Nine Meals

by Mike Kilroy

  Bray stood in line and groused. He peered up at Jesus lashed to the cross and sighed as the line moved quickly.

  Finally, it was Bray’s turn and he stepped into the confessional with loud steps and slumped onto the kneeler.

  The partition opened and there was a long, uncomfortable silence.

  “Do you have anything to confess?” the father finally said.

  “Not really.”

  “Then why do you come?”

  “I’m not a member of this church. I don’t know why I’m here. I’m not even sure if I can confess.”

  “In a time of disaster, anyone can confess here.”

  Bray nodded. “Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been … a shitload of days since my last confession and here are my sins: You name it, I’ve done it.”

  Silence.

  “Well?” Bray barked. “Now what?”

  After a brief pause, the father began to speak softly. “God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

  “That’s it?” Bray asked indignantly.

  “Yes. That’s it.”

  “Seriously? Just like that, all is forgiven.”

  “God is merciful.”

  Bray began to laugh. “Wow. Did He let my wife off the hook so easily for killing someone? Isn’t that like a big no-no. Thou Shall Not Kill?”

  “God is forgiving.”

  “We’ll see how forgiving He is when things get worse. We’ll see how forgiving He is when you have to sin to stay alive, Father.”

  “I am not afraid of death.”

  “We’re all afraid of death.”

  “Please. There are others waiting to confess. I have absolved you.”

  “I don’t want to be absolved with the snap of the fingers. It shouldn’t be that easy.”

  “But it is. There are trying times ahead for all of us. You should be thankful God forgives so easily.”

  Bray pushed himself up from the kneeler and left the confessional. He felt a fire burning inside of him. He could not accept absolution. This world did not care if you were a sinner or a saint. It was going to tear you down either way.

  Bray came to an uncomfortable conclusion.

  We are on our own.

  Chapter Five

  Nine Missed Meals to Anarchy

  Meal 1

  Maggie slept with her head on Bray’s chest. There was a column for drool snaking down her chin from the corner of her mouth and he wiped it away gently with his thumb.

  He was afraid his rumbling stomach would wake her, but it didn’t. She was tired and weak from the small dinner they had last night—a can of soup that was three years past the expiration date and tasted awful. It was the last of their food.

  It had been nearly a week since Henshaw told everyone to go home. There was nothing left for them to do. There was no order to keep because it was futile.

  News had broke that it would take at least six months for the power to return. That sent everyone into a panic. The riots were intense. Stores looted. People beaten in the streets. When Bray closed his eyes he could still see the horrors.

  That was one of the reasons why he rarely slept.

  Bray wanted to go out hunting to find them food. A good kill could keep them fed for weeks, but didn’t want to leave Maggie home alone by herself. He tried to persuade her to come with him, but she balked.

  He also worried about leaving his house. The neighbors were certainly watching, ready to pounce if he did leave.

  They were stuck here until he could come up with a plan.

  Maggie stirred, lifting her head off his lap and wiping away the sleep in her eyes. “Paul, did you sleep at all?”

  Bray shook his head. His eyes burned and his head throbbed. Sleep, though, was not an option.

  “Oh, Paul,” Maggie said, running her hand through his thick hair. It was much longer now than he had ever kept it.

  No barbers in this Armageddon.

  “Hey, I’m okay.” Bray lifted his tired arms and flexed. “I’m strong. My cool-ass tattoo proves it.”

  Maggie laughed and touched his neck with her fingers. “You certainly are, but we can’t keep doing this. We have to get food.”

  Bray kissed her on the forehead. “We’ll be okay.”

  Meal 2

  Bray peered out through the crack in the blind. The sun beat down on the street as two men fought, exchanging roundhouse punches. Most missed the mark as the men appeared to be too weak and too tired to land any meaningful blows.

  Part of him wanted to go out there and break it up. That was the cop part. There was no room for that part these days. Maris was correct; the world was crumbling around him—right on schedule—and watching these two buffoons fight eased that reality if just a little.

  Maggie didn’t enjoy the scene as much as Bray. “You have to stop them.”

  “No way! That’ll either get me killed, one of them killed, or both of them.”

  “You can’t let them kill each other.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  Bray watched with a grin as one of the men finally gained the upper hand. He jumped on top of the other man and pummeled him with rights and lefts until his victim just lay there, motionless, before he began to seize.

  The man stood and hulked over the other, his chest heaving and his hands dripping with the blood of the conquered as well as his own.

  Bray closed the blind and backed away from the window. Another one bites the dust.

  A part of him loathed his callousness, but another part of him was thankful that it wasn’t him doing the killing—or the dying.

  Maggie sat in her favorite chair and pulled her knees up to her chest. She buried her head in her legs and began to sob. Bray rolled his eyes and stomped over to her.

  “Stop crying.”

  “He killed him,” her muffled voice rose.

  “We’re safe.”

  “For how long?”

  “As long as I’m around, we’re safe. No motherfucker is gonna take what’s ours.”

  Maggie lifted her head up and wiped away the tears with her trembling hands. “You have to promise me something, Paul.”

  Bray wasn’t big on making promises because they were often so damned hard to keep. Like rules, promises were made to be broken. “What?” Bray barked.

  “You won’t kill anyone.”

  Bray shook his head. “I can’t make that promise.”

  Maggie stood and grabbed Bray tightly by both forearms. Even as hungry and jittery as she was, she squeezed hard enough for Bray to feel the pain snake up to his elbows. “I mean it. You must promise!”

  “Okay. Okay.” Bray said, pulling his arms out of her vice grip and caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

  She smiled and slammed her head into his chest. He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her gently on the crown. “We’ll do it your way.”

  For now.

  Meal 3

  Bray supposed they were lucky.

  They had held out longer than most. While his neighbors and many others had run out of food and water weeks ago, he and Maggie had rationed enough to reach today.

  Now those rations were gone.

  Bray felt the panic grip him. His stomach reminded him constantly how desperate the situation had become. His throat was dry and his head ached and throbbed.

  Maggie slept a lot, conserving her energy.

  It was only the first day without food and he was beginning to feel desperate.

  He snickered. How weak.

  Bray felt his head bob down and he snapped it back up. His eyelids felt like anchors, like the heaviest material in the world. He willed them open, but his determination was waning.

&nbs
p; Just a few minutes of …

  Meal 4

  So much blood.

  It poured from her mouth, her eyes staring up at him, pleading with him, begging him to take her away from this horror.

  Men and women surrounded him, pointing and yelling, spittle flying from their angry mouths as they bellowed at him.

  “Murderer!” they screamed. “Killer!” they wailed as they slowly closed in around him.

  ***

  Bray’s head jerked up as he heard a pounding on his door.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Maggie sat up and held her breath, staring wide eyed at Bray and then at the door.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Bray looked at Maggie and placed his index finger over his lips.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  “Who is it? What do they want?” Maggie whispered.

  “They aren’t bringing us breakfast in bed.”

  Bray stood and grabbed his rifle. He stalked slowly toward the window, pushed aside the curtain and peaked through the blinds to see Maris Hart standing at his door, peering about nervously.

  Bray swung the door open and she quickly slipped inside.

  “What the hell, Maris?” Bray barked.

  “You have to leave. Now! They’re coming for you.”

  “Who’s coming for me?”

  “Everyone. They know you have weapons.”

  “Let ‘em come. They aren’t getting my guns.”

  “Where are they? I can help you carry them. I know a place where we can go not far from here, away from people.”

  Bray had a pretty accurate bullshit meter, honed from years as a beat cop in a town that had its fair share of problems with drugs. He could spot a drugged out liar and he spotted one now.

  Maris wobbled as she stood there and her words were slightly slurred. She may not have had weapons or water or food, but she sure as hell had alcohol.

  “We’re fine right where we are. Thanks for your concern.” Bray grabbed Maris by the arm and walked her to the door.

  “Seriously. They are coming. I can help you. We can help each other.”

  Maggie stood on the other side of the room, near the archway to the kitchen and bit her nails nervously. “Paul,” she said weakly. “Paul,” she said louder and with greater conviction. “Maybe we should help her.”

  Bray snapped a look toward his wife, a disapproving one. She hunched her shoulders and shrunk away.

  “You should listen to your wife. This is a chance for you to save her.”

  Bray clenched his jaw and grabbed Maris around the neck. He began to squeeze and she choked, her eyes growing large and her mouth opening to try to suck in air. Maggie raced over to Bray and began to pry his fingers from her neck. She finally was able to get him to release Maris.

  Maris crumpled to the floor, coughing and clutching at her neck, which had the red prints of his fingers.

  “Don’t you threaten me, bitch,” Bray said, pointing down at Maris. “I will end you.”

  “Paul, it’s okay,” Maggie said as she knelt to tend to Maris, who glared up at Bray. “Are you okay, Maris.”

  She pushed Maggie away and stood. She coughed and then cleared her throat. “You will regret this.”

  Maris swung the door open and left, slamming it behind her. Bray, his face still flushed and his fists clenched, began to scream and punched the door, leaving his knuckles red and cracked and the door indented.

  “Paul, she’s gone. It’s okay.”

  Bray shook his head. “It’s not okay. She said one thing that was true. They will come for us.”

  Meal 5

  With each bang of the hammer, Maggie flinched.

  Bray grabbed the nail from his mouth and pounded another one in the board that reinforced the large living room window.

  He had boarded up the other windows on the first and second floors, the wood ripped from entertainment centers, the kitchen and coffee table and even a stud in an upstairs room they rarely used.

  Maggie’s favorite chair was pushed flush against the front door.

  Bray wiped his brow and took a gulp of the toilet water they had drained.

  “That’ll keep the bastards out!” Bray bellowed. “We’re safe now.”

  Maggie smiled and Bray forced one on his face. He hoped it was believable because he didn’t want to scare her any more than she already was.

  In reality, all Bray had done was seal them in a tomb. Death would come slowly and painfully in here.

  They would gradually waste away and die.

  This was only a stopgap measure.

  Maggie curled up on the couch and sighed. Bray watched her sleep, the only sound the rumbling of his stomach.

  Meal 6

  Bray thought he could smell steak broiling in the oven.

  Then he caught the aroma of bacon wafting to him from a frying pan on the stove.

  He smelled chocolate and potato chips and spaghetti—oh how he loved spaghetti with sausage and mushrooms—and a million other foods, even some that he hated like meat pie and liver and onions, all mocking and cursing him.

  Bray couldn’t take it anymore.

  I’m not fucking going like this. I’ll put a bullet in her brain and then in mine and we’ll be done with it.

  He knew better, though. He could no more kill her than remove his own eye. He couldn’t hurt his Maggie, and he couldn’t kill himself and leave her all alone in this coffin.

  Something had to change.

  It had been two days since they had anything to eat. The water they had resorted to drinking out of the toilet tank was running dangerously low.

  It was particularly hard on Maggie, who was thin to begin with. She was jittery and tired all the time. She put on a good act, but Bray could tell she was feeling the effects of going that long without nourishment.

  Bray ran his fingers through her hair as she slept on the couch and whispered in her ear, “Maggie, wake up, babe.”

  She blinked her eyes open and then jerked to a seated position. She stared about the room, afraid. “What’s wrong? Are they coming?”

  “No, babe.” Bray tried to speak as calmly as possible to allay her fears. “We need to eat something. I’m going out to try to find some food and water.”

  Maggie reached out and grabbed his arm. “No, Paul. Don’t go.”

  “I have to, babe. We’re going to starve to death in here. I’ll sneak out. No one will see me. They’ll still think I’m in here with you. Take this gun,” Bray placed the Ruger Single-Nine revolver in her open palm. “If anyone comes in, shoot them.”

  Maggie shook her head, her eyes welling with tears. “I can’t do it.”

  “Yes, you can. But you won’t have to. It’s just in case.”

  “Don’t hurt anyone. Promise me.”

  Bray shook his head. “I can’t promise that.”

  She squeezed his arm again. “Promise me. Only if you have to.”

  Bray smiled and pecked Maggie on the forehead. “Only if I have to, babe.”

  He walked to the kitchen sink and crawled onto the counter. There was a small window overlooking the back yard and it was barely wide enough for him to slip through. It was also the only window he didn’t board up.

  Bray wiggled his way through and plopped onto the grass. He peered up at the storm clouds on the horizon and felt the rain beat down on his head. He opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, letting the rainwater soak into his mouth.

  He clutched his rifle tightly and crept through the back yards. He heard the faint cries of people, then a gunshot that startled him. A house down the block burned and many homes had windows busted out and doors kicked in.

  There was nothing to be scrounged here.

  He feared for Maggie. It seemed his house was one of the few spared—probably because of my rep as a gun nut and cop. No one wanted to tangle with those who seemed strong, not until the desperation became high enough to make such a risk worthwhile.

  It seemed that time was nearly here.
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br />   The rain had stopped and the clouds began to part as Bray pushed his way through the bramble into a thick patch of woods. He heard rustling and saw a rabbit racing through the underbrush. He lowered his weapon and took aim, but it was too fast.

  He continued to push his way deeper into the woods, branches slashing at his arms and face, leaving deep red welts that itched. He hit a clearing and felt the warmth of the setting sun on his face. Everything was so calm and peaceful here, untouched by the evil of the world now, unsullied by the disaster that had struck. In this clearing there was nothing but peace and for a fleeting moment he had almost forgotten the world had gone to shit.

  He heard the snapping of branches behind him and quickly twirled, raising his weapon in defense. Emerging from the thick brush was Justus Coe, a hunting rifle leveled and pointed at him.

  “Jesus, Coe. Don’t point that thing at me!” Bray bellowed. Coe hesitantly lowered the rifle, his lips turning up into a small smile.

  “Paul? Is that you?”

  “What the fuck are you doing out here?”

  “Same as you. Hunting.”

  Bray walked slowly toward Coe, who had a large gash over his right eye that was closed shut by butterfly stitches. His face was drawn and haggard and a fuzz of blond whiskers covered his pale face.

  “You look like shit,” Bray said, slapping his former partner on the shoulder.

  Coe recoiled, his jaw clenched. Bray slowly backed his hand away, raising it into the air. “It’s okay, Coe. I’m not gonna hurt you. What happened to you?”

  Coe slung his rifle over his shoulder and bowed his head. He began to weep. “I didn’t want to do it, Paul. Honest.” His head bounced up and his eyes glared at Bray. They were full of horror and pain. Bray never thought he’d see such reservation in Coe’s eyes. Coe was so positive and up-beat, willing to help everyone and anyone at his own personal sacrifice. Now it seemed this new world had worn him down like a grindstone.

  It was a sad sight.

  “What did you do, Coe? Whatever it was, it’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay!” Coe screamed, his voice cracking under the weight of his bellow. It startled Bray, who took a few steps back and clutched the handle of his rifle tightly. “You don’t understand what it was like trying to hold back the hordes. Every day it just got worse and worse. Watching those people starve. Watching those people become so desperate and angry. They tore each other apart to get that last bit of food and water. They killed kids, Bray. Kids. I had to do something. Someone had to do something.”