Theatrical Muse #323 Right and Wrong
Almost a year into the zombie apocalypse it wasn't so much a zombie apocalypse and more just of an apocalypse in general.
Somewhere along the line they had realized how hard it would be to actually fend for themselves and, as a collective, started reading up on the skills they would need. Blacksmithing. Gardening. Weaving, spinning, sewing, and the like were taken care of provided they could find some healthy sheep, and the tools were right there. The henhouse had been cleaned out and re-populated. The barns, both of them, had been filled to the brim with hay they had raided from neighboring farms once the immediate danger was past, and somehow they'd managed to pull in the fences again, acquire horses and a few milk cows. Somewhere along the line life had turned from a struggle to survive to an actual life again, even if it wasn't the one they'd had.
It was hard to say who first spoke of it. The idea that they might not be the only ones out there. What happened when they got old, sick, infirm. If one of them was in some sort of debilitating accident. They needed people. They were still human, they didn't, couldn't, live in small groups, or alone.
Well, some of them could, he muttered, but he didn't entirely mean it and they didn't believe him anyways.
The question grew. How far was too far afield? Who should go and who should stay? How long should they be gone, and how long, and what if the person doing the exploring didn't come back. Maybe they should set up a radio signal instead. It was still close enough that a lot of the old technology worked. Maybe they could bring people to them, after all, they had it pretty nice here. And they had a whole mountain to play with.
One question led to another. They brought in their first harvest, celebrated, preserved as much as they could for the winter. Brought in what supplies they could find from the nearby towns to supplement their first crop which had been, well. A first crop. No one spoke of what would have happened if they hadn't had that advantage.
And they still talked about the future of their little colony.
None of them could decide. None of them wanted to decide, putting things off and putting things off until winter was making its way around to spring again and if they wanted to go, now was the time. They set the radio up first, to see if it would persuade or dissuade them. It felt a little like looking for aliens.
And still none of them could decide. It became a sticking point among them, what was best. He was in favor of staying aloof, staying alone, and if they had to set up the radio then they should do it at the general store, away from their home, where they wouldn't be bothered if the last survivors turned out to be hostile. She was in favor of not splitting up the group, not putting them with a distance of by now well-battered road to cover and the risk of being injured, or worse. They argued. Eventually, they argued themselves into silence.
By the time summer came around again, they had reached an uneasy truce, the four of them. Two would go and two would stay, and they would set up a rotation. They would camp at the general store and use the radio to communicate, and they would see what happened.
He still said it was more likely that no one was around for hundreds of miles.
She only pointed out once the efficacy of hope.
Somewhere along the line they had realized how hard it would be to actually fend for themselves and, as a collective, started reading up on the skills they would need. Blacksmithing. Gardening. Weaving, spinning, sewing, and the like were taken care of provided they could find some healthy sheep, and the tools were right there. The henhouse had been cleaned out and re-populated. The barns, both of them, had been filled to the brim with hay they had raided from neighboring farms once the immediate danger was past, and somehow they'd managed to pull in the fences again, acquire horses and a few milk cows. Somewhere along the line life had turned from a struggle to survive to an actual life again, even if it wasn't the one they'd had.
It was hard to say who first spoke of it. The idea that they might not be the only ones out there. What happened when they got old, sick, infirm. If one of them was in some sort of debilitating accident. They needed people. They were still human, they didn't, couldn't, live in small groups, or alone.
Well, some of them could, he muttered, but he didn't entirely mean it and they didn't believe him anyways.
The question grew. How far was too far afield? Who should go and who should stay? How long should they be gone, and how long, and what if the person doing the exploring didn't come back. Maybe they should set up a radio signal instead. It was still close enough that a lot of the old technology worked. Maybe they could bring people to them, after all, they had it pretty nice here. And they had a whole mountain to play with.
One question led to another. They brought in their first harvest, celebrated, preserved as much as they could for the winter. Brought in what supplies they could find from the nearby towns to supplement their first crop which had been, well. A first crop. No one spoke of what would have happened if they hadn't had that advantage.
And they still talked about the future of their little colony.
None of them could decide. None of them wanted to decide, putting things off and putting things off until winter was making its way around to spring again and if they wanted to go, now was the time. They set the radio up first, to see if it would persuade or dissuade them. It felt a little like looking for aliens.
And still none of them could decide. It became a sticking point among them, what was best. He was in favor of staying aloof, staying alone, and if they had to set up the radio then they should do it at the general store, away from their home, where they wouldn't be bothered if the last survivors turned out to be hostile. She was in favor of not splitting up the group, not putting them with a distance of by now well-battered road to cover and the risk of being injured, or worse. They argued. Eventually, they argued themselves into silence.
By the time summer came around again, they had reached an uneasy truce, the four of them. Two would go and two would stay, and they would set up a rotation. They would camp at the general store and use the radio to communicate, and they would see what happened.
He still said it was more likely that no one was around for hundreds of miles.
She only pointed out once the efficacy of hope.