DEAD IN BED By Bailey Simms: The Complete Second Book

PART 14, AUTHOR'S NOTE - 3/27/15, 4:44pm

Okay, so, Bailey said that it might get hard to record the truth about what happens to us at some point. And she was so right. This is going to be really hard to do.

Because we're screwed.

I haven't posted another update for almost a week for the simple reason that, basically, until now, nothing new has happened. Every day Bailey and I woke up, I would get the fire going, and then I would make coffee on the wood stove. We'd work together to get another page or so of her novel written, or at least as much as we could before she got too tired and her thoughts got too scattered. I would make simple sandwiches for lunch and cut them into bite-size pieces so it was easier for her to grasp them in her stiff fingers. Then I'd usually crawl into bed with her, hold on to her, and we'd talk for hours and hours. It was like she thought every conversation might be our last, and she wanted to say every last thing she had to say about everything, and hear every last thing that I had to say about everything. Once, I carried her on my back outside and walked around in the snow to get some fresh air, and we watched the sunset over the mountains. Other than that, the only change was in the weather. For a few days it got pretty high above freezing and a lot of the snow melted.

At the time, this warm front seemed like such a hopeful event. The snow level dropped enough to expose the U-Haul's gas tank. I even found an acetylene torch in the shed. When I told Bailey about this discovery, she said she thought it would be perfect for fixing the bullet hole in the tank, just as I'd hoped. I'd started believing that maybe we'd actually be able to leave soon.

But then all that hopeful melting snow totally screwed us over. And I mean totally screwed us over. As in, I have no idea how we're going to get out of here now.

So here's what happened. I think Bailey mentioned that there's a huge thousand-gallon gasoline tank on stilts by the shed. After our escape, I'd knocked on it, and it was almost completely full. There was more than enough gasoline to keep the generator running for months and fill the U-Haul's gas tank with gallons to spare.

So, when the generator ran out of fuel today, I wasn't worried. The cottage light bulb went out, which had happened once before. Just like last time, I put my boots on and carried an empty gas canister to the fuel tank. The tank has a long rubber hose with nozzle a lot like the ones at a gas station. I inserted the nozzle into the empty canister and squeezed the handle. Maybe a half-gallon of gasoline spilled into it.

But that was it.

I squeezed the handle again.

Nothing else came out.

That's when I realized the snow all around me was saturated with gasoline. I already have some pretty shitty associations with the smell of gasoline, but what I realized in that moment made my shitty associations even shittier.

Hundreds and hundreds of gallons had leaked out of the fuel tank.

A puddle of melting snow had pooled under the stilts and had submerged a few feet of the rubber hose. Every night the puddle must have frozen, then thawed during the day, then froze again. This temperature fluctuation was enough to wear a few small cracks in the hose. And these few small cracks were enough for the entire tank's capacity to leak through.

We had hundreds of gallons of gas. Had. Now, we have maybe enough to fill a milk carton. There's nowhere near enough to fuel the U-Haul over miles of mountain roads, even if the snow melted and we fixed the tank. At best, it's enough gas to keep the generator running for a few blog posts before the power goes out and this computer screen goes black for good.

I honestly don't see that we have any options left. I can't try to just walk out. Sure, spring is arriving and the snow is melting more every day. But I don't know the way to the nearest town. It could take me weeks to find it. And without her meds, Bailey has gotten really weak. At this point, she can't even really eat on her own. By the time I got help—if I got help—and came all they way back here to get her, I don't think she would survive that long.

So far, I can't think of any other way out.

Okay, so, now that I've told you what happened, I have to get this posted, rush off to shut down the generator, and try to figure out how to break the news to Bailey.