Animals

Martin liked to drink from the tin can. It gave the water a hard metallic back that was pleasing to his palette. He had read somewhere that this meant that he had some type of mineral deficiency, but he had never bothered to see a doctor about it. Now that the war had come and gone, there were no doctors to go to. Instead of worrying about it, he simply allowed himself the pleasure of the tin tasting water, sipping it slowly as he looked out the window at the now unpopulated city in which he lived.

Some mornings he would hunt. Deer and wild pigs had moved into the city, so game was plentiful. He taught himself to cure and smoke meat, and after a few months of trial and error he was making his own salt pork and jerky. He would snare rabbits in box traps, later to be moved to the hutches that he had built on the far side of his roof top garden. He had found an old copy of Julia Child's The Way to Cook, and after some false starts, he was eating much better than he had before the war. Sometimes, as he was tending to his garden he would say out loud, "This new life, it's not so bad. Different, but not bad."

One morning, as he was hunting, he spotted a skinny calf walking down what had once been the city's Main Street. Martin was shocked to see a rope tied loosely around the animal's neck. A rope meant other people. The calf was much too young to be alive before the war and the it certainly hadn't tied the rope. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen another person alive. He could call out, but he didn't want to risk spooking the animal. Instead, he shouldered his rifle and approached the calf slowly. As he grabbed the rope the calf licked his hand much like a dog. Martin couldn't help but be pleased. He looked into the calf's eyes and asked, "Where did you come from?"

It took him the better part of the day to lead the calf up the three flights of stairs to the garden. "Well, I suppose you're thirsty." said Martin. He filled a pan with water and pulled up three carrots to feed the animal. For the first time since laying eyes on the beast he wondered how he was going to feed it. Maybe he could grow a plot of grass, but that would take too much time. He would have to sacrifice the wheat he had been growing. Martin had been looking forward to making his own flour and bread, but the prospect of fresh milk, butter, and cream was too tempting. He gave the calf the an affectionate pat on the head and headed off to bed for the night. Tomorrow would be a busy day. He would need to gather material to make a shelter for the calf and also search the area for any signs of the animals original owner. That rope made him wonder.

Martin awoke to an unearthly scream from the garden above. It was the rabbits. From time to time a fox or a wild dog would find its way up the hutches and the shrill scream from the rabbits always gave him a fright. He pulled on his pants, grabbed his rifle from the corner, and rushed up the stairs. What he saw when he reached the roof shocked him. A hooded figure was holding one of his rabbits by the throat with a gloved hand. The rabbit was struggling for its life, scratching and biting at it's attacker with a viciousness Martin didn't know the animal was capable of. It was then that he noticed the lifeless bodies of several of the other rabbits laying at the feet of the figure. Martin raised his rifle and with a thunderous crack the rabbit's attacker dropped to the ground. Slowly he approached the crumpled form It wasn't until he got closer that he noticed how small it was. With the his foot he turned the body over. A girl still alive but breathing heavily. Her blue eyes betrayed no hint of fear just contempt. "You stole our cow!" she spat. Blood trickled from both sides her mouth. Martin could only stare in horror although his mind was racing. Who was this? What had he done? "They will come for you! They will crush you! They will gnaw your bones!" she growled at him. Then with a scream, not unlike the rabbits, the life went out of her. He looked over to the calf. It stared back at him blankly.

Martin buried her that night, a few yards away from his building. He wrapped the tiny body in the hood she had been wearing and began to dig. The work was long. Every time he heard a noise in the distance he would put down the shovel and pick up his rifle.He would force himself to count to two hundred before placing the gun down and resuming his work. The sun began to rise as he threw on the last shovelful of dirt. He said, "I'm sorry", aloud before heading back to his home. When he finally laid back in his bed he could not keep his head from racing. What had she meant by "They"? Were there more like her? The cruelty in that little voice and the slaughter of his rabbits led him to believe if there were, that they would be hard to reason with. For the first time in many years Martin's feeling of isolation was gone, replaced now by fear and guilt.

That afternoon he cleaned and prepared the rabbits the girl had killed for curing. Three does and one buck, the biggest of the does Cass, had been pregnant. After skinning and gutting the animals he treated each with salt and left them to hang in the smoke house. Upon exiting the smokehouse door he saw something move underneath one of the hutches. It was the other rabbit. The one the girl had been strangling when he had shot her. "Hello." He said to the rabbit. Martin got down on both knees and reached for the animal. The rabbit hissed and scratched Martin like a cat. "Son of bitch!" Martin yelled pulling his hand back. The rabbit darted past him to hide in some other corner of the garden. Martin inspected his hand. Three deep gashes were welling up with blood. "What did you do that for?" he yelled to the long gone rabbit. Removing his shirt he wrapped his hand to stop the blood flow. The wound need stitching. Martin went downstairs to gather supplies for the unavoidable. He prepared the supplies he would need for the surgery on the desk next to his bed. Surgical thread, peroxide, bactine, scissors, and a sharp curved needle that Martin had once hoped he would never have to use. He removed his belt, with his good hand, doubled it, and placed it his mouth biting down hard. Unwrapping the hand was painful. They blood had already started to coagulate and was sticking to the shirt. "Fuck!" Martin yelled through the belt clenched teeth. He doused the wound first with peroxide then with the bactine. While letting the cut dry he threaded the needle and then held it over the flame of the candle for a moment. "And now the hard part." he said through belt clenched teeth before making the first stitching. He saw red as the needle punched through his calloused skin but the second stitch wasn't nearly as bad. As he was finishing the first scratch he noticed a boy was standing in the doorway to his bedroom. He wasn't much older than the girl and he was gripping a pistol in his right hand. "Hi." said Martin.

"Hello." said the boy back and then after a pause asked, "Did you kill my sister?"

"Yes. I believe so." said Martin.

"Why?" Asked the boy.

"She was killing my rabbits..." Martin tried to explain. "I think she thought that I stole her cow but I just found it." The words didn't even make sense to him so he just said "I'm sorry."

The boy looked at Martin. His eyes were so sad. "Does that really matter?" He asked."No, I suppose it doesn't." Replied Martin.

The boy fired the gun once hitting Martin in the stomach. Martin looked at the blood welling from his body in disbelief. "You killed me."

"Yes." Said the boy. He was now crying. "I'm sorry."

Martin pressed his hand against the wound but the blood would not stop. The boy was watching him, still crying. "Do you think I'll be the last person?", asked the boy.

"I don't know." Said Martin. He was beginning to get sleepy and the pain was becoming a dull throb. It wouldn't be long now. "What happened to the rest of family? You're sister...when it happened she mentioned a they."

"My sister wasn't right sir. Our family died when we were younger. It was just me and Nalla." The Boy had stopped crying now and was now looking at ground with a blank expression.

"Nalla... What's your name?" Martin asked the boy.

"Jacob." Said the boy still looking at the ground.

"Jacob, my name is Martin and I will be dead very soon. I have a hutch of rabbits on the roof. Will you let them out before you leave this place?" Martin coughed twice projecting a fine pink mist in the candles light.

"Yes." Said Jacob.

"Thank you. Now will you end this? It will take hours otherwise." Martin laid back in the bed slowly and closed his eyes.

Jacob nodded and approached the bed hesitantly. He raised the gun to Martin's head and closed his eyes.

Later on the roof Jacob set the rabbits free. He was surprised to see one was already loose. His sister Nalla's calf was tied to one corner of the rabbits hutch. Jacob looked into the animal's eyes. "You are the only thing my sister ever loved." He left the calf on Martin's roof and set off back into the city alone.