Fermata: The Spring: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series (The Fermata Series: Four Post-Apocalyptic Novellas Book 2) Read Online Free PDF

to pay for our electricity. I had to resort to that expediency just to have a civilized cup of tea in the afternoon.”
    Vick smothered a smile. “Where do you get these things, Hettie?”
    “Oh, from the shops in the neighborhood. I have all the appropriate requisition forms in triplicate,” she said, opening a drawer and showing Vick an array of labeled manila folders. One clearly said “Propane Stove.”
    “There never seems to be anyone at the counters these days,” Hettie said, closing the filing cabinet firmly, “so I leave a copy of the form and trust they’ll contact the director for payment. He’s been awful about not coming in and tending to his duties. The rest of the staff, too. Slackards. All of them. Sometimes I feel very much alone here.”
    “I’m sure you do,” Vick murmured, her eyes running over the basket with yarn and knitting needles. And then she saw the desk littered with an array of calligraphy tools -- bottles of ink, racks of pens -- and in the center, a large leather-bound book lying open.
    Hettie, who was still following Vick’s gaze, said, “My hobby. I watch and I write down what I see, but I make it tidy and elegant here. Have you noticed how untidy and tawdry it all seems now?”
    Vick’s eyes met those of the older woman and she saw the fear and incomprehension in their gray depths. “Don’t you hate for things to be out of place, Hettie?” she asked soothingly.
    Relief flooded the older woman’s face. “You understand.”
    “I do,” she said, “and I have a very particular problem. I think you can help me.”
    “Well, of course. What is the matter?”
    “I have a library of my own, Hettie, and all of the books are out of order. I need a librarian.”
    Two hours later, Vick was almost ready to leave Hettie where she’d found her. The loopy old dear refused to leave without her “things.”
    “Okay, Hettie, look. Let’s make a deal.”
    “I never liked that show,” Hettie said, reprovingly. “It was tacky.”
    Vick had to stop for a minute and think about that one. “Right, okay. Let’s compromise. You come with me in the morning, and then my friend Lucy and I will come back and pack up all your things.”
    “I will not be effective without them,” Hettie insisted archly.
    “Right. Understood. So, you’ll come?”
    “Well, yes, of course. I cannot leave a library unattended, but we will have to wait until after the morning promenade.”
    “Hettie, we don’t have time for a walk first.”
    “Not us, young lady, the creatures. When they are finished with their morning walk, we can leave. I think they must go to their offices afterwards because I don’t see them for hours.”
    Vick decided not to argue about the “promenade.” She didn’t need the old woman agitated, so she agreed to her suggested departure schedule.  
    Because they were up so high, and because Hettie had obviously survived unmolested for three years, Vick stretched out on the extra sofa that night and let herself relax. For her, that had become more than just getting horizontal. She went into her considerable stores of willpower and loosened the iron bands of control she so rigidly maintained.
    Slowly, the tightness flowed out of her body, replaced by an awareness of the fatigue that plagued her, but which she ignored with single-minded purpose. A well-meaning psychologist had once informed Vick that she was "hyper-vigilant." Well, the old bumper sticker just happened to have it right. "Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean the world isn't out to get you."
    Vick seldom let her guard down, but in the oddest way, she felt safer in the world as it was now than she had when Maurice was an ever-present threat. She'd sooner deal with undead monsters than her husband's obsessive-compulsive, controlling manipulations. But the real reason she seldom let herself relax were the things that crouched waiting behind the fatigue. There sat loneliness and fear, growling against their chains,