Safe Harbor - Well that was unexpected...

Posted on Tue May 20th, 2025 @ 12:30pm by New York Survivor Amythyst

597 words; about a 3 minute read

Mission: Safe Harbor
Location: Safe Harbor Island
Timeline: September 16th Mid-day

Amythyst wiped her hands on her jeans, smearing a bit of dirt down the thigh. The morning had been spent checking the garden and trying to clear some overgrowth. It wasn’t much, but the kale looked like it could bounce back, and a few stubborn tomato plants clung to life beneath the weeds. She glanced back at the farmhouse — its off-grid setup felt both like a blessing and a puzzle she hadn’t finished yet.

“Hey, Amy!” Austin’s voice came from the tree line near the orchard path. “We found something!”

Her heart jumped — *please don’t be trouble*. She dropped the trowel and jogged toward the sound. Patrick and Andrew emerged a second later, both wide-eyed and motioning excitedly.

“You’ve got to see this!” Patrick said, bouncing in place.

“It’s *huge*,” Andrew added, face flushed with excitement.

Amy narrowed her eyes. “Is it alive?”

Austin nodded, grinning. “Yeah. Kinda... slow. But not dangerous. We think.”

That didn’t reassure her.

Still, she grabbed her machete — just in case — and followed them down a winding deer trail that cut through the middle of the island, just beyond the abandoned orchard. The sunlight dappled through the leaves, and their footsteps crunched against pine needles and old brush. They ducked under a fallen birch and passed one of the small seasonal ponds, now half-full and buzzing with insects.

Then she heard it — low, deep, and unmistakable.

“Moo.”

Amythyst froze. “Was that...?”

The boys burst into a run.

Just ahead, in a clearing half-sheltered by the trees and backed by a ridge, stood two mottled cows. Their hides were dirty, one had a torn ear, and they were chewing slowly on wild grass that had overtaken the space. A third, younger one — probably a calf — stood a few feet away, looking at them with wary eyes.

“Holy crap,” Amy breathed.

“They’re cows,” Andrew whispered reverently, like saying it too loud might spook them.

The animals were gaunt but not skeletal. Survivors. One still wore a shredded halter, the tag dangling from a rusted ring. Amy stepped carefully into the clearing, keeping her voice low.

“They must’ve been someone’s. Maybe left behind when the world fell apart.”

“Can we... keep them?” Patrick asked, hopeful.

Amy looked at the boys, their faces alight with the kind of wonder the apocalypse had nearly killed in all of them. Then she looked back at the cows.

“If we can get them back to the barn, we can try.”

Austin puffed out his chest. “I’ll lead.”

“Not so fast, cowboy.” Amy smiled faintly. “We’ll need rope, maybe food. They’re not just going to follow us home because we asked nicely.”

“But we could *try*,” Andrew insisted.

“We *will*,” Amy promised. “Just... carefully.”

They spent the next half hour observing. The cows weren’t aggressive. One was curious, the calf even more so. Amythyst took mental notes — what plants they were eating, how they reacted to movement. Eventually, she sent the boys back to the barn for supplies: some leftover grain in a feed bin, the thick rope they’d found in the boathouse, and an old milk pail for water.

By the time the sun began to tilt westward, the clearing was filled with cautious hope and cow breath. They didn’t have a proper pasture yet, and they didn’t know how long they could keep them fed, but Amythyst felt something stir in her chest as she watched the calf nuzzle Patrick’s hand.

They weren’t just surviving anymore.

They were rebuilding.

 

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