by M. D. Massey
* * *
A short time later, we arrive at a small, square building. The first thing I notice is the open door, always a sign of danger.
“Wait here,” I say. “It could be infected. I'll need to clear the building to be sure.”
“Are you sure?” Rachel asks. “You can't go in there alone. At least, let me follow you.”
That is the last thing I want. “I've done this many times. It will only take a few minutes. Keep your back to the wall and stay here until I get back.”
Her eyes dart around the surrounding landscape before finally landing back on me.
I nod, hoping to give her a sense of ease. I pulled the knife from my ankle strap and stepped into the darkened shadows.
I hear no sounds except myself pounding on the walls and scraping my knife blade along the walls in an attempt to draw them out if there are any. I make my way through the main room with the blade held up ready to strike when necessary as I push open the swinging doors to the kitchen. With the amount of dissonant noise I have made, they would have shown themselves by now.
Finally, I stand in the center of the room satisfied that the property is secure.
“Come on in,” I call, sticking my head out to the two of them standing side by side against the wall of the building. “It’s clear.”
I lock the door behind me, noticing both of their faces relax at the relief of not having to be on guard for a few moments. Marcus navigates over to one of the padded plastic booth seats and sits down, taking off his shoes and rubbing his feet.
Rachel walks with me as I began to double check the perimeter. Now that the place was secure of anyone, or anything, besides us, we need to make sure no one could get in, either. We check the windows, one at a time, running our hands along the panes of glass, testing the edges. Nothing appears broken or loose so far.
We come to the swinging doors leading into the kitchen. Before we push through, she glances back at the boy who stares open-mouthed at the bright logo hanging above the long dead video game.
“He'll be fine,” I say.
She nods as we push into the darkened kitchen.
Our only hope was to find something canned. If the old stoves had worked, this place would have been an ideal place to set up camp. It may yet be, even without the power. I step forward and start opening doors, pulling out bowls and any kitchen tools I find. The gadgets look foreign and awkward in my hands, and I can only guess what their purpose might be. The first thing that comes to mind is how I could use each one as a weapon. At the end of the cabinets, I see an open door leading into a pantry area.
“Rachel,” I say just loud enough to catch her attention across the large kitchen. She steps over and her mouth drops open at the sight before us.
The small room is full of shelves, stocked full of food. A variety of soups, dry potato flakes, a collection of salad dressings, cornmeal, beans, canned chicken, fish and more. The amount of food is enough to feed us for a good long while.
“Too bad none of it is fresh,” Rachel says in jest, her voice tinged with wonder.
“I have an idea,” I say. “I know the two of you are heading east, but what if we stayed here for a few days?”
“Stayed here? What do you mean?”
“I mean, I know it isn't wise to stay in one place for too long, but this food is just sitting here. We can easily secure the building. It wouldn't take much more. All we would need is just a source of heat. Marcus has already discovered the booths are more comfortable than the bare ground. Maybe even just until we get our strength back. What do you think? We work on this stash here until it is manageable for us to carry the rest.”
“Hmm.” She considers the idea for a moment. “We have been on the road for a while now...”
“Just a few days time,” I say. “Then we will move on once we feel rested.”
“Okay, yeah. I think it would be good for him. He's been through more than enough. It's a great idea, the more I think about it. When are we ever going to see this much food in one place again?”
We start to pull things down from the shelves. Just a few cans at first. I reach for a cardboard box of apple juice and cradle it in my left arm, piling smaller cans on top of it.
“Marcus,” she calls through the door, keeping her voice muted.
He appears a moment later with curiosity etched on his face. Seeing the stash, his eyes grow wide and his mouth falls open.
“Come here,” I say as I beckon him to the kitchen.
I take the juice to the main counter, grabbing a knife on the way. After I slice open the top of the box, I reach over to the dish area and grab a glass. He watches as I pour the amber liquid into the glass and hand it to him.
He drinks it with a kind of enthusiasm that I have not seen in awhile from anyone. He empties the glass, leaving a few droplets on his lips, which he wipes away with the back of his hand. I fill it again and he repeats the whole process happily.
The reasons I have given Rachel about staying here are only partially true. I want to make the run into town without them, and keeping them in a secure location would make that easier.
I do not believe they would hinder me. I need to find us a car, of course, but I needed something else as well. I had to find what I was looking for, and that, I have to do alone. It gave me some small inkling of peace that the child would not be out in the open. This was no world for a child. I would do what I could to get them a secure vehicle and get them headed on their way.
When humanity disappeared, they left behind all of their belongings for us survivors to pilfer. Of course, this abundance of stuff does not always guarantee survival. Though we have plenty of things surrounding us--cars, houses, clothes, weapons--what we have a shortage of is food, the one thing we need the most. I already know the key to long-term survival is to find a way to live. The problem is, our world is poisoned. Though we can get by on a daily basis, the end game is already decided. We may survive today, but what of tomorrow? This infection scouring its way through humanity decided our fate from the beginning. I may survive, but I am only one. Eventually this poisonous world will take the last of us.
Rachel had asked me how I knew about the creatures, about their behavior. Truth is, I have no idea how I know. Everything has always just been there, an instinct which I have never understood. My childhood was nothing more than fragmented bits and pieces, flashes of memory that held little to no meaning for me.
The taste of hot oatmeal.
A smiling woman holding my hand in a moving elevator.
The flash of the sun reflecting off a moving vehicle.
I know something is there. I just need to find a way to unlock it.
“There is still plenty of daylight left,” I say. “I'm going to go out and collect some wood. I think we can build a small fire pit in one of the stoves for cooking.”
“Yeah,” she replies. “I'll take stock of the food. I'm sure I can make something out of the ingredients here. Once upon a time, I was quite talented in the kitchen.”
“He could probably use some rest.” I nudge my head towards Marcus, merrily pouring himself another glass of apple juice.
“Perhaps you're right.” She considers the boy, turning back to me with a look of concern on her face. “A fire. Inside?”
“This place is made from tile and metal. As long as we keep a barrier around it, we'll be fine. We can all use a hot meal. I think we are good for today, but tomorrow I'll go out and find us some fresh meat.”
“That sounds good.” She stretches her arms overhead, stifling a yawn. “I can't remember the last time we were in a safe place like this. Not having to keep watch for a cluster or a horde. Not to mention having an actual kitchen. You may be the crack shot hunter, but when it comes to the kitchen, this is my domain. You worry about getting us a heat source and I'll put together some food for all of us.”
“Okay then.” I cannot help but smile at her enthusiasm.
I step back out to the restaurant area. The w
indows still have glass in them, which is rare. Buildings either have them broken out or have vines taking over. Most places along the edge of town are already starting to grow over.
I have heard rumors of places that had more security, walls around towns, protected communities, larger groups of people taking care of each other. Until such time as I can find such a place, I have to take extra steps to secure my location down to one entrance. If the creatures do breach the security, it forces them into a bottleneck. I can manage them that way.
I find the long bench and pull it with some effort to the side door. The glass walls of the restaurant are not a secure perimeter, but I know if I can patch it up a little we can use the kitchen as our main hideout. Also, despite its fragility I have never seen one of them walk through a pane of glass, as of yet.
I step back into the kitchen where Marcus and Rachel are collecting ingredients and taking inventory of the supplies.
“I've got this area secure for now,” I say. “I'm going out for firewood.”
Rachel raises her eyebrow. “Will you be okay?” she asks.
“Oh, yes. I've done it many times. I can handle it.”
“Okay,” she replies.
I find it remarkable that we have developed such as easy camaraderie in such a short time. Then again we have known each other for nearly a day already. For some, that is already a lifetime in this world.
Carefully, I exit the front door, making sure the landscape is clear before moving forward. I spy the old iron bench tipped over on its side, which I pull in front of the doorway behind me as a makeshift blockade. It is large enough to fit over the edges of the two front doors, enough to keep the creatures out. Rachel and Marcus can still escape if need be. I dust the remnants of rust off my palms as I glance over the setup. I feel pretty good about the security. I still have my crossbow and my knife. Rachel still has the other knife if they should need it.
Collecting wood does not take long at all, and I return with an armload. I step gingerly back over the bench to get back inside. We have to build the fire inside the stove in order to cook the food, but the metal walls would keep it contained, easily managed.
I arrive in the kitchen to find Rachel has produced a collection of wraps, waiting to be roasted once we got the fire going. She and Marcus stand over the counter covering each in foil to tuck them into the coals for roasting.
Marcus helps build the base, carefully placing the small branches underneath the larger logs. I produce a lighter out of my pocket. I always carry several as these are one of the items incredibly easy to find. Within minutes, the fire blazes inside the confines of the large, industrial sized oven.
Rachel uses a pair of large tongs to place the wraps into the heat. They turn out pretty good, although we have to be careful not to burn our fingertips when opening them. She had managed to find, among the stash, some cans of refried beans, tomato sauce and a collection of starchy vegetables, corn, mashed potato flakes, mixed and wrapped into soft tortillas. It makes for a filling, high protein meal.
“These taste good,” I say between mouthfuls.
“Don't sound so surprised,” she replies.
Marcus peels away the aluminum before each enthusiastic bite. I watch him, wondering when he last had a hot meal. We eat in silence. I can see their faces becoming more relaxed with the knowledge of our safety, even if it is temporary.
3
Marcus picks the lower level of the stainless steel rolling table as the place he wants to sleep. I place the leftover’s in the corner before I head back to the main part of the restaurant to finish securing the perimeter while Rachel tucks Marcus in. In the looming silence of the oncoming night, I hear her sing to him. She has found a pile of clean aprons and tablecloths to build a small nest for him. The fire, now nothing more than glowing embers, would be enough to keep us warm until morning.
Rachel joins me after a few moments, pushing quietly through the swinging door from the kitchen.
“Need some help?” she asks.
“I'm nearly finished, I think.”
All of the furniture is pushed against the windows, creating a semblance of a wall around us and removing the possibility of a breach.
“Looks good,” she says glancing around the room.
The restaurant looks strangely bare. I sit down on the small staircase leading from the bar area down to the empty center. Rachel sits down next to me.
“How's Marcus doing?” I ask.
“He's sleeping now. I've never seen him go out so fast. We've had a hard road lately. I'm glad he is safe for tonight.”
“That's good.”
“How long have you been out there?” she asks.
“I don't know. A long time I think.” I glance over. She is watching me with intensity behind her expression, lips pursed, eyebrows drawn together. “I, um... I can't remember a lot of things.” I tap on the side of my head with my fingertip. “It comes and goes.”
“What happened?” she asks. “I mean before. What was your life like? How did you end up alone?”
“That's one of the things gone. I have a few flashes, but that's about it.”
“You must have some idea.”
“Not really. I mean, I remember a woman wearing white. I can't remember her face, just kind of a presence. That's about all. I remember being younger, much younger, and she read to me and I felt safe. That's all I know.”
“Was she your mother?”
“I don't think she was.”
“You have been out in this from the beginning?”
“I suppose I have.”
Rachel shifts, adjusting to face me. “Let me ask you a question. Earlier, you said you would go out and collect firewood.”
“Right.” I feel a nudge of suspicion.
“I asked if I could help and you said no. I know it is dangerous out there, but even so, why didn't you let me come with you? It's safer if we all stay together.”
I turn away from her, staring forward. “I understand what you are thinking. To you, I look like a young girl. I get it. But I've been out there. You have seen that I can handle myself.” I trust her to an extent, but I don’t want to tell her everything. Not yet.
“It felt strange, I'll admit. Watching you leave. Not knowing if you would come back.”
“Let's say you came with me,” I reply. “Let's say you and Marcus came along. Then we get caught somewhere. Who would you choose?”
“What do you mean, who would I choose?”
“I'm just a child,” I say. “ I know that. I'm a fighter and so far, a survivor, but I'm still just a girl. You feel on some level as if I need protecting. I know what I look like, skinny and small. I know how I come across to others. A little girl in need of protection, right? Would you say that was your first impression?”
“Alright. Yes, a little bit. Yes.”
“But, despite all of that, if it comes down to it, and one of us is in danger. Who would you choose?”
The dawning appears on her face, eyebrows raising slightly.
“It's okay though. I do better when I'm alone actually.”
I stand and cross the room, gazing through the windows shading my eyes against the glare of the glass.
“Tomorrow I'll go and find us a car,” I say turning back to her. “You are okay with the arrangement for now?”
“Are you kidding me?” she says crossing her arms over her knees. “Ash, you're the best chance we've got.”
“What do you mean?”
“We got hit hard before you found us. I mean, we lost our car, but the worst part was losing our group. We barely made it to that mansion. We just made it up the stairs, trying to find a place to rest, when that loner showed up. If you hadn't been there, we would have been caught in that herd. Now here we are, and within the day, we have found a secure building full of food. If it weren't for you, we'd probably be dead. No joke.”
I nod, a bit taken aback by her sudden declaration of confidence. “Okay, fair enough. I'm glad for that
, too.”
She responds with a small smile.
“I'm going to get some sleep,” I say. “It's been a bit of a big day, and tomorrow won't be much different if I'm heading into town.”
“Okay then,” she replies. “I'm going to stay up for a bit.”
I slip into the kitchen where Marcus is snoring softly from his nest under the table. I think, I could have rolled the entire stainless steel contraption across the room and he would not have woken. I wander over to the fire, still putting out a good amount of heat. Then I find my way over to the pile of aprons and table cloths.
Part of me wants Rachel to come back into the kitchen so I could sleep in the outer room. I shuffle around for a few moments before I slip back to the door, peeking out at her. I watch her sitting on the stairs, leaning her chin on her hands. The weariness of her lot is etched on her face,. I know that feeling, that desire to give up. More often than not, it becomes overridden by the desire to survive.
The next morning, I climb off of the pallet where I had slept. I wake before the others, sliding the strap of my bow onto my back and slipping quickly out of the kitchen into the main room. Once again I find myself hoping they will stay put. They have nothing more to do today than to stay inside and remain alive. I set out a carton of powdered eggs, knowing Rachel would find the gallon jugs of water in the pantry. They might taste a little stale, but who would be picky at this stage of the game.
I am careful not to make a sound as I pull open the door to the outside, double-checking the placement of the iron bench. I step over it, pulling the door closed behind me before I turn to scan the horizon. Half a day has passed since the horde came through. Travelling down the road this time will be more beneficial instead of following the flattened ground, especially since I am now on the lookout for a car, a blue one if I keep my word to Marcus.