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Winter was finally falling over Abel. It had been a strange year for the weather as well as the previous understanding of life and undeath, and it had been unseasonably warm through early December. Between the apocalypse and the utter lack of visible breath in the air, most people had been feeling unsettled. Some of Abel’s residents were pretending they had lost track of the date according to pre-Z calendars—time is a construct, after all—and hadn’t noticed at all the creeping Christmastime. Others openly pined for the days of holiday TV specials and spiced pastries and ridiculous amounts of fairy lights on every surface. And so, when the first frost finally snapped under their feet a week and a half into December, a sense of anticipation began to grow. There had to be something festive that could be done, regardless of what was beyond the walls.
This excitement reached a fever pitch when a mystery popped up in Abel’s central square, not far from the comms shack. A tower of boxes of various sizes and construction were stacked into a rough sort of pyramid shape over ten feet tall. Each one was loosely nailed shut and had a number stenciled on the front. The numbers were jumbled, going from 1 on top, to 7 and 3 the next row down, but there were 12 boxes in all. They were decorated with all kinds of images in red, green, gold, blue, white, and silver; stars and crosses and peace signs and moons and snowflakes…any winter symbol you could imagine.
A small sign had been hammered into the ground in front of the pile. It read:
Want to help make Abel Township’s first Advent Calendar Countdown to the Holidays special? See Sam Yao in the comms shack, most times of day.
This event has been approved by Janine De Luca.
(PS: I know it’s called an Advent calendar, but it’s totally non-religion-specific and open to all, because we all miss the little chocolates, don’t we?)
All day long, people were buzzing about the pile, and a million ideas were born. Resident flitted around, either gathering groups and scheming or loudly wondering what people could possibly do to be merry in an apocalypse. Still, even the Scroogiest among them had found among those crates a small sight of hope.
-12-
On 13 December, anticipation was at a fever pitch. Instead of heading to their daily chores, people rushed to the central yard, curious eagerness in every step. Arranged in two neat rows in front of the tower of boxes were a dozen Abel Township runners, kitted out in bags and running gear. One of the boxes had been draped in an oversized red runner’s shirt, a huge “12” inked onto the back in a bold black. Evan hung off to the side, occasionally giving instructions to the runners. Sam stood in front of the scene, watching the crowd gather and sometimes giving instructions—“Hang on, just a few minutes, give people time to arrive!”
Sam was practically vibrating with excitement when Janine arrived to join Sam, giving him a short nod.
“Alright, everyone!” Sam shouted over the chattering crowd. “If we could all listen for just a second, we’ll explain what’s planned for the first day of Abel-mas!” The crowd tittered slightly at the bad pun but quieted as Sam continued.
“We’re going to be counting down the twelve days of Abel-mas—yes, I know you usually count up, but we can’t exactly repeat everything every day—until Christmas day with treats everyone can enjoy. A lot of people have volunteered to share gifts or fun or events to try and make the season a little brighter. Because, well, with all that’s happened…we’re going to make our own cheer.”
A shout of joy went up from the crowd. Nobody could resist the Heart of Abel Township’s thrall.
“And on the twelfth day of Christmas,” Sam continued, grinning so widely it was nearly blinding, “Abel Township gave to you…Twelve runners running!”
The runners arranged in front of the tower whooped and hollered, waving at the crowd like they were in a parade. Janine stepped forward to address the group.
“Each one of these runners has volunteered to go on a supply run. However, today, and today only, they’ll be taking your requests. If you’ve got something you’d like that is small, light, and not critical survival equipment, Evan will take down your request, and the runners will do their best to find something suitable.”
Janine continued with a few conditionals and reminders that essentials would take priority, nothing was guaranteed, etc., but most people had stopped listening. Visions of ribbons and sweets and ornaments and the perfect gift they’d like to give that special someone danced in their heads. Evan was practically mobbed as Janine finished, and a few runners stepped out of line to assist. Of course, Runner Five was among them and gave Sam a friendly shoulder punch of congratulations on his speech. They grinned at one another, high on festive joy, and didn’t stop smiling most of the rest of the day.
By noon, the runners were off the fetch their wares, raiding craft stores, gaming stores, and supermarkets for gifts. They all came back with bulging packs, festive ribbons tied to the straps. The first runner back, a younger woman with close-cropped hair that was once dyed maroon, sprinted through the gates to a round of cheers. She began handing out items to those waiting, checking against her list who had requested what, handing a small bundle to Sam with a knowing smirk. Sam immediately left to stash his treasure before a certain other runner returned, with Maxine chuckling from the crowd as she watched him dart away.
-11-
The next day, word had gotten around about the Abel Advent-Calendar-Countdown event. Every single soul in the entire Township had their ears pricked up for news of what the next event could be. Once, twice, three times, people checked the tower, but the box labeled 11 stayed stubbornly closed.
Just after dinner, the speakers across Abel screeched into life, giving everyone a start. If anyone had managed to miss the festivities before now, they definitely were aware now. Usually, the speakers were only used for urgent announcements or emergencies.
“Good evening, Abel Township!” Sam’s voice came from points all around town. “Don’t worry, there’s nothing wrong! Sorry to give anyone a start. Only, now it’s time for the next event in our holiday countdown! It’s eleven days until the big event now, and as the song says…On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…Eleven pipers piping!”
Sam’s recitation was capped off with a triumphant chord from a handful of wind instruments.
“Oh, well done, folks!” Sam said, duly impressed. “That sounds great—well, I hope it sounds great over the speakers, too,” he added. “I’m going to go down and check—but tonight we’re all going to be treated to the musical stylings of some of Abel’s finest musicians. So find a spot where you can hear and settle in for some holiday music ambiance. Enjoy!”
A couple of clicks from the speakers indicated the switching of an audio channel. After a few moments, an instrumental rendition of “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” began floating on the evening air. The “band,” such as it was, was small and rough at the edges. There hadn’t exactly been a full symphonic orchestra in the vicinity of Abel on Z-day. Still, with a couple of enthusiastic flutes, a brash trumpet, and a violin doing its utmost, it was altogether charming.
People drifted in and out of buildings, sometimes singing along quietly to songs they mostly remembered the words to. After Sam had made a loop around Abel to check on the speakers’ sound quality, he flopped down to sit on the ground near a bench where Five and Dr. Lobatse were lounging. The latter told a story about the history behind the carol currently playing, and Five seemed happy to listen, watching the stars starting to emerge above.
If they closed their eyes and focused only on the music, it really could have been any other Christmas in a park, before the world had changed.
-10-
The tenth day before Christmas was a bit more of a poignant affair. A small group of Abel’s most introverted residents had been scurrying around more energetically than usual, darting in and out of a small wooden shack that had recently been built across from the school. A chalkboard had been placed in front of the tower and read: “Event Begins At 10 AM.” This addition was smart, as it meant people could get on with their days instead of hanging about for an uncertain event.
Promptly at 10, most of Abel was clustered in the courtyard, watching the few figures standing around their box. A very tall black woman in yellow stepped forward, cleared her throat, and addressed the gathering.
“Good morning, everyone. As some of you may know, a few of us have been working on setting up an archive of sorts in our spare time. We feel it is important to set down all that’s happened and gather as much knowledge as we can. As dear as all our holiday stories and traditions are to us, we are also creating our own. So, we thought today was be a good day to share them all with you. From the Abel Archival Association, we would like to present to you…our very own township library!”
Two of the other group members tugged off the front of the box marked 10 to reveal a stack of books and a small plaque stacked inside. Someone grabbed the plaque and handed it to their speaker.
“The library will be in the new shack across from the school and open to everyone. We’ll be holding festive story readings all day long, and there’s children’s books, magazines, novels, survival guides…and some original research.” She held the plaque to face the crowd, who could now see “McSHELL MEMORIAL LIBRARY & ARCHIVES” engraved on its face. “In honor of Mr. McShell’s runner number, we thought it was fitting to present this to you on the 10th day of Christmas.”
The speaker finished, stepping back to return to her group. The crowd was hushed for a moment before breaking into slow, quiet applause. Those in Abel Township that had been old enough to understand the magnitude of Chris McShell’s contributions couldn’t help but wish he’d been here to see this.
Some parents began ushering their kids over to the library to check out the readings for the day, and the bookworms of town all found themselves drawn to the shelves at some point in the day. The collection was small but wide-ranging. And stacking all the red and green books in the front was really quite festive.
The laughter of children hearing “’ Twas the Night Before Christmas” again drifted from the small library. It was a familiar rhyme to most of them, but it felt like a moment of peace in a world so much changed.
-9-
The ninth day before Christmas, people were really starting to feel the holiday spirit. Instructions had been left on the blackboard to meet in the cafeteria at 8PM “with dancing shoes on.” By the time Five showed up with Simon, Sam, and Jody in tow, the building had been cleared of the remains of dinner and was packed with people bubbling with excitement. Tinsel had been wound around the lights, and paper snowflakes stuck all over the walls. A large cardboard cutout of a pine tree was placed in the center of the open space, although the drawn-on ornaments seemed to have been colored in with scribbles and scrawls.
Several of Abel’s schoolteachers were indeed corralling a line of children along the back wall, whispering last-minute reminders and instructions. Each of the kids was in red, green, or white, with gold sashes and headbands sparkling in the light. At 8PM sharp, one of the teachers stepped forward and pressed play on a boombox on the floor. A Tchaikovsky piece played as the man explained the children had put together a short dance to start off the night, after which there would be something a little more upbeat for the rest of them. He stepped aside, and another teacher waved the line of grade-schoolers forward.
And with a ragged line of adorably earnest—if not entirely on-rhythm—spins and arm waving and box steps—Abel’s first official holiday dance began. After the children had finished and taken their bows to delighted applause, one of the teachers swapped the boom box to a version of Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree. Maxine immediately tugged a slightly more reluctant Paula onto the floor, pulling her into a twirl and starting off the dance with glee.
The established couples of Abel joined quickly. Most of the rest of the attendees followed soon after; something as simple and fun as dancing was so rare these days, people seemed willing to skip the awkward lineup of waiting for partners. Simon, Jody, Sam, and Five danced in a group for a while, shimmying with various degrees of elegance to the upbeat music. As the night went on, though, Sam and Five came together. They separated again and again, spinning each other around more or naturally moving to face one another instead of the group at large. Sara, standing next to the door with Janine, nudged the latter and smugly indicated the pair with her chin. However, the subjects of their grins were unaware, losing themselves along with all the rest of the dancers in the blur of happy motion.
-8-
On the eighth day of Abel-mas, people kept casting sideways glances at Sara, waiting for her to stride up to the tower of boxes and…do something. After the clear callback to Chris McShell on the tenth day, most people figured there would be an obvious pattern to the gift-givers. Everyone had woken up to a carefully opened box, a single round dustbin lid laid flat on its bottom. The panel with the black spray-painted 8 was propped up at the base of the pyramid expectantly, offering no clues. The morning passed, and lunch, and still Sara acted for all the world as if she had no idea why she kept catching people looking at her.
Then it started to snow.
Great, fat, sticky flakes that clung to every surface against all apparent logic. The midafternoon sun was sharp and clear, the sky a thin watery blue, and Abel was wrapping itself in a blanket of white.
Throughout this, Sara worked around the central yard on something nonspecific, not making noticeable progress on anything in particular, but decidedly industrious anyway. By the time the snow lay on the grass thick enough to display a footprint, Sara had collected the curious gazes of everyone in the vicinity. When she suddenly stood, dusted off her hands, and strode towards the Advent Calendar, a crowd immediately began to gather.
Sara grabbed a crowbar that had been hidden among the crates and reached into the mostly-empty box, prizing away a false back. Tossing the thin plywood on the grass, Sara pulled from the deceptively deep box several crude sleds. She began handing them to the children who had darted to the front for a better look. The children were immediately hollering and whooping and laughing, a ripple of shared joy spreading through the crowd.
Sara stepped away from the tower, stuck two fingers in her mouth, and gave a short, piercing whistle. From the alleyway behind her arose a clatter, and a gaggle of guards appeared in four pairs, hefting more sleds and large pieces of plywood aloft. Grinning, they scattered among the crowd, distributing their wares. Sleds of all descriptions—more bin lids, laundry hampers, crudely carved runners with seats somehow bolted to the top—were snatched up by excited residents. The plywood was laid over any suitable surface—a small flight of steps, a bench, a horizontal fitness bar—to make ramps. Additional guards appeared, buckets hung on poles over their shoulders like old-fashioned milkmaids, to dump bucketfuls of snow over the top. (The tops of the walls of Abel were suspiciously stone-colored as opposed to snow-dusted.)
Five managed to grab a red wooden sled and held it victoriously overhead, yelling “Rosebud!” as they ran full tilt towards the most chaotic group of runners. Laughter followed. Everywhere in Abel, people were sliding down whatever passed as a slope, or dragging people on plastic disks, or scooping snow back onto their makeshift hills.
Sara handed the last sled—a proper plastic sled in a cheery pink—to Ed, who had been waiting at the front of the crowd with Molly hanging off his leg. They nodded to each other, sharing a knowing smile. After a moment of companionable silence, Ed gave a cheerful yell and hoisted a happily babbling Molly onto the sled, joining the merry chaos. Sara retreated to the edges of the yard to watch, passing Sam, who was laughing uproariously as he hoisted a snow-clumped Five upright from a comically dramatic tumble from a sled.
The rest of the night, Simon, Jack, and Phil kept casting Sara suspicious looks and whispering behind their hands to one another. There was no way she had that planned all along…was there? How could she possibly have known it would snow today, but four days ago? Ridiculous. She must have set this up last-minute. Sara seldom did anything last minute, but that made more sense than the idea that she could have controlled this. Right?
-7-
Seven days until Abel-mas, and people were wondering how Abel could possibly top its own insanity. There had been much discussion of what the seventh day might hold after someone painted a golden crown on Box #7. Evan had roundly denied any involvement in the calendar past the first event, so it couldn’t be him. Even Sam was on pins and needles—he’d openly admitted that while he knew who had reserved the day, he had no idea what was going to be done.
In the early afternoon, there rose a clamor at the gates. Apparently, there was an unexpected visitor with some bizarre cargo in tow, and the guards were openly baffled. Janine was called to the central guard tower to resolve the situation, and it wasn’t long before the gates were raised to allow the visitor entrance.
There was Archie Jensen, waving energetically to anyone in eyesight and grinning from ear to ear. In one hand, she clutched a lead that was fastened to the collar of one of the burliest swans anyone in Abel had ever seen. As if this was a completely normal thing to be walking on a leash, Archie practically skipped down the paths towards the central courtyard, a very irritated-looking Janine following behind.
Janine wasn’t the only one caught up in Archie’s wake—the odd sight collected an audience immediately. Nearly half the township had gathered by the time Archie stopped in front of the Advent tower.
“Alrighty then,” Archie chirped at the crowd in her lilting accent. “Jamie—I mean, King Jamie—has sent me here with this super-secret special gift for everyone in Abel Township!” She cleared her throat dramatically.
“By order of the king, Abel Township is hereby loaned this beautiful swan,” here she patted the bird’s back, ignoring the aggressive rear of its head, “to celebrate the traditional ‘Seven Swans A-Swimming.’ May this gift find you in good health and so on and so forth.” Archie giggled, then added in a stage whisper, “That is what he actually said.”
Archie handed the lead to Janine, who looked as trepidatious as anyone had ever seen Janine. The swan swiveled its long neck to examine its new guide but made no move.
“What…what on earth are we supposed to do with a swan?” Janine asked, exasperated.
Archie shrugged but considered earnestly. “I’m not really sure what one does with a swan. I suppose you could eat the eggs? Although I think this one might be a boy swan.”
Anxious murmurs had grown among the crowd as those who had had previous run-ins with the waterfowl whispered tales of their savagery.
“Oh!” Archie exclaimed suddenly, snapping her fingers. “While we were coming here from the palace, Mr. Max von Becquerel here was very good at fighting off zombies!”
“Max von—Of course, you named the swan,” Janine said, resigned. “Still, I suppose we could see if it’s possible to use an aggressively territorial bird in base defense.”
Janine paused to consider. Archie beamed. The crowd eyed the scene before them with great suspicion.
And that is how, seven days before Christmas, Abel Township gained possibly the world’s first anti-zombie, swan-based, mobile animal defensive measure.
-6-
It was halfway through the countdown calendar, and chill weather had lingered from Sara’s snow day. Most of the runners had begun to add layers to their running kit to ward off the cold. Even Simon had been forced to start wearing a shirt.
Box number 6 had gone mostly unchanged since the tower’s construction, and the blackboard in front of it simply read: “Announcement at noon.” It all seemed a little anticlimactic, but everyone had obediently stationed themselves where they could hear the speakers by lunchtime. Five had been hanging out with Sam in the comms room, so she could see everyone’s reactions from above as Janine seized the microphone in the shack and clicked the announcement system on.
“Good afternoon, Abel Township,” Janine said authoritatively. “I do hope everyone is having a productive day. As I am sure you all are aware, today marks the sixth day of our festive event. In honor of the ‘six geese a-laying,’ I thought this would be an excellent time to announce that through some strategic bartering with the Ministry, there will soon be an upgrade to everyone’s bedding situations.”
Sam and Five shared a look. Sam gave off heat like a radiator in his massive hoodie, but Five’s eyes widened with excitement.
“We have acquired a supply of warmer, thicker blankets,” Janine continued without pause, “and have begun on plans to replace some of the lodging tents with more permanent structures. Delivery will be within the next few days, so please stay alert for instructions on picking up your items.”
A cheer went up among the adult residents of Abel, although there were scattered groans from some of the children. This was the first full winter after the apocalypse. People had been especially feeling the effects as they huddled under blankets in drafty tents at night or clumped together in increasingly frequent runner’s piles. And so it was that the gift for the sixth day of Countdown Advent, although perhaps the one with the least fanfare, would have such a lasting impact.
-5-
On the fifth day of Abel-mas, Runner Five was out on a mission expected to last most of the day. People had started to wonder if that meant they’d have to wait until evening—that is, until word got around that the words “GUEST APPEARANCE!” had been scrawled across one corner of Box #5 in showy black Sharpie. Maybe today’s event wouldn’t come from Five, after all.
Just as most people were leaving dinner and the central yard was humming with activity, the speakers strewn throughout Abel sprang into noisy life.
“Good evening, cit-i-zens!!” sounded a vaguely familiar voice over a background of frenetically-shaking jingle bells. “I hope you’re all near the courtyard, and if you’re not, you’d better start heading that way. Because on the fifth day of Abel-mas, your Radio Cabel hosts gave to you…”
Phil’s voice paused, and three more joined him in a ragged but enthusiastic chorus.
“FIIIIIIVE GOL-DEN RIIIIIINNNNNGS!!” sang Jack, Eugene, Phil, and Zoe, dissolving into laughter.
“…around the tops of these cider barrels,” Phil continued dramatically. “From all of us to all of you, the best audience in the whole post-apocalyptic world!”
Sam, who had been in place in the yard and waiting for his cue, began to roll barrels out from behind the Advent Calendar. Sure enough, there were five massive barrels of sloshing liquid, a circle of gold spray paint roughly drawn around the tops.
There was hard cider for the adults and regular for the kids alongside spiced, sweet, and tart varieties to please any palate. Stacks of cups were fetched from the kitchen, pots set over the campfire to warm up portions of cider, and the quartet of radio hosts reached the yard to jubilant applause.
Before long, Zoe had settled next to the kiddie cider and had started enthusiastically telling a story to a group of children, aided by the occasional dramatic reenactment by Phil. A few New Canton refugees hovered around, many encouraged by the inclusion in the festivities to chat a little more with the Abel lot. Jack and Eugene had, of course, started a drinking game near the barrel of hard cider. Simon and Owen were attempting to outshout and outdrink the rest, so it was safe to say things had gotten lively.
The yard echoed with gradually more raucous laughter, lifted high by sugar, fermentation, and/or good company. Smiling lips blew on steaming mugs, clusters of friends gathered to chat in the warm firelight, and couples passed cups between them. Five and Sam did, too, but that was merely a coincidence since they happened to both be very busy with the drinking game.
-4-
Day 4 of the holiday festivities were back on the pattern, however, as evidenced by the fact the number 4 had been painted with bright pink paint. Abel was just waking up to stamp its cold feet in the morning air when Jody ran to the tower, jingle bell bracelets drawing attention. She reached above her head to fling open the front of the box excitedly, and a mountain of brightly-colored yarn tumbled into her waiting arms.
Jody and the rest of her knitting group spent the rest of the morning darting around Abel, handing out soft gloves and hats and teddies and dinosaur toys in every color of the rainbow. Abel looked brighter by the end of the day—in red, green, yellow, blue, and any color under the sun. Sam sported an orange beanie that was somehow even louder than his hoodie. Five made a great show of being offended on behalf of human vision, but she had an equally bright yellow scarf tucked ribbon-like around her neck. Sara smiled fondly at her new emerald gloves, while Simon strutted about in lime leg warmers, of all things. Paula and Maxine had each gotten scarves in harmonious shades of lilac and lavender.
Jody was enveloped in countless hugs that day. People were often hesitant to call Abel a family up to that point—a defense mechanism in a world still plagued by too much loss—but there was nothing else to call it. This was truly like receiving a gift from a dear aunt or kindly grandma or doting mother. Everywhere you looked, there was a small something new and cozy. The chill of winter and an apocalypse drew back just a bit, buffered by yarn arranged with care.
-3-
The blackboard in front of the Advent tower on the third day before Christmas read:
Choose your weapons and meet at the clinic at 3PM. Signed: The Three Doctor Hens.
Box #3 had been opened in the night, revealing stacks of paintbrushes and rollers and sponges of all sizes, along with a few rolls of painter’s tape and pencils. There were even a couple of tubes labeled finger paints, which the parents eyed with resignation, knowing there would be much laundry in their future. When everyone arrived at the clinic at the appointed time, Doctors Cohen, Lobatse, and Myers were standing surrounded by cans of colorful paint.
“Welcome, Abel Township!” Dr. Myers crowed. “For the third day of Christmas, we wanted to spread the kind of cheer that lasts the whole year. We thought that, if you all wanted…”
“You could help us paint the hospital!” Paula finished, winding her elbow around Maxine’s. Maxine beamed at her, and Kefilwe finished for them.
“Anyone who would like to help us decorate the clinic and help us make it a little bit brighter, we’ve got walls designated for decorating,” she said. “There’s even a free wall for fingerpainting in the children’s section!”
What could have been a Tom Sawyer-esque chore lit up the township like a Christmas tree. The creative types who had been stifled by the lack of non-essential art supplies in an apocalypse leapt into action, sketching out bright, happy nature scenes for the main ward and zoo animals for the childrens’ section. Those without an inclination to the fine arts loaded up rollers with green and blue and started laying large swaths of color on the plaster walls.
Children ran back and forth, fingers and faces smeared in pink, purple, and blue as they attacked their designated area (mostly) with gusto. The adults weren’t necessarily any cleaner—Kefilwe and Five had ganged up against Sam in a brief paint fight, and they were all covered in blue splatters. Paula was busily daubing white and red wildflowers across the barely-dry fields and had been using her own arms to test the paint load on the brushes.
By the end of the day, the clinic had been transformed into the cheeriest, most colorful places in Abel. Residents had begun to file out to wash up as their projects were completed, beaming with the satisfaction of having made a tangible change in the world for the happier. The three doctor hens were the last ones to leave, taking a moment to study the new tableau before them. Someone had painted a rendition of the tower of boxes and written “Abel-mas” in loopy script below. One this was for sure; nobody at Abel was ever going to forget this year’s holiday season.
-2-
Excitement for the holidays was at a fever pitch. Every available surface in Abel was decorated in some improvised way. Every scrap of fabric in holiday colors had been put on display, pinned against windows to create checkerboard patterns or draped on furniture as festive runners. Every scrubby tree had a scrap of tinsel or ribbon gained from the first day of the countdown wound around its trunk. Janine had even been teaching people how to use their homemade bar soap to make snowy patterns on windows.
The box labeled “2” had been beautifully decorated with engravings over the 12 days of Advent Countdown, so the woodworkers had been heavily suspected to be today’s hosts. Sure enough, a pair of carpenters appeared to prize open the lid of the box at 2PM, as the blackboard had indicated. The container was filled to bursting with small, flat pieces of wood. One of the woodworkers held one up to the crowd for examination to show a hand-carved ornament, about the size of a palm, in the shape of two turtle doves sharing an olive branch between their beaks. The word ABEL and the year had been carved onto one side, with a considerable blank space left on the birds’ bodies. The workers began gathering up handfuls of the trinkets, looking to Janine, who had been standing to one side. Many of the ornaments were made of different wood types, with various colors and whorls of grain, making each piece unique.
Janine nodded and addressed the crowd. “With two days left in our countdown, we all thought it would be nice to have a physical reminder of these festivities. Many of our hard-working craftsmen have kindly volunteered significant time to make these from what would otherwise have been scrap wood, and I do think they’ve turned out excellently. There are enough for one decoration per family, which I will track here to ensure everyone gets theirs.” Janine gestured with the clipboard she was, of course, holding. “If you wish, we can arrange for names or short messages to be carved onto the ornaments for added personalization. Now, if you would all form an orderly line…”
People surged forward, forming into a queue at one of Janine’s patented stern looks. By evening, everyone had claimed their souvenir, most opting to carry it around to show their friends. Jody had gotten a lovely walnut wood one and had gotten the number 4 engraved on it to look like knitting needles. Sam had convinced someone to let him write his name with the wood-burning pen himself, resulting in an endearingly scrawled “SAM” across most of his birds. Maxine showed Five Maxine and Paula’s ornament, which they’d had engraved with “MM + PC” in a heart outline.
“Cliché, I know,” Maxine was giggling. “But I just couldn’t resist!”
Five ran her fingertips over her own ornament, skimming over the grain of the delicately pale birch wood. She hadn’t gotten it engraved yet, and was wondering if maybe she should have done something similar to Maxine…
-1-
The final day’s announcement was scheduled for 3PM, and not a single soul in town was missing from the central courtyard except the guards at the walls. Sam and Janine stood in front of the Advent calendar, every eye in the yard on them. Upon receiving a nod from Janine, Sam cleared his throat nervously and began to speak.
“Welcome, everyone, to the last day of our Advent-Countdown-12 Days of Abelmas celebration. I want to first thank everyone who participated in hosting a day—we’ve all been blown away by your generosity and creativity, really. We couldn’t have done this without you. Actually, let’s get a round of applause for all of you; you’ve all been brilliant!”
With some laughter, the gathered crowd broke into gentle applause, buoyed by Sam’s enthusiasm as much as their own excitement.
Once she felt the clapping had gone on long enough, Janine began to speak. “I’m sure you’re all wondering what the last event we have prepared for you is. So without further ado…”
The box labeled “1” was at the top of the pyramid and numbered in thick gold paint. Sam stepped up onto the ladder next to him and reached up to tug off the front of the box. The lid dropped to the ground with a thunk while Sam reached into the box. The crowd held its breath as he pulled out a sheaf of papers and descended the ladder.
“These,” Sam said triumphantly, holding the stack aloft, “Are the menus for tonight’s Partridge-in-a-Pear Tree feast!”
Abel broke into cheers. “Feast” was not a word they had heard since the dead had begun to walk. Rations were adequate, but most people had forgotten what it felt like to be uncomfortably full.
“Mr. Yao, the kitchen staff, and the rations monitors have all been working tirelessly to prepare a special meal for everyone,” Janine said with a small smile as the shouting died down. Sam looked absolutely stunned at the rare compliment.
The cooks had really outdone themselves today. There was a roast fowl, no matter how small, for each person in Abel. Apparently, the hunters had been working overtime. There was chicken, pheasant, quail, and goose, although the hard-working hunters had decided against bringing back actual partridges. The birds were roasted or in sauces or made into a warming chicken noodle soup. A hearty vegetable and bean soup rounded out the menu for the non-meat-eaters, with plenty of crusty rolls to dip in the broth. There were jacket potatoes, mushy peas, and brussels sprouts, of course. Everyone piled their plates high, balancing mugs of hot chocolate or spiced wine alongside.
After the main course, there was a spectacular assortment of pears for dessert. Candied, caramelized, poached in cherry juice or wine, or drizzled with thin ribbons of precious chocolate; the festive fruits spiced the air with sweetness. It was a feast the likes of which hadn’t been seen since Z-day.
So it was, full to bursting, that the residents of Abel ended their countdown to the holidays. Full stomachs helped lull even the most excited children to sleep, allowing their parents to sneakily retrieve whatever meager presents they’d been able to prepare. There would be no new bikes or extravagant dollhouses, no cars for the adults or envelopes with tickets to adventures. But over the past twelve days, nobody could deny the spectacular holiday cheer this small family of a township had found.
There was one gift given on that last day before Christmas, though, that would be one recipients’ favorite of all. Five had run up to Sam at the end of his final announcement and wrapped him in a massive hug of congratulations and pride and never had quite let go. They drifted together into the cafeteria, joining a few of their friends along the way. Five and Sam stayed shoulder-to-shoulder all through dinner, gradually losing track of Jack and Eugene’s boisterous conversation in favor of slipping into their own little world.
When they were finished with dinner, Five and Sam left together, strolling around the township, lost in excited retellings of their favorite parts of Abel-mas. Without realizing it, they had made their way back to the tower of now-empty boxes. They stood in silence, gazing up at the structure that had become their focus over the past dozen days.
“That was really wonderful, Sam,” Five said, so softly he leaned nearer to hear her. “You really did something amazing for everyone. Before all this,” Five gestured at the tower, and broader at the decorated trees around the yard, “I didn’t think I’d have it in me to have any holiday cheer at all.” Five was gazing up at Sam, eyes flashing with sparks of moonlight.
Sam was entranced. He cleared his throat, pink-cheeked, and tried to stammer out an answer. “I really—it was just as much Janine’s planning as mine, I didn’t really—it just seemed like fun, at the time.”
Five shook her head slightly without breaking eye contact.
“No,” she breathed. “Sam, you’re amazing.”
And then Five moved closer, turning to face Sam fully. She lifted the hand that wasn’t twined in Sam’s fingers and brought it to his face. Five stroked his cheek lightly before drawing Sam into a lingering kiss.
The pair stood lost in the moment and each other, awash in the joy the season had always promised.
Maybe there could still be Christmas magic after the apocalypse, after all.