Inside Hearts

They were slaughtering chickens that day. Sixteen birds, in fact. It was on the sixth chicken that she cut her hand. Forcing her blade through the throat of the bird, she put too much effort into it, and the wide and excessively strong push slid the blade right through the side of her palm. The importance of every morsel of food in a post apocalyptic world was immeasurable. She stayed in position with the bird as it bled out, holding its head and whispering sweet thanks in prayer to the dying creature. Suddenly impatient, she pulled harder on its head, hoping to open the arteries more and speed up the process. The head came off in her hand, and she felt the intensity vibrate through her body. Surprised, she tossed the head into the blood bucket, and looked at the blood running down her arm, all over her pants and shirt.

Sighing, she looked at Meredith and said “We have to get Dave. I need stitches”. Shock was keeping her calm, but she knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

With hardly anything left of the old world, the virus had left us to truly provide for ourselves. We raised and grew our own food, and went to our neighbors for help in emergencies. Clamping a rag over the wound to staunch the bleeding, Sissy tried to stay calm, but she felt the panic rising in her throat like an unstoppable ocean tide. The crew stayed with the butchering project, the ability to feed the community was of utmost importance. She heard a wailing sound, only to realize it came from her own self. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Freya running in the house, with keys in hand. “Lets GO” she shouted, and scooped Sissy towards the door.

Jumping onto the four wheeler, she cranked the key and it fired up with a sound like the Fourth of July before society collapsed. Sissy clambered onto the backseat, holding on to Freya with her chin, and squeezing the seat tight with her thighs. “WAIT” they heard faintly over the rumble of the ATV. Taking a deep breath, Freya turned to see Meredith running out with a small cooler. “Take this to Dave! As payment!”

She strapped the cooler on the rack, and slapped it twice to let Frey know she could drive off. Gunning it, with gravel flying behind them, the two blood covered women raced down an empty country road. Twenty minutes later they skidded into Dave’s camp, Freya hollering and Sissy crying. He came out of his RV, shotgun cocked, ready for anything. A short round man with shock white hair, half his teeth and a stellar tan, Dave was the resident nurse. He had every tool a person could need in the case of a medical emergency in the country. Spitting a stream of tobacco juice, he looked at the two of them and said “Welp, how many chickens died for your sins?” and laughed a genuine belly laugh.

Hauling out the larger of his medical bags, Dave sat Sissy down in a crooked lawn chair, and took her hand. Looking at it, he mumbled something about blue or black thread, laughed to himself, and got to work. It didn't take long, some antiseptic and six stitches, and she was whole again. He handed her a bottle of pills, and told her to take them once a day for 5 days. Then he told her to hold out her good hand, and into that he dropped four pills. He smiled, winked, and she popped two in her mouth right then. “The good ones” she said to Dave. Hugging him like she hugged her dad, Sissy felt the hysteria of being injured in a world with no hospitals leave her body. Sore and calm, she looked in the cooler.

Meredith had thrown it all together, no bag, just bird. The offal was all mixed in there, with a freshly plucked chicken. All three of them stared into the cooler, the project was daunting. Pulling his eyes away from the cooler full of meat, he scanned his campground. Deciding on some unspoken thing, he strode towards a pile of lumber. Beneath it all was a folding table. He set it up, and went in the RV. Freya and Sissy sat on camp chairs, waiting. Cutting board, bowls, rags and knives, Dave was finally ready. Reaching into the cooler he pulled out first the whole bird, leaving what he hoped was mostly gizzards, an Old South favourite staple recipe. Swishing his hand thru the organs, next he sifted out two hearts, one kidney, a few chunks of liver, and three gizzards. Smiling wide, he told Sissy to thank Mer' for him. She knew his love for heart and gizzard.

His brow furrowed and he looked quizzically at Sissy. He held up a heart shaped locket, dripping red. “Why’s this ‘ere?” he asked the girls. They shrugged a response, never having seen it before. Wiping it with a rag, he looked at the filigree engraved on it. Silver, and shining, the blood had polished it bright. He flipped it open, and inside with wet dark edges, was a photo of a chicken.

THE END