Reuben’s Farm

By Winnifred Fritz

Once more, the sun set on Reuben’s farm. Beneath the fuchsia sky, no kittens mewed, no cattle lowed. Eerie quiet filled the chicken coop, the barn, and even the doghouse. Not even birdsong broke the farm’s unnatural silence. To the east, however, the world began to stir as sunlight left its skies. Living creatures would have shuddered at the maddened moans in the dark, but there was no life to hear it on Reuben’s farm.

At least, not on the surface.

The creatures had destroyed most of the farm in the early days. Reuben had only been able to save a handful of animals, tucking them away in his bunker. Even now, the memory of those who had ridiculed him made him shake his head. “Prepper,” they’d sneered. He’d been prepared, but where were they now? Wandering the night as mindless creatures whose base instinct was to kill, while Reuben was safe in his bunker.

The thick walls muted all outside sounds, but Reuben’s security feed had audio. After tending the cow and chickens, Reuben settled down in front of the monitors with his dog and a cup of coffee. He kept the volume low. Wasn’t much point in listening to the groaning of what the news had called “zombies,” but Reuben craved connection with the outside world. His security feed was all that was left.

As far as he knew, he was the last sane human in existence. All alone, save for his animals’ company. People and their chatter had always bothered him before. He had never thought he would miss conversation.

“Wish you could talk,” he told the dog, stroking her head.

A high-pitched scream crackled over the feed, and the dog barked. Liquid scalded Reuben’s hand as he jerked in surprise. Ignoring the burn, he scanned the monitors for the source. Had he misheard? Zombies streamed past the cameras, swarming in response to the sound.

Another scream had him jumping to his feet and making sure his Kimber was secure in its holster. Rushing to the exit, he fumbled to open the interior door. The dog tried to follow.

“Stay!” he ordered.

Another scream echoed through the speakers, and terror speared through him. Too slow! He was moving too slow! Reuben wrenched open the door, stumbled through, and shoved it shut behind him.

Wait. He paused before the exterior door. Danger, maybe even death, waited beyond. Why should he risk his life for a stranger? His cautious and reclusive nature was the reason he had survived in this new world. The shrill cry replayed in his mind. Could he really leave an innocent to the mercy of the creatures?

No.

He reached for his gun, prayed that there were no zombies in the immediate vicinity, and opened the hatch cautiously. To his left, a zombie veered toward him. Fast as a snake, he fired, hitting right between the eyes.

Guilt hit him like a punch. They might not act like people anymore, but they still looked human. Reuben whipped his head around, searching for the source of the screams. Several floodlights highlighted more zombies drawn by his gunfire.

“Where are ya?!” he called. “Make some noise!”

“Help me!”

Reuben veered toward the barn. Was that a little girl?

“I’m comin’!” Racing in the child’s direction, he shot at the zombies lurching toward him, trying to aim away from the screaming. His aging body was not as spry as he would have liked, but he was still fast enough to out-pace the clumsy oafs. Almost there. His first mag ran dry. Eject, reload, release the slide, fire again, again, again. Hit. Miss. Reuben could see her now. A tiny girl stood in the hayloft’s dark opening, waving her arms and hollering. Zombies milled in front of the closed barn doors, too simple-minded to try to find a way inside. He wondered how the girl had managed— Oh! His eyes snagged on a hole in the barn wall, too small for the zombies to use.

“Hang in there, sugar!” he called, shooting zombie after zombie. There were so many! Even more closed in from behind, drawn by the racket of her wails and his gun. A hand caught his shoulder. He shook it off, tripped, tumbled to his knees. Back to his feet. Don’t stop! He was almost to her, almost to safety.

Felling the last zombie in his way, he unfastened the rusty latch and slipped between the barn doors. Creatures lurched in behind him. The girl’s cries halted abruptly, frightening Reuben more than the mindless creatures. He lunged for the ladder, relying on memory in the blackness. Could they follow? He reached the loft, turned, and strained to see into the darkness. The creatures bumbled about below, reaching, grabbing, but not climbing.

Scanning the loft, he bit back a yelp of alarm when the child flung herself into his arms and sobbed. Reuben caught her shoulders, quickly scanning her arms and legs. “You bit?” he barked. She shook her head rapidly. No.

Sagging in relief, Reuben drew the little girl close and tried to catch his breath. The child continued to cry with quiet, hiccupping sobs.

“There, there,” he grumbled. He didn’t know a thing about kids, but he did know how to calm a frightened animal. It couldn’t be much different. His calluses caught on her matted hair as he gently stroked her head. “You’re safe now, sugar.”

Reuben wondered how such a little thing had ended up alone. He had a million more questions, but none of them felt important right now. They were both safe. That was all that mattered.

“You did good, kid.” The praise felt foreign, but right. “They can’t get us up here.  They’ll go away if we’re quiet. Then we’ll go home.” They could figure out the rest later.

“Home,” she whispered, her eyes wide and awe-filled.

Reuben’s heart squeezed.

He wasn’t alone anymore.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Winnifred Fritz is a homeschool mom with a passion for reading, writing, and playing video games with her husband and kids. Winnifred, Fred to her friends, was often scolded as a child for daydreaming and now puts her imagination to good use, crafting speculative stories with unusual characters and compelling themes of finding family, redemption, and overcoming fears.

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