by Connor Mccoy
“If you are doing good works, then why are they disrupting your supply lines?” Christian asked.
“Because he who controls the supplies, controls the people,” Melvin said. “It’s all about power and money.” His stomach growled loudly, and he blushed. “I’m going to make some oats, do you want some?”
“Hell yeah,” Christian said. “I’m starving.” He turned to Glen. “Why didn’t we make traveling bread to bring with us this time?” he asked.
“I did make it,” Glen said. “We left it on the counter back at the cabin. I was so concerned with traveling light and having supplies to barter with, I forgot all about it. I hope Anthony eats it or takes it down to his workers.”
“When you go back to see patients at the library tomorrow,” Mia said, “take payment in food. That way at least we won’t starve.”
“Not a bad plan,” Melvin said from the kitchen. “Wait. You were treating patients at the library? You’re a doctor?” He came back in the room with five bowls of what looked like oatmeal.
Mia sighed. They’d been spoiled back at Glen’s cabin. He kept a garden and went hunting, and other supplies could be bartered from the people in New Town. She had the feeling they’d be eating a lot of oatmeal here in the city.
“I’m a neurosurgeon,” Glen said. “But I haven’t practiced in some years. However, I can’t sit by and do nothing with so many people in need, and I’m not interested in treating only those who can pay. So, that means treating people on the steps of the library, at least for now.”
“A neurosurgeon? Wow. If the hospital consortium knew about you, they’d be on your tail to work for them. You could be rich.” Melvin sounded slightly awed.
“I’m not interested in being rich,” Glen said. “I’m interested in helping people. They can blow me if they think I’m going to treat only those who pay. On top of that, I have no desire to be associated with an organization that ignore the problems of the society they are living off of.”
“You know, I think I like you,” Melvin said. “What do you need for supplies to get you through tomorrow?”
Glen told him what he needed and then started on his bowl of oatmeal. Mia thought it must be cold by now, which probably wasn’t a good thing. It hadn’t tasted all that great warm. It was more ‘oatmeal-like’ than like real oatmeal. Sally and Mia gathered the bowls and carried them into the kitchen, where they wiped them out with a damp cloth that was sitting by the sink. No point in wasting water. After all, they would have to haul it up here. They left the bowls on the counter and found the drawer where the spoons belonged.
Mia noticed the silver flatware still was in the drawer and was shocked. Why hadn’t Melvin used it to buy supplies? She thought she knew the answer. He was the type of man who would seek shelter in an abandoned apartment but would not steal the items that belonged there. She liked him all the more for it.
And, it meant that the valuables still were here in her family’s apartment, which meant she could use them to buy food and supplies as needed. That was a relief. After today she doubted the coins and jewelry she had brought with her would be worth anything at all. Silver at least could be melted down and made into things. At least she hoped that was true.
When they moved back into the living room, Melvin was putting on his dark jacket and slinging a dirty gray-green backpack over his shoulder.
“Are you leaving?” Mia asked. “There’s plenty of room here. You don’t have to leave because we came.”
“I’m not leaving leaving,” Melvin said with a smile. “I’m far too interested in what you all plan to do to disappear from your lives. No, I’m going on my rounds. I’ll be back in the morning. Probably just as you all are leaving for the day. I’ve been sleeping in the first bedroom, but I don’t mind sharing, especially as we probably will sleep in shifts. I make it my job to find and help the night people.”
“Stay alert,” Sally said. “It can’t be safe out there after dark.”
“I hit the most dangerous neighborhoods before the sun goes down,” Melvin said, “and head back to less dangerous territory when dark falls. People almost always are hanging around the hospitals, wondering why they can’t get help. It’s very safe there because the hospitals are well lit and heavily guarded. They have fuel for their generators. You can’t get help from them, but I know families that live on the streets that surround them, or sometimes in the old parking lots, because they feel safer there.” He pulled his hood over his head. “See you in the morning.”
When the door closed behind them, Mia looked at Glen and raised her eyebrows. “How could we have gotten any luckier?” she asked. “Not only is he a medic, he knows the medical supply chain. And do you know, he hasn’t looted my family’s silver? It’s all still in the drawer in the kitchen. We can use it to buy essentials.”
“I admit he does seem to be the genuine deal,” Glen said. “But let’s not forget, even he said we need to be careful who we trust. We’ll be cautious. Even with him. Okay? Keep your personal details to yourself.”
“So, what?” Christian asked. “First names only? I can’t see how it matters.”
“Did you notice he didn’t even ask our names?” Sally said. “He told us his full name and didn’t even ask ours. And he left us here without any concern for his belongings.”
“He might not have any belongings,” Mia said. “They might all be mine, or at least my family’s. I’m going to look in the master bedroom and see what he’s left here.”
The others followed her down the hall past a bathroom and a laundry alcove to the first door. “This was my parents’ room,” Mia said as she pushed open the door.
The bed was rumpled, and there was a towel tossed over the end of it. There was a pile of clean clothing on a chair that Mia didn’t think belonged to her dad. Other than that, it looked just the same as the last time she’d been in the room.
Her mother had been sitting at the dressing table, doing her hair for some charity event. She was meeting Mia’s father at the gala. Mia and her mom had been alone in the apartment. Mia had wanted to quit college, but her mother wasn’t having any of it. If Mia were living under her parents’ roof, then she’d need to stay in school. And if she weren’t living under her parents’ roof, then she’d have to work, because her mother wouldn’t pay for it.
Mia had explained, begged, and wheedled to no avail. “I’m not learning anything,” she wailed.
“Then you aren’t taking the correct classes,” her mother spat back at her. “You need to challenge yourself.” She turned and looked Mia in the eyes. “You are an intelligent young woman, Amelia, and I won’t have you waste that working at Walmart. You’ll be happier in the long run if you get your education now.
She’d been frustrated with her mother’s lack of understanding. Tears came to her eyes as she remembered the words they’d exchanged, hot and angry, no compromise on either side. She wiped the tears away, hoping the others wouldn’t see them. She pointed to the pile of clothing on the chair.
“Those are Melvin’s,” she said and moved to the closet, opening her father’s side. “These are my father’s,” she said, “feel free to take what you need.” She pulled out a clean button-down flannel and tossed it to Glen. “That might be nice for tomorrow.”
She opened a dresser drawer and pulled out pajamas for both men and handed them each a pair.
“God, this is luxury,” Christian said. “Thank you.” He went to the closet and shuffled through the hangers. “Melvin hasn’t even touched this stuff,” he said. “That’s wild.”
“The jeans and T-shirts are here,” Mia said, pulling open the doors to the wardrobe. “Oh, and sweatshirts, scarves, gloves. You name it.”
She pulled a scarf from the pile and put it against her cheek. It did not smell of her father any longer, but she pictured him wearing it the Christmas she gave it to him. He wore it all day, every day, for a week. She remembered him at the breakfast table in his pajamas and robe with the scarf wrapped around
his neck. She had been ten, and yet here it was, still in his drawer after all that time. She wrapped it around her own neck and stepped back to let Glen and Christian take what they needed.
“Sally, my mom’s clothes are here, but you’ll probably fit better into my stuff. It’s down here.” She led Sally from the room, past the second door in the hall, saying, “bathroom,” and opened the door after that.
This was her room, utterly untouched since she’d been in it last. Well, not wholly untouched, the cleaning lady had been in to pick up her discarded clothing from the floor and make the bed. She opened the closet and gestured to the dresser. “Take whatever you want,” she said. “You can have this room. I’ll bunk with Christian across the hall.”
“Are you sure?” Sally asked, but Mia already was out of the room and opening the door across the hall. She stepped into the spare room, which doubled as her father’s office in town. She moved the chairs from the near side of the desk and pulled down the Murphy bed. It was entirely made up with sheets and blankets, and she went to the closet to pull the pillows from the shelf. She tossed them on the bed and flopped down, burying her face in her father’s scarf. Only then did she let herself cry.
Chapter Ten
Petra heard the footsteps behind her and increased her speed. She kept from breaking into a run by sheer self-control. If whoever was following her realized Petra knew she was being followed, they would stop stalking and pounce. She understood the risks, and moved at a fast walk, hugging her coat around her to give the impression she was hurrying to get in from the cold.
In reality, she was sweating with fear. Her shirt clung to her back and chest, and a fine trickle of moisture ran from her hairline down her cheek. She kept her breathing regular, counting inhalations and exhalations, pushing down the sobs that threatened to erupt from her chest. Rule three: don’t show fear. She’d already broken rule one and two: don’t be caught on the street once the shadows have fallen, and never travel alone.
But she’d needed to get out to join her friends, who insisted on a regular social gathering in the evening, as if they still had pre-EMP twentysomething lives. The lives they’d expected to have. She’d been feeling stifled by her father’s iron-fisted rules, his insistence that she couldn’t keep herself safe. She’d escaped out onto the street, and she was paying for it now, proving her father right, which would have stung if she hadn’t been so busy being afraid.
The dusk was falling, the footsteps closing, and her heart pounding so loudly she wasn’t sure if she was misunderstanding what she was hearing. Was that a second person, or an echo of the first? She was in an area of town where she’d never been before the collapse of civilization. The buildings were old and run down, the paint chipping from the doors and window frames and the stone marked with faded graffiti. Here and there a window was broken, cracked or boarded up. She knew it didn’t matter, there were no places that were safe anymore, but the dilapidated condition of the buildings increased her unease.
A light shone from a window, not candlelight, but something brighter, battery-powered at a guess, and she could see the shadow of her pursuer from the corner of her eye. She didn’t dare turn her head to see the dark smudge in the shadows, and couldn’t tell if he was getting closer. She was reasonably sure it was a he, not that women weren’t also predators, but something about his style, his pace, his patience made her believe it was a man. And she’d better do something soon, or she’d be his prey.
She scanned the street, hoping for a family group huddled in a doorway, or signs of the party that should be close now. Nothing, no safe haven for her. Damn it, there should be some sign of the gathering by now. She took a chance and turned down a side street, hoping to throw off the stalker and nearly ran over a tall, dark-skinned woman coming her way.
Petra stammered an apology before realizing who she was speaking to, and relief flooded over her. She felt a genuine smile form on her lips. This was Chantal Stone, one of the Koupe Tribinal, the court that meted out justice in the city. The court that took a very dim view of criminals stalking people on the street.
She heard the steps behind her, but she was no longer afraid. Meeting Chantal Stone on the street was like finding out the Terminator was sent to protect you.
A man came around the corner at a jog, saw the two women standing there and started backpedaling. He fell over in his attempt to reverse the direction of his charge, landing on his ass and crab walking backward. The tall woman raised her eyebrows.
“I was just… I need to tell her something.” He nodded at Petra.
“Then tell us all,” Chantal said.
Petra was surprised at the speed and efficacy of the men who appeared from the shadows and grabbed the man who’d been following her. He was beaten into submission, an act of overt violence that Petra couldn’t watch before he was dragged away into the darkness of an alley. The rumor was that if you were hauled into the Cut Court, you never would return. Petra never wanted to find out if it was true.
“It’s not wise to be out on the street on your own,” Chantal said.
“I know. I was meeting friends, but they weren’t where they said they’d be,” Petra said, realizing what a lame excuse it was and dropping her gaze to the sidewalk.
“I will send you home with an escort, and don’t let me find you out on these streets alone ever again. Do you understand?” Chantal’s eyes were a piercing as Petra’s father’s.
Petra nodded, and when two more men appeared from the shadows, she went without demurring. She might be naive enough to defy her father, but she would not risk finding herself brought before the Koupe Tribinal for something as trivial as a party.
Chapter Eleven
Melvin dragged his battered bicycle up the steps from the basement. The steps were steep and narrow and the bike unwieldy. But the trip to his supply house was many miles long and necessitated a vehicle of some sort. He was thankful for it but wished he didn’t need to hide it in such an inconvenient location. It added fifteen minutes to his trip on each end.
He settled his mostly empty backpack over his shoulders and pedaled down the center of the street and then headed south along the river. Dusk was falling, which was both good and bad. Good in that there were fewer people on the streets, and bad because those who remained tended to be scarier, and more likely to ambush him and drag him off his bike.
A little over two hours of biking down I-75 and he was in Rockwood, riding along Heron River Drive toward the Michigan River. It was nearing full dark now, but he knew his way by heart and the moon reached the road, giving him just enough light to see the driveway of an abandoned marine supply and repair shop. He rode around back of the warehouse-sized building, leaned his bike against the wall and knocked on the glass door.
The curtain twitched, an eye peered out, and the locks began turning. The door opened to a slight man who ushered him in and quickly closed and locked the door. Melvin waited for him to secure the door and then the two men shook hands warmly.
“Roger,” Melvin said. “How have you been? Have there been any more raids?”
“They came again a week ago,” Roger said, leading the way through the office and into the room that used to contain the bits and pieces used to repair boats of all sizes. It was lined with shelves holding boxes of every size, many with a red cross or the twined snake symbol of the medical profession. “We took a hit on the usual supplies, sterile bandages, wraps, and chuck pads. But they still haven’t discovered the vault. And I don’t mean them to ever find it.”
He was talking about the basement storage rooms where they stored the more valuable items. Pieces of equipment, antibiotics, sterile saline, and uncontaminated water were among the supplies they kept there. Raids were inevitable, they’d long since stopped moving from place to place in an effort to outwit the Tribuinal, but if all they ever found were boxes of bandages and sterile dressings, then Melvin could live with that.
“Do we have soup packets?” he asked. “I’m almost out.”
“Let’s go down and get you loaded up.” Roger led the way to a door that opened into a broom closet where he pushed on the back wall, causing the wall next to him to slide back, revealing the stairway to the basement. Roger and Melvin were the only people on this Earth who knew about the secret panel, and they meant to keep it that way. When they’d discovered the place the door had opened onto the top landing of the staircase, and it had been a simple thing to enclose it and disguise the entrance as a broom closet.
The secrecy meant they had to haul all the deliveries to the basement themselves, a sometimes lengthy and backbreaking job. Especially since the two men didn’t let the delivery drivers into the building at all but made them drop their boxes on the loading dock and leave before they took them inside.
At the bottom of the stairs, they turned down a long hall and through a doorway into what used to be a drydock for boat repair. The lower half of the boat would rest down here, giving workmen access to the propeller and hull, while the deck was accessible from above. But the opening had been closed over when the shop had transformed from mostly repairs to mostly sales. And this suited Melvin and Roger just fine.
Melvin moved deftly among the shelves that filled the room, picking and choosing the supplies he would take back to the city. Antibiotics in many forms -- pills, injectable, and ointment -- dressings, adhesive bandages, ticking them off his mental list as he walked along the rows of shelves. Next to a pallet stacked with boxes of dried soup Melvin pulled a couple of grocery bags from a pocket of his backpack and filled them with soup packets. He tossed the discarded cartons into a trash bin.