The Great Mother

By Beth Reason

A silent killer stole everyone she knew and loved. Where there were once people, she only saw ghosts. Where cars used to travel, only leaves moved across the barren roads. There were no planes overhead, no messages to hear on her voice mail, no signs of life anywhere. She wandered in a numb haze through the terrifyingly still world, until suddenly there was a sound. A call. One voice that woke her up and made her realize that she wasn't alone. And in that moment, she decided to live.

This is a story of loss and pain, of struggle and triumph. This is a story about picking up the pieces when everything falls apart, and finding unlikely heroes in the darkest hour. It is a story of the thrill of success after shattering defeat. It is a story of love, of anger, of laughter and tears. It is a story of life.

And all life begins with a mother.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beth Reason
• Release date: Apr 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310915031

Beth Reason

I love to try new ways to create things. However, writing is the only thing I always come back to. Life interrupted my path several times, until finally my family said to bite the bullet and give this scary "putting myself out there" thing a try.

Book preview

The

Great Mother

Copyright 2014 Beth Reason

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be copied or resold in whole or in part, either for commercial or non-commercial use. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author!

Table of Contents:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

About the Author

More Books by Beth Reason

Chapter 1

The world roared back to life.

One minute she was still hovering in the shell-shocked haze of numbness and fog, and the next there was a clear, loud, almost familiar noise. Her brain heard it, then heard it again. A signal was sent from her internal command center, the first time that had happened in well over a month. Listen! her brain screamed. Wake up and listen to that!

So she did. She listened. She stopped moving the feet she didn't recognize as hers on the empty roadway and listened. She strained. She held her breath and hoped. A faint cry could be heard, a sad, thin mewling. And just like that, the world started again. Blood coursed through her veins. She could feel her feet pound on the pavement, was conscious of her body racing towards the noise. She pumped her arms to give herself more speed. She had to get there. It was the only thing that mattered.

The crying grew louder. She rounded a curve in the road and her tired body had to slow. Weeks of improper food and sleep left her weak, her lungs burning and begging for a break. She leaned on a fence post and doubled over, fighting the urge to throw up. Would she have anything to throw up? Had she even eaten that day? She had absolutely no idea.

The wail began anew and she looked up, wiping the sweat from her brow. The noise was coming from a barn, the door slowly waving back and forth in the breeze. It wasn't a baby. It wasn't a person. No human made that kind of noise. It was clearly just some animal. Some dumb, stupid animal, and she had to choke back bitter tears.

God damn you! she screamed across the barnyard.

The animal moaned again and she swiped the tears from her eyes. She should move on. She should keep walking. Where the hell was she, anyway? She looked around, really looked around for the first time since...when? She was in front of a farm. It wasn't a familiar place, but it wasn't exactly unfamiliar, either. With the red wash on the large, classic barn, and a two story white farm house, it could have represented any of the dozens of small farms in the area. She looked around and couldn't see any road signs from where she stood. She could be anywhere.

The animal's noises grew more frantic. Whatever it was heard her and was begging for her attentions. She looked across the overgrown field to the barn. The animal sounded so desperate. She sat on the fence and twisted, bringing her legs over, then hopped off into the field. As she neared the barn the familiar smell of rot washed over her with the breeze and she turned and crouched low to the ground, covering her mouth and trying to hold back the bile. No wonder the animal was screaming. He was stuck in there with something dead. She'd scream, too.

She pulled her shirt up over her nose and stood, steeling herself against what she might find. No, not might. What she knew she would find. There would be something dead, at least one something. It was a barn, so odds were good it would also be large. Large, dead and rotting. The flies would be buzzing. The flesh would be falling off. The puddle of gore underneath would be moving with maggots and worms and rats. She swallowed hard and forced herself forward.

The great barn door creaked. She placed her hand on it and simply stared for a minute. Was that really her hand? It was caked with dirt. There was a muddy swipe where she had just run it through her tears. And blood. She was sure that was blood under the broken nails. Was that really her hand? When was the last time she washed?

Another bleat, this time tinged with excitement and urgency. The animal inside knew she was close. She pressed her lips together to keep as much smell and nastiness out as possible and pulled the door the rest of the way open. The humid odor slammed into her, welcoming her with the all too familiar wall of death her automaton self had met over and over. She turned from the barn and ran around the corner, needing the wind to blow directly into her face, to clean her lungs. She gulped the fresh air and willed her legs to stop shaking. The animal in the barn wailed a constant plea, and with a hand on the side of the barn for support, she worked her way around to the back, hoping to find another way in.

There was a back door, a push style one that didn't appear locked. Hold on, she yelled to the panicked animal. She braced herself and heaved, sliding the door open so easily that she stumbled. As soon as it was open, the bleating was very loud, right near her. She squinted in the dark until she could make out stalls. She assumed she'd find a horse. Instead, she found a small bull, young, thin, and scared. He looked at her with big eyes and something inside finally cracked. With a sob wrenched from deep within, she lurched forward and threw her arms around the excited, terrified animal.

Something was alive. Something under her arms was breathing. Something was moving and making noise and had a heartbeat. Something else lived. And that something else was licking off the salty tears that tumbled down her face.

Wind swirled through the large barn from one side to the other, taking the smell of rotted death away from her. After pulling some hay close to the little bull, she looked around to assess. The barn was definitely new. Several pens stood completely fresh, with neither animal nor hay. Construction materials were stacked in a corner. The floor under her feet had minimal wear. She took a tentative step away from the bull and he started to bleat again around the hay he ravenously chewed.

Don't worry. I'm just looking around, she said. It occurred to her as she carefully stepped forward that she couldn't remember the last time she talked to anyone.

Anything, she corrected. A bull was not a person.

There was a familiar buzzing coming from the other end of the barn. She pulled her shirt up over her mouth and nose again and wondered what she'd find. It was a cow. Or a bull? She frowned. She wasn't a farmer, how in the hell should she know? It was a huge, rotting animal a few stalls down from her little bull.

Her bull?

Yes, she told herself. My bull. She looked around and knew she either had to get the rotting animal out of there, or get the bull somewhere safe. How could she get the rotten carcass out? She walked back to the bull. He still chomped the hay like he hadn't eaten in weeks. Maybe he hadn't. When had she?

She supposed the easiest thing would be to take the bull away from the cow. She had no idea how to do that. And where would she even take him, anyway? She wasn't a farmer, but didn't bulls need barns? They did. She was sure of it. She glanced out the door up towards the farm house. Turning back to the bull, she slipped her back pack off and placed it in the corner of his stall. I'm going to go check out the house. If it's shit, we're not staying. She hadn't even realized she was going to make a plan until the words popped out. It felt right to be deciding. It felt powerful. It felt whole. She patted the bull on the rump as she passed and walked toward the house.

Upwind from the barn, she couldn't smell anything but damp earth and wet leaves. Away from the snarfling noises of the bull wolfing down the hay, and the buzz of the flies around the rotten cow, she couldn't hear anything, either. There were no signs of life in the farmhouse. But there were also no signs of death. She walked up the steps of the porch and stopped at the door. It was locked, but like the barn, also looked new. The white of the house was vinyl siding made to look like classic white wash. The doorknob was shiny. She opened the screen and the spring didn't even squeal in rusty protest. She lifted her hand to knock and then stopped.

Should she knock?

Her knuckles waited for her to make up her mind. It was ridiculous. If anyone was alive, they would have taken care of the bull. But she'd never once in her life entered someone else's house without knocking. Her mama raised her better than that. If anyone was alive she'd have heard them by now. Farmers all had guns and warned people to git if they got too close, didn't they?

Years of habit forced her hand before she even realized she had made up her mind. The raps instantly felt silly as they echoed in the silent land. This was not the world she knew, she reminded herself. She tried the shiny doorknob, once again noticing her dirty state, even more apparent against the pristine newness of the brass. It was locked. She stepped back and let the screen bang shut. She didn't know exactly where she was, but she knew the general area. She'd been raised nearby; if not in that particular town, then in one very similar. She couldn't possibly have wandered all that far. If she had to bet on it, she'd place her money on the back door being unlocked. She told herself not to be disappointed as she walked around the corner of the house on the wrap around porch. At the back door, she tried the knob and smiled to herself as it easily turned.

She pushed the door open and stood just outside. Hello? she called. She had to be sure she wouldn't be shot. She waited for the echoes of her voice to die down. I'm coming in your house, she called, taking a step forward. When she was met with nothing but her own fading voice, she stepped in further. I'm in now. I'm not armed. I don't want to hurt anyone, I'm just looking around. Nothing but dust motes stirred in the tomb-like home. She felt something relax a little inside.

The breeze kicked up and a brown leaf rolled past her across the floor. She turned and shut the door, then inhaled deeply. She smelled paint. She smelled plaster. She smelled new plastic and fresh wood. But she did not smell death. She gave the room a good look. It was a large kitchen. The appliances were sparkling. The faucet in the sink glimmered in the afternoon sun from the window. There were labeled boxes on the counters and one cupboard was open, showing stacks of glasses and plates. Someone had been moving in.

She walked around the center island of the kitchen. A new house. She had never lived in a new house before. She idly poked in one of the open boxes labeled pots and pans written in magic marker. The pans inside were also new. Shiny. No signs of scorching on the bottoms, no signs of use. New. It was all new.

She walked into the next room, a dining room area. It wasn't as bright, and she automatically flicked on the light switch. The lights came on. It took her three steps before she stopped and turned around. The lights came on. The lights still worked. She looked at the lamp, her mind needing more reassurance. The lights still worked. She had just assumed that would all be done, like everything else. She turned and went back into the kitchen with purpose. That light switch worked, too. She reached over and twisted the handle on the tap. The water ran clear and clean.

With an excitement she hadn't felt in forever, she raced back to the dining room and looked around. It was a large, central room, with four rooms and a little hallway branching off in different directions. There was the kitchen, a den area, and two small rooms she thought looked like home office spaces. The lamps that had bulbs all lit up as she raced through and tried them. Lights! She didn't know if she'd even checked the lights anywhere else as she had wandered. Her conscious brain just assumed they stopped working.

She stopped with the thought. Had she even tried to turn on the lights anywhere else? Had she even slept in a house? She had no idea how long she wandered around. The last clear memory she had was getting up from the final grave she dug and telling herself she had to leave. She had to. She had to get up or she'd join the rest. And then, she didn't really remember anything. How long ago was that?

There was a tv set up in the den area. She walked to it and pressed a button. It came on, but nothing she did brought up any channels. She didn't even know if it was hooked up to cable or not. She shrugged. It was worth a try. She went down a little hall and found a bathroom and another door. When was the last time she peed in a toilet? She went simply for the familiar novelty. As she stood to flush, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and stopped.

Who the hell was that? It certainly wasn't her. The face was different. Filthy. Thin. Gaunt. Haunted. She leaned forward, a macabre fascination at the stranger staring back at her growing. She made faces and watched. She could feel her cheeks lift, could feel her lips stretch across her teeth. It was her. The stranger was her. And yet... She sighed. Maybe a good washing was what she needed. There was time for that later.

She went to the other door in the hall and found it was a small linen closet with another door at the back. When she opened that one and flicked on the lights, she was pleasantly surprised to find a very nice looking stair case leading into a well lit basement. At the bottom of the stairs, she found herself in a large, open, half-finished basement. There was wood paneling on the walls, a pool table in the corner, and another bathroom. A room was blocked out in wood framing and half-walled, and it was clear whoever was building the house was planning on having another usable floor, not simply a basement. The drywall, buckets of putty, and paint to complete the job were piled neatly against the wall by a saw, saw horses, and other tools of the trade. The ceiling was dropped and low and she felt like she was in some secret cave, a comfy hideout.

Satisfied and intrigued with what she'd seen so far, she made her way back up to the first floor, then continued up the wide staircase to the second. As her hand gripped a deep, wood banister, she realized that whoever was building this house had money. The top floor yielded a master bedroom, another bathroom, and two small bedrooms. Aside from the very basics of furniture in the master bedroom, the only other room with anything in it at all was a room with an empty crib. She stood over the crib and stared into its emptiness. There was no bedding, and the mattress still had its store plastic and price sticker. There were bags from stores in the corner, new items, new clothes, new toys and little blue booties. New and so tiny and forgotten.

She picked a bib off the top of one of the bags. The tag said it was from a high end baby store. She ran the soft terry cloth over her cheek and closed her eyes against the sudden slash of pain. This house was supposed to be someone's life. This house was supposed to be someone's beginning. The farm was supposed to be this baby's future. Was he ever even born?

She put the bib back in the bag with reverence, as if the ghost of someone who probably didn't even get a chance to exist was watching. She trailed her hand over the warm golden wood as she passed the crib. At least he died somewhere else. At least it was only his things that stared back at her. She would never forget the one body of a baby she buried. She would never forget the way the dead little toddler watched as she wrapped her up and put her in the ground. She shuddered and pulled the door closed as she stepped in the hall, shutting out the memories with the ghosts.

She made her way back to the den and sat heavily on the plastic covered couch. It was new. It was all so new. No one lived there, they never got the chance. No one died there, they never marred the possibilities with their stench. It was new, it was clean, cleaner than her. She sat there for nearly an hour, simply taking it all in, trying to piece together the last month. Or was it a month an a half? It couldn't have been much more than that because there were still some trees with leaves, even if they were deep orange and ready to fall. She knew she walked away. And then kept walking. Days were blurred into days and she couldn't even remember the basics. What did she do at night? What did she eat? Where did she go during the day? There was a pervasive numbness that clouded all memories until the bull called to her. Wake up, he had said. Wake up and come find me.

She was awake. She was awake in a new house. She was awake in a new body and a new, silent world. She was awake in a new life. The decision to stay was already made. All she had to do was figure out where she was. And how to get the cow carcass out of the barn. Oh, and how to get food. And to wash, definitely wash. And to get clothes. And winter was coming.

Once awake, her mind churned. Instead of the overwhelming sorrow and pain at what was lost, she began to feel the power and possibility of what she had now. She got up off the couch and looked around the house. Her house. For good or bad, she'd stay. She'd regroup. She'd figure out the new life fate forced upon her. She had a house and a bull. She took in a deep, shaky breath. It was a start.

Chapter 2

She was in an old town in New Hampshire named Arlington. It wasn't that far from where she began her mindless wanderings. Across a state line, but close in both geography and culture. It was a small town, and in the weeks that followed her decision to settle there, she discovered it was an empty one. The first few days in her new home spent riding a bicycle she found up and down the country roads, stopping at every house, even if she did smell death and hear flies buzzing. She knocked patiently on every door, no matter how much it made her gag. She checked every barn for animals, and found nothing but blackened death.

She quickly found the center of town. They'd have called it Downtown and been very proud. A row of older storefronts lined one side, about ten buildings long. The other side had municipal buildings, a library and a combination fire and police station. There was also a small gazebo with a sign in front of a flower bed that proudly claimed the Ladies Garden Club of Arlington was responsible for the begonias. The street light at the one main intersection rolled through its paces, uselessly directing the leaves that swirled in the breeze.

The town was quiet. There wasn't a soul to be seen. The park bench was empty. The stores were locked, their closed signs flipped in the window. The flag over the library flapped and cracked. And there were actually a few pigeons strutting near the gas station that stood at the beginning of the business row.

She wandered around, randomly calling, getting more and more comfortable with her echo being the only response. As time went, she began to accept the aloneness. She knew that someone was out there somewhere. She made it. Someone else had to have as well. Her bull made it. She named him Phil. If she and Phil lived, then there were more.

She cleaned the rotting cow out of Phil's barn the first day. It took her until well after dark to pull the body away after tying it to a lawn mower. She first had to figure out how to move the lawn mower. And then how to tie the body in a way that pulled instead of ripped. And then how to drag it far enough out to field where it wouldn't be a problem. And then how to find her way back to the barn in the dark. And then how to deal with the gore. And then how to hose away the guts.

And, and, and.

That one task started her life of and. Every little task seemed to take far more than she thought it would. But, she stuck with it. She did the steps, no matter how draining they were, and Phil was much happier for it. Most importantly, she found out she could do it. One thing. One step. Make a list and just do them in order. One step at a time, and she could make it.

She stood in front of the store. The town had two, a small convenience store attached to the gas station, and a larger one that looked like it carried general groceries. She stood in front of the grocery store and considered her options. The front was locked, as were the rest of the buildings, and a quick check let her know she couldn't try and get in the back door because the old building clung to the banks of a river. She needed food. What few canned items were found in a box in her kitchen were already gone. Besides, she had made a list of supplies she would need to get her through winter. She had to stock up. It was getting colder and colder and soon she wouldn't have any choice. If she was going to make it, she needed to start acting.

Seeing no alternative, she knew she'd have to break in. She'd never broken in to anyplace her whole life, and once again had a task she didn't know how to accomplish in front of her. She supposed she'd just have to break the glass, and then smacked her forehead. That's why it's called 'breaking in', moron, she chided herself as she assessed the glass.

She didn't want to get cut. The very last thing she needed was to impale herself on shards of glass and bleed to death right when she finally had a will to live again. She decided the safest way would be to find something to smash the glass with. After looking up and down the street, she chose a rock from the Ladies Garden Club display. Gripping it tightly, she hauled back and gave the glass a solid whack. It surprised her that the very first thunk shattered the glass. It surprised her even more when she found herself in a panic, looking around to see if she was in trouble.

Her racing heart made her laugh out loud. Who was going to catch her? The pigeons? She carefully reached in and felt along the door frame for the latch. She unlocked the door and pulled it open, then stepped gingerly over the glass.

She had never been in a store when it was closed. The closest she came was her three day job as a cashier at a KMart when she was sixteen. They used to dim the lights at night when the registers closed and lock out customers, but there was always a night work crew working and she hadn't been alone. Her new house had been interesting to explore. New. Exciting. Enticing. It had just stood there waiting for her to enter. However, the store was different. It was almost creepy. She looked down the aisles and imagined shoppers, mothers stopping in for weekly groceries, old men squinting at packages wondering if that was the right can of beans their wives wanted, young men pretending to shop while scanning for an easy date.

She stood in the doorway a long time before she got her nerve up to face the ghosts. The noise of her feet crunching the broken glass beneath them anchored her to the present. She took a deep breath. Let's get the lights on. We'll get the lights on and start shopping and it will be fine. She half wished she'd brought Phil along for moral support. He was easy to lead on a rope as long as she didn't walk too fast. Scanning the walls around her, she found a panel of switches and flipped them on one by one. The florescent bulbs flickered as they warmed up and lit the store row by row. The last switch filled the store with soft, cheesy music. She considered shutting that off again, but found it all way less creepy with the muzak playing. The noise and lights chased away the ghosts and made the experience normal. Familiar. She walked over to the cart corral and began her shopping.

It wasn't until she was heading for the door with a full cart, humming along to the instrumental version of a pop song, that she stopped to ask herself how in the hell she was going to get the food home on a bike. She'd need better transportation. It never occurred to her to take someone's car. She never owned her own car, and the grand theft charges of before seemed to form her earlier decision to explore on bicycle. She laughed at herself again. Stupid girl. She left the groceries just inside the door and rode her bike down the road towards houses. She'd have to get a car. No, a truck, she corrected. She could haul a lot more in a truck.

It turned out she was pickier than she thought. After investigating seven trucks that didn't pass her standards, she finally found one she liked. It was old, plain, and, best of all, automatic. She'd never learned stick. It also showed a nearly full tank of gas. Now, to start it. She ran her hand slowly over her chin as she stared at the house at the end of the driveway. She'd have to go in and get the keys. She could smell a faint haze of death, and was tempted to move on. But it was getting dark. She'd need to get back, get her groceries, get home and feed Phil before he thought he was abandoned again...

Stop being a baby, she ordered herself. She forced her feet to move towards the house, her pep talk helping calm the terror inside. You've already seen dead people. It's not stealing, they're dead. They can't take a truck with them. It's not like they're Egyptian pharaohs or something. She wasn't even to the door when she heard the buzzing flies. You got this. She swallowed hard, pulled her shirt over her mouth, and tried the door. It opened with ease and she wondered if she'd ever get used to that smell. It was everywhere and she really thought she should probably be better at handling it by then.

The lights in the house were on. There was a static noise from the tv. The people died in the living room, wads of tissues, a bottle of cold medicine, and a bucket, no doubt for vomit, surrounding their blackened, rotting corpses not ten feet from the door. She almost lost it right there. Frantically she glanced around the entrance for a key rack, a table, a hutch the family obviously used to throw their mail and keys on. Something. She put her arm up and pressed her face into the crook of her elbow, her eyes beginning to water. There! On a side table next to the couch sat the keys. She counted to three, then raced in, snatched the keys, then turned and ran out the door, slamming it hard behind her. She was shaking when she tried to put the keys in the door of the truck, but she did it. Once again, she did it.

It took a few minutes in the cab for her to familiarize herself with the truck. She had to adjust the seat. The man had been huge, and her feet couldn't reach the pedals until she found the proper lever. She adjusted the mirror. She turned on the wipers instead of the lights. But she eventually got it. She put the truck in drive and made her way back to the store. A little jerkily, and she stopped at the damn light and sat there a full minute before she asked herself what she was doing and drove through.

She loaded up her groceries, then looked at the empty truck bed. It seemed like a waste to have all that extra space and not use it. Besides, she'd certainly eat the food. It would be much easier if she could have her own store in her house. She spent the next hour hauling boxes of food from the aisles to the truck bed. When it was full and she was sore and it was dark and she was tired, she sat on the tailgate to catch her breath and felt a bit of pride in her chest. She would need food, and lots of it. The store certainly had more, and there was plenty of room in her huge house. She made a plan and it felt great to start to think ahead.

The next week passed in a blur for her, but a good blur. It wasn't the same numbness she'd wandered through before she found her new home. It was a blur of hard work, long days and short nights, but, mostly, the bone deep satisfaction of accomplishment. She was getting it done. She was working for herself. She was making her own life happen.

At least, that's what she told herself at night, when she lay in the bed she had brought to the basement exhausted. That's what she said to calm her racing mind and convince her aching body it was all worth it. She was no longer afraid of being alone. She was afraid of not being ready. Sometime during the week, when she was toiling to clean out the grocery store and set herself up with enough food for the winter, it dawned on her that this might be forever.

Maybe it was the night she ate through two cans of tuna, a jar of peaches, and two bags of chips, utterly ravenous after the exertions of the day. Maybe the pile of empty containers filling two trash bags hammered it home. Maybe the fact that she'd already had to consolidate three nearly empty cardboard cases was the spark she needed to really accept her situation.

Whatever it was that brought it about, the realization that the new life was permanent became a constant driving force. She went through food faster than she thought she would. An entire store seemed like so much. It filled up the two rooms in the top level of the house. But she was plowing through it and she knew that the rooms would be emptier far sooner than she'd like. The panic was like a tiger nipping at her heels. She knew that if she didn't plan, if she didn't get more, if she didn't do more, than she'd slow down enough and the tiger would catch up.

While she wanted to believe someone would save her, she'd seen nothing, heard nothing to make that a viable hope. They were always taught that the government was there in emergencies, that there were police and firemen and ambulances with EMTs to help in any situation. Yet the fire trucks sat gathering dust. The police station was dark and unmanned. The ambulances were parked and had been for months. She knew she could not rely on help. She had to act if she wanted to get herself and Phil through the first winter.

When the gas tank on the truck was almost empty, she had her second epiphany. Food was not her only concern. She sat huddled under a blanket in Phil's stall after that thought rocked her. He was a warm body and she couldn't be alone. We need more than food, buddy. Her shaking hand stroked him as her head filled with the hundreds, thousands of things they still needed.

It wasn't just about supplies. If that were the case, she probably wouldn't have been so terrified. Supplies she could get. Just like the groceries, they'd be tiring, but manageable. She'd need to do that, go raiding for other items. She'd make a list of everything she wanted, then go around and find it. Warm clothes for winter, extra hay for Phil, band aids and Bengay and all that could be gathered from different stores. The frosty mornings told her it would get more and more difficult as