Apartment 905

by Sahin, Ned

  APARTMENT 905

  Copyright ® 2021 by Ned Sahin

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  First paperback edition: 2021

  ISBN: 978-1-09833-732-2

  www.apartment905.com

  To the people who had hard times

  during the COVID-19 pandemic

  Stay safe. Stay strong

  Chapter 1

  Early morning light fills my bedroom. I don’t need an alarm clock to wake up anymore. The loud beeping sound would be dangerous in this new world anyway.

  It has been over a month since the second wave of the deadly virus hit the world. Health authorities didn’t expect the mutated version to be any deadlier than the original form of the virus. They assumed the quarantine measures that helped the world survive before would've been sufficient to get through this new wave as well.

  They were dead wrong.

  The mutated version is a lot smaller than the original. With the mutation, the virus had become airborne, which made it ten times more contagious. It is not just about washing hands or keeping a distance from people anymore. You may get infected by winds carrying the droplets even if you are far away from any human.

  It’s been over four months, and I haven’t left my apartment ever since the initial virus began spreading in the United States at a startling rate.

  I haven’t had issues staying inside and keeping myself busy at home. However, knowing that I may not be able to talk to another person again for a long time has made it harder to cope with the new normal.

  I force myself out of bed and walk toward my window to check out what’s happening on the street. It feels good to see people around, but there is one difference: They are not people I want to see.

  Society collapsed within weeks of the mutated virus first appearing. Healthcare workers were the first to get infected because their surgical masks couldn’t prevent it, and it had been too late to distribute advanced masks.

  With the increased rate of transmission and fewer doctors and nurses, hospitals got overcrowded and became the epicenter of the new outbreak. Patients had no choice but to go home, which caused the virus to spread to every corner of the cities.

  We waited for help from the United Nations, but since the rest of the world was not in better shape, the support never came.

  After the decline of the healthcare system, people panicked in greater numbers. Police and National Guards, who tried to calm the streets and restore order, were the second group of victims against the virus. The president and senior government officials secluded themselves to underground bunkers along with the top military generals. At least, that’s what we were told before the TV channels went off air.

  First, we lost electricity and cell phone coverage. Then water and gas stopped flowing.

  Following the massive civil unrest, truck drivers didn’t show up at work just like anyone else worrying about their safety. Without restocking, grocery stores got emptied quickly.

  They say that if grocery shelves are empty, you are nine meals away from anarchy. It didn't even take that long for everything to be gone. Within two days, millions of people became desperate for a can of food or a bottle of water.

  With the absence of law enforcement, the mob quickly took over the streets. The gangs that already existed before the pandemic no longer needed to hide underground. They first looted the medical supply stores to stock up on the advanced masks, which is the only type of mask to prevent against the mutated virus. Then they started guarding and controlling the grocery stores, pharmacies, gas stations, and any other place that seemed valuable in the post-apocalyptic world.

  Having an advanced mask is the difference between life and death in this world. Whoever has the mask stock decides who lives and who doesn’t.

  I peek through a small narrowing at the edge of the curtain to watch the gang patrol the streets.

  It seems like they’ve divided the city among themselves. I have been seeing almost the same group of people on the streets surrounding my apartment building. I know one of them, his name’s Steven. He is a member of the friendly concierge team in our building. Or, he was…

  Steven started working in our building about six months ago before the entire world went upside down. I used to see him on my way to work or to my apartment. We had brief conversations several times, especially while I was picking up my packages or waiting for food delivery. He was a part-time fashion designer. I had loved his colorful bow ties and matching jackets until I realized that he joined the gang. I don’t know if he was forced, or he willingly joined these human trashes who called themselves Saviors.

  I sometimes hear them screaming their gang’s name and inviting people who are hiding at home to join them for revolution.

  I see new faces in their group every once in a while. Most of them are young women and men who are probably too desperate to keep their integrity.

  There is a haze of smoke coming out of a high-rise building a few blocks from me. Without firefighters to put it out, it will grow until the entire building burns down.

  I hear the dog in apartment 1007 barking again. He is in the apartment crosswise from mine, which is 905. I know his owner Kathleen. We first met at the coffee shop on the ground level of our building before the pandemic. I had gone to grab something to eat for breakfast when I saw her dog tied to the fence next to the door. I enjoyed petting him for a few seconds before entering the place.

  While waiting for my to-go sandwich, I saw her looking outside. She probably noticed me playing with her pet. I felt kind of embarrassed touching her dog without asking her permission, so I decided to start a conversation and hoped that she was okay with it.

  “I think he already misses you,” I said.

  She turned her head to me and smiled, revealing friendly eyes and dimples on her cheeks. “I know. He is overly attached to me.”

  “Mom is almost there, buddy, stay strong!” I said while watching the Samoyed sniff the ground. He raised his head and looked at us like he knew what we were talking about.

  Since that day, I saw Kathleen almost every week in our lobby, elevator, and gym. Soon after, we connected on social media and became friends.

  The last post she had posted before the cell phone coverage went away was about three weeks ago. She wrote about how difficult it was to keep her dog inside. He frequently barks, especially during the daytime when Saviors are patrolling the streets more often. I am afraid that they will hear him one day and decide to break into her apartment for supplies. It won’t be too hard to get in her apartment with help from Steven.

  I am thinking about inviting her to join me bugging out from this building.

  While eating an energy bar, I review my plan for leaving the city. I have canned food, rice, energy bars, and water—enough to stay in my place for two more months. If I get fewer calories per day and if it rains during these spring months, I can survive at home for probably one more month.

  The survival books I read in the last few years say an average person needs 1,200 calories of food and a half-gallon of water per day. I don’t want to go lower than these recommendations because I will need all the energy I can have when I leave my apartm
ent and run away from the city.

  My bug-out bag has been ready for an escape since the outbreak first started, and I have enough emergency food and water packed inside to last me a week. I don’t think I will need that many supplies because my safe location is within a three-day walking distance from my home.

  I first saw this location while we were looking for a cabin to spend a weekend with two colleagues. It’s a dense forest on the way to Mount Mitchell.

  The establishment has six one-room cabins spread across the area. The owners are an elderly couple who post their rentals through newspaper ads. They don’t even have a website. I was lucky to have found a mention of their cabins on a local newspaper website. We had ended up booking a ski resort for that weekend, but these cabins have been on my mind since then.

  When the outbreak hit the headlines and the world transitioned into a new reality, I quickly realized the importance of a safe location outside of the population centers. I then ventured on a hiking trip to one of the cabins to check out the area’s survival odds. High elevation, tall trees all around the forest, and a creek in less than a mile from the cabin were all signs of a perfect bug-out location.

  Before locking myself at home four months ago, I made a few more trips to the cabin to drop off gallons of water, canned food, dried fruits, water purification filters, and seeds to grow crops. I also stockpiled on lights, matches, clothes, candles, knives, pans, plates, toilet paper, and several other necessities that will help me to survive in a post-apocalyptic world. I buried my stash in wood boxes and waterproof bags about 50 feet from the cabin.

  Even if I don’t resupply it, my stash should be enough for a year. With the purified water from the creek, plants I am planning to grow, and rabbits I am hoping to hunt, I should be able to hide there long enough until the government is reestablished. They say it takes about two years for essential facilities to become functional again and social order to be restored after a nationwide catastrophic event. I should be able to stay alive that long once I manage to get to the cabin.

  A long time ago, I heard a podcaster say that five minutes before the prom is not the time to learn how to dance. I am glad that I have been studying post-apocalyptic life for years.

  During my research, I noticed that almost every survival book I read and every video I watched mentioned the importance of having a group instead of being a lone wolf when the stuff hits the fan. None of my friends were going to invest time and money on having a safe location because they were too aloof to the idea of survivalism and deemed it to be a waste of time. They believed society would return back to normal soon. So I didn’t even bother discussing this idea with them.

  I wish my family weren’t on the other side of the country. We would have been a perfect prepper family, especially with my father’s homestead skills and my brother’s military training.

  Knowing that I won’t be able to start a survival group with family or friends, I began searching online for like-minded people. I found a forum for doomsday preppers. I posted a topic hoping to find a partner to increase our survival odds by joining forces. If things go south, it would be beneficial for both of us to look after each other.

  That’s how I met Leyton Fowler online.

  He works in his family’s barbeque restaurant nearby. He used to be a prison guard until an incident occurred with a prisoner. I didn’t want to ask too many questions about his past. He seemed to be a logical and reliable person. After talking to him and following him on social media for weeks, we quickly bonded and formed a strong friendship.

  I decided he would be an ideal prepper partner. He has weapons and tactical training that are miserably missing in my survival skills. My analytical skills and engineering discipline, together with his defensive skills, could create a perfect team in a world ruled by gangs.

  I had given him the cabin’s address. He stocked a year of supply in a nearby spot just like I did. We had agreed to bug out from our places and meet at the cabin as soon as we saw signs of the government lose control of the streets. Hopefully, the cabin would be vacant like it usually was during most of the year.

  The problem is… I waited too long. I kept my positivity and thought this nightmare would be over soon. Unfortunately, it only got worse.

  He is probably in the cabin already. I hope he made it there safely. We lost communication after the grid had gone down. I am looking forward to joining him soon.

  I go back to the window and look at the downtown skyline. I love this apartment and its city view. It will be hard to say goodbye to my life here, but I know this is necessary. Around midnight three days from now, I will be on my way to the cabin.

  I decide now is the time to ask Kathleen to come with me. Leyton and I can use one more hand to gather resources and protect our cabin.

  Since there is no electronic way of contacting her, I guess I will need to do it the old-fashion way. The way I used to communicate with my classmates in high school during a lecture.

  I write down my plan on a piece of paper and fold it, placing it in a red envelope a friend had given me for Christmas. If not now, hopefully, it will get her attention within three days before I bug out. I tape a few pens to ensure it is heavy enough to make it to her balcony.

  I first glance through my window to see if there is any patrol nearby. Two men are at the corner of the street. They seem to be too busy joking around and enjoying their beer.

  I open my balcony door and quietly listen and observe. The men are still in a safe distance from me. Unless they look up to my floor, there is no way for them to notice me.

  I quickly throw the envelope toward her balcony. It hit her balcony door’s glass surface. Hopefully, it wasn’t too loud to be heard from the street.

  I see her coming near the balcony window. I sigh with relief knowing I got her attention.

  That was easier than I thought. I turn back to get inside before she opens her door. No need to see each other and possibly make noise. She can do the same thing to respond to my offer.

  I hear her opening her balcony door when I reach for the doorknob to go back inside, but her dog begins to bark. This time a lot louder. The dog runs to her balcony and keeps barking. I lie on the ground hoping the Saviors didn’t see me. I hear Kathleen forcing her dog to go back inside and closing the door.

  “Hey, is anybody there?” one of the men yells in our direction.

  The barking continues inside. It’s less loud, but the damage is done. I hear the guys walking to our building’s entrance.

  “Steven, we got a neighbor upstairs. Mind giving us keys?” one of the guys says.

  Steven apparently comes out of the building after hearing the dog. “Which floor?” he asks.

  I can’t believe how corrupt he is now. He turned against the residents the moment things went south—the residents who paid his salary for months.

  I remain lying down on my balcony floor. They must be in front of the entrance. Hoping they won’t be able to see me or the balcony door, I slowly open the door and quickly get back inside. I take a deep breath.

  I screwed everything. Not only me, but Kathleen is also in danger now.

  Think quickly, Matt Macaine. You got this.

  I assess the situation. They will figure out which apartment the dog barked from very soon. They will find her and search her entire apartment for valuable supplies. Then they will see the red envelope on the balcony.

  I shouldn’t have laid out my entire plan before making the first contact with her. It was a stupid idea. If they find the note, they can quickly figure out that there is someone else hiding around in one of the apartments.

  I can’t wait for three days to bug out. I have to leave now—during broad daylight and when Saviors are patrolling the streets. There is no other option. It’s better to try it rather than staying stuck at home and getting caught.

  I run to my closet to change my clothes and pick up my bug-out bag. The bag is already fully loaded and rea
dy to go.

  I look around my apartment one more time.

  It’s time to say goodbye.

  Chapter 2

  There is dead silence in the hallway. I think about using the stairs to get on the street level, but I know it’s a bad idea. The stairway opens to the lobby. Steven and the Saviors might be there. If it was nighttime, my chances of not being seen would be higher, but it’s too dangerous now.

  I decide to execute my plan B. I will use mattress sheets I cut evenly to make a rope. Based on my calculations, it should be long enough to climb down from my balcony on the 9th floor and all the way to the street.

  My original plan B was using this rope on the front side of the building at midnight. Since it is still daytime, it’s better to use it on the backside and land near the dog park. There shouldn’t be anyone behind the building.

  I open the hallway window at the back of the building. I tie one end of my homemade rope to the nearest doorknob and hope it will be strong enough to carry my weight.

  There is no sign of any human beings around. I wonder if they have already found Kathleen. I would go upstairs to see if she is safe and ask if she wants to join me. I am ready to take this risk, but I know that my key won’t open the door to the 10th-floor hallway. Each resident is allowed to go to their floor only.

  I am sorry, Kathleen. This isn’t what I intended to do. I wish I could take back time and never throw that piece of paper onto your balcony. I think I will have to live with this remorse for the rest of my life.

  I start going down the rope. One foot at a time. I check surroundings at every other step and use balcony fences and air conditioner units to conceal me.

  Every balcony I pass is messed up. Chairs are thrown, flowers are dead, and dust covers everything. I remember how this building was full of life only a few months ago.

  Two floors left. I continue my descent onto the ground.

  A truck’s engine roars. Not long after, I see the truck revving up on the street next to the east side of the building. I almost cry when I see who is in the back seat.