Read Bar None for Free Online

sitting at the table, I stand and say, "Bar None."
    Nobody seems very surprised.
    "And now he's gone," the Irishman says. "He can't explain himself, and he never even told us where he comes from."
    "There are five of us here," Jessica says. Her long hair looks wild after a night of not sleeping, like an unkempt halo. "I saw him ride away around two this morning. How could he have come to all of us?"
    "How long was he with you?" Jacqueline says.
    Jessica shrugs. "Half an hour."
    "Me too," Cordell says.
    Silence, but for the sizzle of frying potatoes.
    "Well, who's to say anything he said is true?" Cordell says.
    "I believe him." I walk to the sink and swill my cup from the bucket of water standing there. Do we really have to leave all this? I think. The garden, the tower, the spring? Where will be get our water from on the road? Will the mains still be working in some places? Is it safe to drink it from a reservoir? What about the other survivors Michael mentioned, the good ones and the bad? And the other things he hinted at . . . those "factions." The thoughts rampage through my mind, setting me on edge and causing me to shiver. I look out the window and up the slope toward the tower. There are several rabbits dotted around its base, taking in the sun.
    "What's there to believe?" Cordell says. Jacqueline is whispering something as well, but voices raise and none of us can hear what she's saying.
    I stare from the window for a while, not joining in the exchange. It soon becomes so that I can't tell who is saying what, who wants to go, who wants to stay. Through all of it I hear Jacqueline's whisper, a background to the argument that will always be there when it's over. I know that we will hear her soon, and I know what she will say, because I'm thinking it as well.
    "Quiet," I say. The word breaks through at just the right moment, and the kitchen falls almost silent.
    "We're running out of everything," Jacqueline says, her voice low but, for the first time, strong. "The spring is still there, but maybe it'll dry up in the summer. Jessica is planting the garden, and I hope it will grow, but if the spring dries up . . . ? The food and beer is almost gone. We'll have to go out there to get some more, but Michael told me everything has gone bad. Even the tinned stuff, and the food in cans. All bad , he said."
    "We're running out of everything," Cordell says, seemingly tasting the words. He looks up at me and I cannot read his expression.
    "Except hope," I say. "I still have hope."
    "Do you really?" I'm not sure who says it, but it does not matter.
    "Yes. And can any of us say that Michael was just another survivor?"
    Cordell is frowning, turning his head this way and that, and finally he holds up his hand and says, "Quiet."
    We fall silent. Cordell says nothing. Instead, he walks to the door leading into Jessica's hopeful garden, draws the bolts, turns the heavy key, opens the door and goes outside.
    We all follow, and then I hear what caught his attention. The distant, even rattle of an idling motorbike.
    Cordell sets off at a run. I follow, and I hear footsteps behind me as well. I hope all of us are running; it seems important to me that all five see what is to be seen. For a while the crunch of feet on gravel drowns out the motor as we race along the driveway toward the wide gates.
    The sun is rising almost directly above the gates. It warms my face, spilling through the trees, catching the million hints of sprouting leaves. The plagues may have come and gone, but the world is still alive, continuing as it always has except without the interference of humankind.
    Things are going to change , Michael said.
    None of us says anything as Cordell passes between the gates. I follow, sparing a glance for the huge wrought iron constructs, wondering where they were made and who worked on them, and how many days someone invested in forming, twisting and welding the metal together. So much creation and love, and now they would