood, she came across two of the enemy.  She was certain that one of them had looked directly in her direction; however, the two suddenly altered direction and headed away from her.  This struck a familiar cord with me, but I said nothing about it.  She eventually found this house and took possession. 

***

In spite of our new found friend’s apparent openness and friendliness, having had a shotgun pointed at us earlier in the day kept replaying in my mind.  As I lay awake in the “honeymoon suite,” I tried my best to keep that proverbial one eye open.  I got up to jamb a chair again the door knob, hoping to at least gain a few seconds before we were brutally murdered in the middle of the night.  I imagined the size of the hole that a 12 gauge could make in a wooden door.  Staying awake proved a difficult task, as the atmosphere was pleasant: the sheets were clean, the bed soft and warm.  The whole room lacked the humidity and coldness of the grotto.  And then, there was Lise, who happily latched onto the idea of this being a “honeymoon suite.”  A single night in my cave was one thing, but I wondered to myself if I would ever survive the honeymoon.

I awoke with a sharp pain in my side; Lise was attempting to wake me with a well placed elbow while calling my name. 

“Do you smell that?” she asked excitedly when I stirred.  Until she mentioned it, my nose, which seconds before had been fast asleep, hadn’t noticed the aromas that were wafting into our room.  Lise was up, dressed, out the door and down the stairs, drawn by the saliva inducing smells from the kitchen.  I followed more slowly.  Entering the room a couple of minutes later, I scanned the table.

“Fried Eggs?  Toast?  Home fries?  Corned beef?  Where did you get fresh eggs?”

“Well,” she explained, “I have some birds living in the house next door.”  At the mention of birds, she had detected the question mark on our faces.  “They’re leghorns.  You know, chickens, the white ones.”  Understanding returned.  Lise and I had wondered just what kind of eggs we could be eating.   “As for the other things, I have been making my own bread from the white flour I get from the store.  I used to have whole wheat, but that turned rancid.  I think that had something to do with the wheat germ.  I guess I didn’t tell you about my…my garden.”  She had hesitated just a little at the mention of her garden, as if she'd not really meant to reveal this secret and I could understand her reluctance to share such an important commodity with strangers, but it half tumbled out, so she'd finished her sentence.  “And the corned beef came from the supermarket.”

I didn’t want to worry Debbie about her prize garden, but we also needed to create a reliable food supply and she seemed to be an intelligent and capable person when it came to getting to the basics.  “Debbie!  I was wondering if you would be willing to show us your garden?  I realize that this is probably very important to you and I would like to see how you have been managing.  I mean, you’re able to cook, you’re not just eating out of cans.  You’re certainly able to defend yourself.  And you’re raising two children under the most trying of circumstances.”

Debbie became quieter and I thought some of the expression that she'd had on her face the previous day suddenly began to reappear.  She was having an inward battle: would she trust us or should she not.   She knew by now that we were not the invaders, but she didn’t really know us.  We had only met the previous day, so in her mind, we still could be an enemy.  Had we come to spy her out and take what she had?  As well armed as she was, she was still vulnerable.  After all, hadn’t Lise disarmed her and weren’t we now occupying her home? 

As she made no reply and concern was apparent on her face, I felt it necessary to explain our situation and needs.  “Debbie, we need someone like you to help us with some of the problems that you’ve overcome.  You'd be an asset to our group.  At present there are seven of us.  The three of you would make us ten.  And, as the saying goes, there is strength in numbers.  Please?”  I left the question the air.  Debbie changed the subject.

“Would you like to take a bath?”

“A bath?  We’d love to.” Lise leaped at the opportunity.  “I haven’t had…”  Lise stopped talking for a second while she thought about what she was saying.  “A warm bath?” she asked emphasizing the word “warm” with disbelief evident in her voice.

“Of course,” Debbie responded.  “What other kind is there?”

“Well, where we live, a warm bath is sometimes a swim in a pond,” Lise replied.

“And a shower is dancing around in the rain,” I added.

 “What do we have to do, boil some water?” Lise continued.

“Do?  Just turn on the faucet.”  Debbie was smiling again.  “You’ll find towels in the bedroom closet and if you want bubbles, you can find soap and things under the sink counter.”

“Did I say that you'd be an asset?  I must have meant a miracle,” I added.

Lise was way ahead of me this time.  By the time I got to the bedroom to change, she was already in the bathroom.  She began to run the water to check the temperature.  Steam rose from the tub as she inserted the plug and turned the faucet on full.  Bubbles began to multiply as the water climbed towards the overflow.  Before jumping in, I locked the door and checked my housecoat, generously supplied by our host.  It was still there and the safety was off.  How paranoid I could be!  Maybe!

We took turns scrubbing each other all over and changed ends so that each could enjoy the sloped back and slide deep into the hot water.  We'd tried to be clean at our hideout, but this was luxury to us.  Never had a campout seemed so comfortable.  Like little children in a swimming pool, we laughed and played.  Eventually, we both lay in the sloped end, Lise lying in front of me, her naked back and bottom stuck to my equally bare chest and abdomen, my arms wrapped around her, as we just relaxed in one another’s company. 

We had been there for maybe an hour, sometimes letting out a little water to replenish it with more hot when suddenly, there was a knock on the door.  “Just to let you know, I’m taking a trip to the supermarket.  I’ll be gone for about half an hour or so.”  It was Debbie. 

“Just a second,” I shouted from inside climbing out of the tub and heading for my robe.  “There’s something Lise and I want to show you.  Could you wait for a minute and we can go together?”

At that, Lise, trying to be the comedian piped up with a line of her own.   “Just what did you have in mind to show her, Warren?”  And with that, she too stepped out of the water.

“Sure,” came the answer from the other side of the door.  I had put on my bathrobe by now, took out my gun, unlocked and opened the door a peep.  Lise, in the mean time, was right behind me and I was afraid she might jump out in front of the open door and attempt some more jumping jacks.  I opened the door a bit more, and while sticking my face in the opening a little, also pointed the gun at the door, knowing that if there was trouble outside, the wood panel would not present an obstacle to the lead projectile.  There stood Debbie with her 12 gauge in hand.  My worst fears seemed to be realized, but before I could say a word, Debbie, who probably had noticed the expression on my face, nodded to the gun saying, “I always take this with me when I go shopping.  I’ll wait down stairs.”

***

I stopped the van in the fire zone just beside the front door of the tire store.  It was necessary to stop here before going for groceries.  We headed directly to the sporting goods department where I found some emergency blankets like the ones we presumed had been protecting us in the original encounter with the aliens and related the story of our miraculous escape.  Debbie was immediately interested in creating clothing out of the fabric.   While we were there, she also felt that it would be a good idea to pick up some extra cartridges for the 12 gauge.  When we were done, we headed to the grocery store to pick up whatever it was that Debbie wanted.  But Debbie had one more stop to make.

***

Debbie’s garden was not near her city home.  In fact, we had to drive several miles north of town before we arrived at a yellow brick house well off the road at the end of a gravel drive.   I'd always admired these old homes.  Driving down dirt roads through the county, as an adult, I had kept my eyes open without success, hoping to spot one exactly like my grandmother’s which had been demolished to make room for a new home. 

***

As I walked around this one, I couldn’t help but remember Grandma’s yellow brick country place.  Her old house was close to the road.  Little of the acre on which the building was situated was wasted on parking.  It was a two story, but unlike the one I was presently looking at, it didn’t have so much of that cubic shape like many of the yellow bricks that are still standing, and it didn’t have the steep roof like this one.  The house looked a little like a side split, but without the split level.  The portion on the west side stood closest to the road and featured a door without a stoop, while the remainder of the east side sat back about fifteen to twenty feet creating an L shape. Nestled completely in this L was a covered wooden porch, complete with a trap door that led to Grandma’s cellar where she kept her milk and other things that required cold.   

At the north east end, there was a summer kitchen just outside of which was a large pump from which we got water for washing and cooking, but I remember that I never drank that water.  I was afraid that a rat or some other rodent had curled up in the well and died.  I remembered my father driving down the road for drinking water from a continually running tap that we referred to as a spring. On some of these trips, I got to drive the old car.  Drive is a rather colorful word for steer, as I never actually sat behind the wheel.  I just turned it this way and that, trying to keep the car in the middle of the narrow gravel lane.   Later, after the farmer died, his sons who then owned the property shut it off so that it was no longer available, but that was long after we had grown up and Grandma had gone to meet her maker. 

There was no real living room in the house.  The kitchen/dining room was a huge open space.  My parents always stayed in a room on the west side of the main floor.  That may have served as a living room with a pull out bed.  It was private for my parents though.  There was a large assembled glass covered puzzle of a Spitfire hanging on the wall that I assumed had been pieced together by my uncle.  The room was also home to an old piano. 

The only other room on that floor belonged to my uncle who stored so many car and motor cycle parts in it that it smelled more like a garage than part of a house.  I wasn’t supposed to go in there, but whenever I had the opportunity, I used to like sneaking in to peer at the various pieces of machinery.  I discovered some radio parts on one of my visits.

A set of stairs that would never pass inspection today, accessed at the northwest corner of the kitchen, led to the bedrooms upstairs.  The steps were so close together and narrow, I used to climb them on my hands and feet as if they were a ladder, rather than take the chance of walking upright.  Grandma’s room was off to the left, while mine was to the right.  There must have been another room in the upstairs, but I can’t remember it now.  Too many years have gone by and I was just a little squirt at the time.

I never mentioned a bathroom.  That’s because there wasn’t one, not on the first floor, not on the second.  Water for doing dishes, washing, cooking, was heated on the top of the wood stove or in the copper tank on the side.  Baths were not a regular occurrence, due to the work involved but we did have to wash.  As for laundry, I do believe that Grandma had an old ringer washer that she filled with the hot water from the tank.  There was no running water, even though there was some electricity.  I don’t know if anyone had thought of buying an electric pump.  The other part of the bathroom was located well away from the house, just a step or two from the garden. That is another story.

I had spent many summer days living with Grandma, and I was feeling a little nostalgic thinking about picking those giant black berries beside the barbed wire fence that kept the cattle off the road, or digging in her sandy garden.  Then there was the fishing under the bridge or just having a cold soda at the gas station on the corner.  Growing up had happened too fast. It seemed that I had just closed my eyes one day and yesterday had become today.  I could remember all those wishes as a kid when I would say, “I wish I were older.  I could drive a car,” or “I wish I were twenty-one.”  And dad would remind me not to wish my life away.  He was right of course.  He was almost always right.  Whatever life I had now, I was not willing to give away.

***

In the world of reality, in the rear, beside an outbuilding, we had our first view of Debbie’s garden.  Being early in the summer, not everything was ready to pick and eat.  However, rows of carrots and beets were showing a lot of tops, but the roots were going to be a while developing.  The greens, spinach, chard, mustard, and turnip were already being eaten.  “How did you manage to make such a large garden,” I had asked.

Debbie, not one to brag, responded in one short sentence that told all.  “I’m a farmer’s daughter.”

“No kidding.”  I was truly surprised, but then considering how well the garden was doing, she was either telling the truth, or she had an exceptionally large green thumb, or quite possibly, she was a green thumb but with added appendages.  “How did you happen to settle on this place for your garden?” 

“Did you think I found this place by accident?”  She paused for a moment before continuing.  “This was my parent’s home.  Or at least it was until recently.  I’ve planted a garden here since before I can remember.  When my folks got a little older, I began to take over most of the work, not that they were helpless mind you.  It was just that Dad had other, more important farm business to take care of.  Besides, it gave me a reason to visit regularly.”

“Everything seems to grow really well here,” I said.  “If we could create a garden like this, it would be great.”

“We had a lot of animals, pork, beef, sheep, and of course hens.  There was always lots of manure, so on the garden it went.  See how green the leaves are?”

“Yes, they are that.  Listen.  There must be more places like this around with surplus manure piles that are well composted by now.  If we could find some way to move it to our site, would that be helpful?”

“I really believe in using natural fertilizer, and so far, haven’t needed to use any chemicals.  The garden's thrived for years.  Well, almost.  I had a lot to do after the aliens showed up, because I couldn’t get to it to weed, so in the spring, it looked terrible.  But now, it supplies all the fresh food we need.”

 “But this was a lot of work.”

“It took a while.  By the way, if you are seriously thinking of gardening, I have been saving seed, and I've been doing this for two reasons.  The packaged ones in the stores will eventually be used up.  And, stored seed doesn’t last forever. Seed that is stored at too high a temperature or humidity, like the stuff that’s put out on the shelves every year won’t germinate after a while.  What that means is that you may plant several rows of vegetables and nothing will come up.  So, whatever you do, save some of your seed for next year in a cool dry place, or you may not have a crop the following year.”

“I’m really impressed, Debbie.  You are an expert.”

On the drive back, I informed Debbie that we would be leaving the next morning.  Our honeymoon wasn’t over quite yet.  There was some exploring we wanted to do.   We would be back in town in twelve days.  If she were willing to join us at our hideout, she'd be welcome.  The choice was hers.  If she didn’t want to, we would understand.  "Debbie, for the longest time, we thought we were all there were.  Now we're realizing that the world may have many more survivors.  Think about it, will you?"

***

Sitting around Debbie’s table for a late night coffee, I had other questions.  “Debbie, where are you getting the water from?”

“I have a well.”

“And lights, and a stove,” I added.

“I don’t actually use the electric range.  That takes too much power.  I have a gasoline generator that I use to pump water from our well.  The well was here, fortunately.  A lot of places along this road have them.”

“How do you heat your water?  We had a really good soak this morning.”

“Gas.”

“You mean you’re gas is still flowing?”

  “No, not that kind of gas.  It’s propane.  When I moved in, the gas wasn’t flowing any more.  However it was supposed to get here from wherever it comes from, there isn’t any now.  That truck parked beside the house a couple of doors down, it’s loaded with propane, and it’s supplying all our needs.  Dad tried to teach me to be independent and innovative.”

“I’m sure he would be proud.”  I suddenly thought about Slim.  “Would you be able to do me a favor?”

“If I can.  What would you like?”

“It’s kind of an imposition really.  It’s Slim.”

“Slim?  Oh, the dog.  What about him?”

I could see that Debbie wasn’t a friend of our new pet.  But Slim couldn’t fit on a bike.  And he didn’t have the stamina, healthy or otherwise, to run along beside us, even if we drove slowly.  So first, I had to convince Debbie that she and Slim could get along and really like one another.  I began by telling her about my own large breed.  Then, I asked her if she had had a dog on her farm.  I was delighted to find out that she had, and sure enough, it had been another large breed, a German Shepherd.

Her eyes sparkled as she reminisced.  There had been those races through the grassy fields and shallow streams, with Babe running after.  There was the hide and seek.  He’d been good at obeying the command to stay, giving Debbie time to disappear in the tall brush.  Babe was there to see her off every morning and met her each night as the school bus came to a halt at the foot of her driveway.  Sadly, she also experienced the days when Babe grew old, tired and in pain.  She told me that her father had the dog put to sleep, but since she'd not been there, she wasn't sure about the details of that.  When the family got another dog, she was older and although she missed Babe a lot, she refused to allow herself to become emotionally involved with the new pet. 

“Sure, I’ll look after him for you,” she said.  “You two have a good time.”

I hadn’t even come to the point.  She knew what I wanted, without my asking.  She just had to be reminded of what it was like.  Slim would fill a little void, at least for a week, anyway.  I thanked her profusely before heading for bed.  Lise and I were off early in the morning before the kids were up, but not Debbie.  True to form, as a former farmer’s daughter, she was up before the birds and had prepared not only a hearty breakfast, but also made some food for us to take on our trip.  We thanked her, Lise gave her a hug, and soon we were humming along the highway.