A Whisper of Wind

 

It wasn’t what anyone would call warm inside the old cabin.  Snow drifts piled high around three sides, with a very thin shoveled path at the front door.  A whistle of wind was making its way through a crack in the wood next to the kitchen window causing the lantern to flicker more than it should.

I wasn’t worried about provisions.  I had a completely stocked pantry and enough lamp oil to get me through the rest of winter.  No, my greatest concern was the uninvited guests that could possibly see the smoke from the chimney and knock upon my door.

If such an intruder had the virus, then I could certainly accommodate their needs for a few nights, but should anyone show up who has had the government issued inoculation then absolutely not.  No one had anticipated the grisly side effects or drastic behavioral changes seen in those treated.  It was as if the entire country was in a Stephen King novel, with no happy ending in sight.

What began in Europe as a few isolated incidents, quickly became connected with local homicide cases.  The news media were instructed to keep a lid on things, but in no time at all there was widespread panic based on the stories that did get into the press.

Mandatory lockdown orders from the governor were ignored by those suffering the effects of the vaccine.  In no time at all the jails were full and make-shift holding tanks were established.  Hospitals and their parking lots became war zones.  It was never safe to be outside, especially after dark.

Only a few close friends knew about my cabin and they also knew better than to come up here.  So any knock on the door would most certainly be some stranger, someone lost or someone up to no good.  I’d like to think I would give people the benefit of the doubt, but if it came right down to it, who knows?  Anything could happen.