Home is Where the Heart is

Mouse woke to sunlight streaming into her swollen eyes, and a thrumming headache. Served her right for spending the past three days drinking all the alcohol in the entire world. She groaned. Summer heat had drawn her “Up North” to the cool stands of evergreens in the northern tip of Michigan’s lower peninsula. The breeze off the lake, the majestic pines, the northern latitude – they’d all helped her beat the heat – as had the storage cellar under the tiny, country store that was her current home. She’d spent the hottest days there before getting the generator running for well water and refrigeration. There she had discovered a cache of whiskey, beer, and wine that campers and hunters used to buy on their way to their various recreational pursuits.

Maybe it was actually the last Bud Light in existence. She could hope. She’d saved the worst for last after working her way through the rest of the stock from the market. Mouse hoped she hadn’t killed the medicinal fifth of vodka during her binge. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up and checked her pack - everything secure. At least her survival instincts had remained intact even if her dinner hadn’t. She looked around the room – in her grief, she’d managed to puke in the sink, tear the covers off the bed, and smash a vase when she threw the dog collar that was currently lying under the table amid the broken shards of pottery.

She held her diaphragm in an effort to halt another crying jag. Nearly seven billion people dead from the ants, but she’d spent three days drunk and sobbing over a dog. To be fair, Raider, the recently deceased lab, had been her friend, protector, and only companion for the past two years. Before that – well, if she thought about before that, she really would start crying again. She didn’t have time to sit around feeling sorry for herself if she wanted to eat this winter. Not only was she out of booze, she was low on gas, and needed to hunt if she wanted to have meat for the coming months. Lately she’d been thinking about Florida or even Mexico, but as much as a tropical beach appealed, she was afraid of the risk. She no longer had Raider as an early warning system, and she knew that she would be safer finding a remote cottage with well, septic, and wood burner. Maybe she would get lucky and find a farm with pigs or chickens.

The idea of ham and eggs was motivation she needed to get up and stop brooding. She stripped and climbed into a tepid shower – silently thanking the gods for running water as the stream soothed the damage she’d done to herself these past days. She had tried to keep Raider comfortable, but he was an old dog with failing joints, bladder, and bowels. In the end, he could no longer make it up the stairs to the little apartment above the store, and Mouse had been the one to decide that it was time for a final meal of rabbit, tranquilizers, and pain killers. She was prepared to use a bullet to put him down, but blessedly, the drugged meal had been enough to stop his sweet, old heart. Such a good boy. She’d removed his collar with the heart-shaped pendant inlaid with Petoskey stone, buried him in the back of the garden, then wearily climbed back up the stairs to the apartment. Clutching the collar, whipped it across the room with an anguished wail, then started drinking.

Most domestic animals had been killed by the ants. Humans spread it to dogs and cats, who spread it to wolves, coyotes, large cats, cows. Goats, sheep, deer, and pigs were spared – she used to remember why, back when it still seemed to matter. It had been years since anything mattered other than the safety and comfort of herself and Raider. Working her hair into a lather, she massaged her temples and allowed herself to think about the last person that she had cared about.

“Dr. Elijah Grayson, at your service,” said the man at her door, offering his hand like a politician, “but you can call me Grey.”

What the hell was wrong with this grinning idiot? Did he not realize that she had a gun trained on his guts?

The dazzling smile remained, but Grey had lowered his hand – sensing her mistrust.

“I brought some strawberries, but noticed that your peas need help. Would you mind if I tended them? Is there water?”

Mouse managed to stop gawping long enough to remind her mouth how to form words.

“P-peas?” she offered, lamely.

“Yeah. Nice garden you have here. That’s what encouraged me to introduce myself. I was hoping that we could barter for some fresh veggies. I would kill for some tomatoes.”

Grey glanced over his shoulder for only a brief second, but she’d caught it. In an instant, her brain kicked into survival mode, and she grabbed him by the back of his braided hair, yanked his head back, and shoved the revolver under his chin.

“Who’s with you? How many? What the hell do you want? Answer me or I’ll blow your brains out.”

“Woah, okay. Raider! Stay! It’s okay, boy, it’s okay. It’s just Raider. It’s just the two of us. I wanted tomatoes and I wasn’t sure how you would react to him. Don’t shoot!”

She chuckled at the memory. She’d earned the name “Mouse” because she was silent, sneaky, and moved about unnoticed. Yet Grey had found her flop, and knocked on the door of the church where she’d been staying like he was paying a social call. That he’d been able to sneak up on her without warning was unnerving, but so was his open friendliness and enthusiasm. It was seriously weird.

Gray was a gorgeous man. Skin like chocolate, kind eyes, braids falling across his sculpted shoulders. The day that he had shown up at her door he was wearing wildly patterned shorts, a faded scrubs shirt, and that killer smile. The smile alone would once have been enough to disarm her, but a pandemic that had killed 98% of the world’s population had left most survivors, herself included, quite feral.

Mouse grinned through the soapy water and recalled the moment she’d met Ranger.

“Out where I can see you!” Mouse had demanded, roughly grinding the gun muzzle into Grey’s tidy beard.

“Show yourself! No weapons or your buddy buys it!”

“He won’t…I…” Grey started to protest, but Mouse gave his hair a hard yank.

“Shut up! Why isn’t he coming out?”

“I told him to stay. He won’t come unless I tell him to,” replied Grey, with remarkable calm.

“What the hell sort of…”

“If I tell him to come do you promise not to shoot?”

“Look buddy, I’m in charge here. Tell him to come out!”

“Not until you promise not to shoot.”

Uncertainty and panic gnawed at Mouse, but a lone woman couldn’t be too careful, and despite her current advantage, she felt exposed. “I could lie and shoot him anyway,” she said.

“Please don’t.” Grey said, simply. “I promise he’s friendly and unarmed.”

“Fine. Get him out here.”

Mouse tightened her grip on Grey as he maintained eye contact and called:

“Raider, come!”

There was a rustling in the hedge that she previously thought was good cover, then a figure rocketed towards them. Before she had time to react, Raider jumped up, paws on her shoulders, and greeted her with a hearty “WOOF!”

Caught off balance literally and figuratively, Mouse fumbled the gun. Calmly, Grey commanded: “Raider, off,” as he bent to retrieve first the gun, then the strawberries.

Raider whined once in protest, then dropped to all fours.

“Sit,” Grey said quietly, checking the gun, before offering it, butt first, to Mouse.

“Good boy.”

Mouse continued to stare at the two gorgeous creatures on her doorstep, then shook her head, trying to figure out how she had lost the upper hand. Her awe at seeing a real, live, dog quarreled with annoyance.

“Why didn’t you just tell me it was a dog?” she asked, irritated.

“Would you have believed me?”

Shoving the gun into the back of her waistband, she considered.

“No, probably not. Jesus – how? I thought all the dogs died.”

“Believe me, I know. Raider is the only one I’ve seen in ages. The variants took all of the others.”

The variants. The COVID virus that had staggered the planet years prior had developed new, highly contagious, aggressive, variants in countries where vaccines were lacking. Some clever person had shortened the word for the “bug,” and it had stuck. Thus, “the ants.”

It had taken months for Mouse to trust that Grey was just as kind, open, and genuine as he seemed. He’d been a vet, but near the end, he’d treated both animals and humans alike. Over the next several months, he taught her to hunt, read a compass, clean game, and one night, after a couple of bottles of very excellent red wine, his homemade pasta, and her fresh tomatoes, he’d taught her that she could feel, and even love again.

Reveling in the joyful discovery of each other, they had been careless. They spent hours talking about food, literature, their families. Grey had been raised on a commune by hippie, survivalist grandparents. They had taught him many skills that he shared with Mouse. Together they grew and canned food, built solar panels, siphoned gas, set traps. They had been out scouting for a truck with a plow and winch to head north to see how his grandparents had fared when Grey had been taken.

They had been in Detroit to find a vehicle, but instead, found trouble. The men had approached Grey in the lot of a Ford dealership. Mouse was inside getting keys, and when Raider gave a low growl, she had hidden behind a counter. She watched as a well-armed trio surrounded Grey. She had followed – silent as a proverbial mouse, until they piled into a Hummer and drove off. Knowing Grey’s skill with weapons, persuasion, and navigation, she expected that he would be back soon. She headed to the last place they had stayed and waited for him to return. He never had. She’d spent almost two years searching for him in the dangerously populated areas of Detroit before she and Raider had headed north to safety and solitude.

After drying off, Mouse brushed her teeth, dressed, and started cleaning. She was going soon, but that was no reason to leave a mess. Bending to clean the floor, she snagged the dog collar – maybe she could wear it as a necklace. Considering, she turned it over in her palm, and her breath caught. The gold heart wasn’t a charm at all – it was a locket. Heart pounding, she gingerly pried open the clasp. On the left was an aging photo of a handsome, older couple laughing with a young boy. The boy’s grin was unmistakably Grey. Mouse grinned back through her tears. It was the only picture she had of him. The other half of the locket bore an inscription:

May your heart always lead you home.

(46.3998301, -84.2301619)

Nana and Pop

Home. Grey’s home. If he was alive, she knew he would try to get to his grandparents. Until this moment, she hadn’t known where they were. But now she did.

Mouse raced downstairs to the store and found what she was looking for: a map of the state pinned to the wall. She measured the coordinates and stared at the small island only 85 miles from her current location. She would need a boat, but that should be easy enough.

Her brain wasn’t sure that she would find him there, but her heart was. Her bag was ready, the Jeep full of fuel. It was a gorgeous fall day, and she was going to follow her heart.