On-Hand Off-Grid, Part 2

The cabin. It looked almost as fresh as the day it was commissioned five years ago. It was sealed off from all kinds of parasites, from bugs and vermin to stray animals and homeless people looking for an easy place to squat, with Jerome being the only one who can get in. Upon arrival to this beautiful set-piece in nature's theatrical environment, he stepped out of his Jeep and took the craftsmanship in. Simple, sturdy, and the perfect home away from home. With a great happiness welling in his throat, he turned toward the direction of the city, and cried out:

“You see this? Take my money, take my sidewalk, take my street, take the shoes right off my feet! Take my job, and my grocery store, I won't need them anymore! Everything else is in the assets paid off, or in the will where all my belongings will be made off, but nobody is inheriting this cabin. If it comes down to it, I'll be buried or burned with this cabin! It is bound to me, and no other!”

The echoes seemingly died before reaching that mass of lights below, yet it had no issues bouncing off the trees and the ground of the hills that he was currently upon. It didn't matter, because he was here! Yelling that out loud felt good! After seventy years of life, working his hands off and his mind away, building up his heart to love only to have it broken nearly two decades later, and watching his children drift away from everything that was him, he had finally come to what he felt like home!

He unlocked the door and, after wiping off the dirt from his boots, stepped inside this humble abode. There was only a thin layer of dust upon everything, as no one inhabited this cabin since his honeymoon. On his right was the living room, completed with a couch and an easy chair placed in front of a fireplace. On his left, a makeshift kitchen utilizing a wood-burning oven and a large icebox serving in place of a refrigerator. And, if memory serves (which it still did, even in his elder years), the bedroom was just ahead. Opening the bedroom door, he looked upon the made bed, with its folded sheets wrapped around the mattress like a candy bar. The pillows were fluffed and barely showed any signs of use. He checked the frame; after all these years, it still held up.

Jerome set his items down and then rubbed his hands; it was a little chilly up here in the hills, and there was that report from the radio. He got to work, unpacking all his tools and essentials. He checked under the bed, finding a broom and small brush; he smiled, pride in preparing for the dirt and dust filling his heart. Both would stay outside, however, after he did a sweep of the small estate.

Using his ax and hatchet, he felled a tree and brought in wood for the fireplace, sticking several more pieces into the wood-burning stove for later. After checking the flue of the chimney, he set his water and water filters in the bedroom and lit up the wood, warming the cabin. He checked the ice box, finding it clean and empty. He would wait for the snow before packing any ice inside; some fishing and hunting would come around that time, but he would dine the fine cuisine underneath tin lids tonight.

It was cold beans and canned peaches for dinner, followed by a thorough scouring of the teeth with one of his brushing tools. He would look at the outhouse tomorrow; for now, he would lie upon his bed. He entered and closed the door, removing both his boots and hat. The frame groaned almost as much as he did, his body letting off the signals of sore muscles and tired bones. He closed his eyes, hoping to see the life he left behind only in his dreams; from here on out, everything would be different.

The heat dropped a few degrees as the first wave of cold fronts came like a thief at night.

Jerome woke up to a blinding light. “Am I dead?” he asked. “God, if that's You, could You kindly turn the wattage down?” He shook his head, finding himself back on the mattress. He didn't recall it being so worn, but thought nothing of it as he was still wondering why it was so bright outside; wasn't it wintertime? Maybe there was snow, finally! Kicking off the blanket, he planted his feet upon the seemingly thick carpet-

Jerome paused. There was no carpet in his bedroom.

He blinked a few times and looked down. There was definitely a carpet underneath him. A dark carpet, spreading towards the green-lined door. Puzzled, he went over to the threshold, examining the green tinge. Mold? No. Moss. He reached down and opened the bedroom door to a strange sight; the carpet spread and even wrinkled in some places, going around two large outcroppings in his living room, both of which were being dripped on by an opening in the roof-

“Oh, no!” Jerome moaned. “That stupid blizzard collapsed my roof!”

He considered himself lucky that he didn't freeze to death, and attributed his survival to the blankets and the clothing that he had on the night before. Still, there was damage to his property, and he would have to fix it quickly if he was to survive the second night. He walked forward and almost tripped on the roots...

His heart skipped a beat. Roots? In his cabin? What was going on?

He wiped what he assumed was cold sweat from his brow, and he walked to the living room. The large outcroppings were in the exact spot where his couch and easy chair were located, in front of what he could only describe as the remains of a fireplace; inside, there were sprouts growing through blackened bars from the pile of ash. He looked to the kitchen and saw more sprouts growing upon a stove that looked as if it, too, collapsed under a great weight. The cabins remained upon the walls, albeit now covered in mold, moss, or even both. The ice box was still in its little corner of the world, the only whole and untouched witness to the extravagant changes on its surroundings.

Jerome reached out and took the ice box, opening it to find nothing was still inside. Then, he hurried back to his bedroom, stuffed his socked feet back into his boots, and ran to the front door.

He expected resistance from the door because of the effects of cold weather. He expected to find ice and snow. Instead, the door opened with a little too much ease to a forest with a little too much greenery. The dirt “carpet” was not only more present, it appeared much fuller than inside his cabin. Speaking of which...

After turning his eyes from the seemingly healthy forest, Jerome looked upon his pride and joy, greeted by a definition of despair; his cabin was being swallowed by the roots, leading back to a family of trees. The whole display looked as if nature was paving a road right over his home, with a pothole punched through his roof! Jerome raised his hands and let them fall heavily to his sides in disbelief, now turning his attention to the city behind him.

Gone was the movement that every city had, especially its frenzied fervor during this time of day. Gone, too, was the sheen that almost every city had. Again, the outlines of green crisscrossed the blocks, grabbed at the highways and underpasses, and flattened out at the sides like green clay. From here, in the hills, the city looked wet, as one would look after stepping out of a heavy rain.

More questions arose than answers, and Jerome had enough. He needed to give a closer look, see if anyone was down there that might enlighten him about this freak accident. Running back into his only resort, he burst back into his bedroom, the one place least affected by all that had taken place. He grabbed his water bottles and filters and placed them upon the blanket, wrapping all inside like a sack. He looked around for all his other tools:

He found his hatchet, a little rusted but functional. He found his guns, but they were both rusted and molded, so he ditched them. His bow was intact, at least, and he found his quiver of arrows (he didn't have time to examine each one, as he estimated that he had about five to six hours before nightfall). His rope was gone, his can opener fell apart, his books were in pieces, he had one good lantern paired with one good flint and one good candle that hadn't melted fully, but he had a few knives untouched by iron oxide or fungal material. He stuffed what he could into his backpack and went to the kitchen to check on the canned goods.

They were more like canned bads, and he quickly left that aroma of rot behind.

So far, the weather was warm, but Jerome would not take any chances. He finally looked to where his Jeep once stood, now looking like a molehill covered with everything bird-related, and that meant everything. Jerome rolled his eyes; the irony of his vehicle being used as an emergency apparently applied more to the animals now than to him before. He stuffed his quiver into the backpack and shouldered both, wrapping the bow around both him and the containers. Finally, he lifted up his makeshift sack holding his water, and started back to the city.

He paused; something seemed to flash in the city, like an explosion. He waited a few seconds, but when no resounding boom was given, he continued. Maybe there was someone down there?

As the sun set down, worry set in, and Jerome wondered if he was only jumping from the frying pan and going into the fire.

-to be continued in the Final Part-