The Wretched

by R. James Faulkner

  He set about his morning routine as fast as he could. The thought of the screams in the night made him want to get far from the area. He boiled the water he would drink while he walked. Ben planned to stay only long enough for his feet to warm by the small fire. His boots felt like ice when he slid them back on. He finished his business, counted his rounds, and broke camp before the sun was above the distant treetops.

  The sound of his cold boot heels marked off his gait, the fear of someone hearing it made him walk on the shoulder once again. The tranquil early morning made him nervous. He listened for any birds that sang out, but the air was quiet. The total silence felt strange to him. Somewhere in the short distance, close enough to scare him, a limb fell to the ground. He quickened his pace to a brisk walk, not yet wanting to run.

  His stomach tightened, it was nature calling, the result of the chili. He decided he would walk to the next little rise further down the road. It did not take him long to reach it, but by then he could no longer resist. There was no time to find a secluded spot, barely enough time to undo his pants. He went about it on the road, the whole while he cursed the canned chili he had eaten.

  I didn’t check the expiration date. God knows how long they lay in that damned ditch.

  When he stood back up from relieving himself, he noticed a sports vehicle a little way down the road. It sat rammed against the bank of the ditch with the front end smashed, folded upward by the hard earth. The vehicle rested at a slight angle with the rear end pointed toward the road.

  He studied it with caution before he approached it, looking for any signs of people around. He spent ten minutes surveying the area before he crept closer and opened the back door on the passenger side to look in. Clothes and crumpled empty food packages lay strewn about. An open suitcase along with a small empty plastic cooler sat on the back seat. The foul smell of decay hit him like a wave, he did not move his head, but instead he looked out of his periphery at the body. It was a female, he could tell by her long blonde hair and red painted nails. The glossy covered nails seemed more pronounced because of the shriveled flesh of her fingers. Her skull appeared lodged in the windshield with the withered body connected to it jammed against the dash. He covered his mouth with his hand to fight back the odor. The driver seat was unoccupied. He could see the airbag had deployed, saving whoever had driven. Ben closed the door and walked to the rear, hoping to scavenge something of use.

  There was a bike rack up top. It held two mountain bikes, a black one for a man and a white one for a woman. Tempted by the thought of getting one down, his father’s cautioning words came to his mind. ‘We can’t trust a vehicle, too much noise. Sound draws them closer, so we won’t make any.’ He explained it to them in countless repetitions while they traveled on foot.

  Ben opened the rear door, slow and quiet. The cargo area was covered in more clothes, a large mound of various women’s apparel. He reached inside, pulled some out, and let them fall to the leaf-covered grass. He pulled out a gold-colored dress with a large golden scarf wrapped around the hanger and held it up, staring at it in ambiguity.

  Why in the hell did she bring this? What did she think she would ever do with it?

  He let it fall to the ground to join the rest of the now worthless garments. His hand contacted with something other than clothes. He checked the road and along the tree line before he flung the clothes out of his way. Ben resembled a dog digging in the dirt to root out a varmint. To his surprise, he found a full pack of bottled water. He slid it towards him and stared at the plastic wrapped bottles, all twenty-four stacked neatly together. Ben ripped the package open and pulled one from it, twisted the top off and drank it down. He paused after the last swallow to catch his breath and held the bottle up from his open lips as he shook the last few drops into his mouth.

  His hand reached for another, but he stopped himself. He needed to conserve what he had found. With great care, he sat the package to the side of the back wheel. He dug into the unknown woman’s clothing again, tossing them behind, unconcerned with where they landed. Ben made another discovery, a metal toolbox full of various wrenches and screwdrivers. After he searched the cargo hold and found nothing else, he decided it best to leave. He tried to fit as many bottles of water into his pack and jacket pockets as he could. Not wanting to leave any behind, Ben tested the extra weight. He decided it would slow him down from the burden.

  There are two bikes. Bikes are quiet.

  He debated for some time over what he should do. The voice in his head told him to get a bike to use, the voice of his father said the opposite. Moments passed as he considered his options. The sharp pains in his gut made the decision for him. It was not long before he had the black bike from the rack. He sat it down on the blacktop and checked the wheels and the brakes. Ben dug into the pile of clothes and retrieved a small glitter covered duffle bag. He opened it and poured the contents onto the ground. Various cosmetics and perfumes rained down onto the grass. He stuffed the bottles of water into it and thought to tie the bag to the bike. Ben searched for string or loose wire in the vehicle, but could not see any handy.

  He used the piece of pipe to pry the hood free and looked for some wire underneath. After cutting several long pieces, he tied the duffle bag to the handlebars and tested the steering. Ben returned to retrieve another item of interest under the hood. He removed the upper radiator hose, collected the silver screw clamps, and a piece of rubber tubing. He thought he would use them with the pipe and knife to make a spear.

  Ben pushed the hood shut and allowed himself to have a look at her. The top of the woman’s skull stuck through a small circular opening in the windshield. The glass was a crosshatched spider web, almost to the point he could not see past it into the cab. She wore a red shirt, with large earrings still holding onto her dried earlobes and a thick necklace hung around her withered neck. He noticed the top of her skull, the bit exposed from the glass, had bleached white from the sun. Birds, perhaps mice, must have picked what they could reach clean, unable to get inside to the rest. Thin strands of her blonde hair lay scattered about as if they were pine needles cast from a tree. Her face was dried apricot flesh, with lips drawn back to expose the teeth in some frozen horrendous grin. Her eyes had long ago wasted away and left deep cavities. He searched above the trees and wondered why buzzards had not gotten her.

  Must not have been able to find her with the doors all shut, trapping in the smell. Guess that’s all that kept her from being picked clean. Kept her whole, untouched.

  Scurrying back to the road, he readied the bike. With a little work, he wedged the pipe in between the handlebars and bag. It stood upright like a flagpole. The twinge of pain from his intestines reminded him of his present condition and the need to alleviate it. He returned to the truck, hoping to find medicine, and searched for the woman’s purse. Ben looked in the front seat beside her body, on the floorboards, then under the seats, but it was absent. He found a small weather radio on the floorboard of the driver’s side. His first thought was to turn it on at low volume, but he discovered it did not have batteries. He looked across to the passenger side at the woman crumpled against the dash. Ben wondered whom she could have been, and how it came to be her life ended smashed into a windshield.

  He intended to leave the vehicle when his bowels compelled him to relieve himself once more. There were such sudden and awful pains that struck his abdomen, he could not move for fear of his bowels releasing into his pants. He felt ashamed to be defecating so close to the body of the dead woman. However, the urgency outweighed the feelings of disrespect at that particular moment. He tried not to look in her direction. But despite himself, without intention, he voided his roiling bowels all the while staring into her grinning face.

  When he finished, after what felt to him an eternity, he did not hesitate to use some of the garments to clean himself. He grabbed more for the next time. The churning of his stomach, with the shots of awful pain, told him it would be far sooner than later. He stopped at
the bike, looked over his shoulder, and returned to the vehicle. Ben shut the doors and checked that they would stay closed. He wanted her to remain the way she was, not have her body devoured by animals because he came along and opened the doors.

  She’ll be whole, untouched. Safe.

  As he pedaled the bike away from what was the mysterious woman’s metallic tomb, his mind raced with the thoughts he needed something to stop his diarrhea. To have it for too long was a death sentence. He felt light-headed as he sped along the highway, he looked at his trembling hands to verify it was not from the sensation of riding the bike. A deep pain from below his belly button was a constant reminder he was in trouble.

  He waited until he traveled a few miles from the wrecked vehicle before he stopped to get a drink of water. Sweat beaded on his forehead. The rapid movement of pedaling caused him to unzip his jacket. He was unsure if it was riding the bike that made him sweat or if it was the fire that grew inside his intestines. As he scanned the sides of the road for movement and listened for any strange noises, he pulled a bottle of water out and put it to his lips. It entering his hollow stomach reminded him he still possessed two more cans of the gut-wrenching chili. What he thought was a gift had turned into a curse. He would not last long in his present condition, passing out more fluids than he could put back in.

  He rode for another mile before his eye caught sight of something white behind a cluster of young pine trees near the road. He let the bike coast forward and realized what it was he saw. His mind raced with thoughts. A small asbestos-sided house sat in the distance, surrounded by an overgrown field. Under normal circumstances, he would hurry on by such a place. Nevertheless, his present situation caused him to reconsider it. He took his pack off and dug inside to get out his father’s binoculars. Ben moved the bike into the small group of young trees at the edge of the road.

  Hidden in the pines, he looked through the binoculars and checked out the house. A half hour passed as he waited and watched but saw nothing move about. There was no visible presence of people. He decided to search the little house for any medication. Ben let the backpack slide off his shoulders and left it beside the bike in the cover of the trees. As he stepped out from the young pine trees, he pulled his father’s revolver from its holster. He crept low in the high grass and moved in an indirect, but cautious path. Ben paused several times to scan around and listen for noises.

  He kept his head close to the windowsills and peered into the windows. Each room he could see into was empty, bare floors to bare walls. Wary of an ambush, he circled the entire house once before he stopped at the backside. It was then he noticed two of the windows boarded from the inside. His pulse quickened at the thought he may encounter another person. His hands trembled as he opened the cylinder to check and count the rounds.

  Five for them and one for me.

  He felt more afraid with each passing second.

  Please. Don’t let there be anyone home.

  Ben moved to the concrete steps that led to a simple wooden back door. He took the time to cock the hammer on the revolver as he touched the coldness of the old rusted doorknob. Under his hand, he felt the coarseness of its movement as it turned. The door was unlocked. He felt a wave of cold pass over him as he pushed it inward with the gun held up at eye level, ready to shoot anything that moved. He stood on the top step, waiting for an unknown defender to rush forward. All that came to him was the dusty smell of an aging wood framed house. The hallway was narrow, but well lit by opened doors on both sides. With timid steps and heightened senses, he entered the threshold. The creaking of the floorboards under his body weight sounded like loud warnings, signaling his every step. He stood at the door of the boarded up room unsure of what to do. There could be someone on the other side waiting for him to open the door to launch their attack.

  Ben noticed an old broom propped against the wall behind the back door. He picked it up and turned the door handle of the closed room. Using the broom, he pushed the door open while holding the revolver aimed and ready. He expected a screaming demon to fly out at him. Instead, he heard the noise of the door hitting something metal inside the room. He stooped down and tried to see into the darkness. Ben took shallow breaths while he listened for footsteps. Realizing the house had been empty for a long time, he relaxed his rigid muscles and let his breathing return to normal.

  He walked into what had once been the kitchen. The room was darkened by the boards nailed together to cover the windows. The air in the kitchen felt colder on his skin. Ben allowed his eyes to adjust to the dimness before he looked around. There was an old style oil lamp on the stove. He pulled the lighter from his pocket and lit the wick. It produced an odd aroma that filled the air. As the light grew brighter, he saw the room in better detail. The unknown former occupant had fortified it as a place to hide.

  A small cot sat behind the door, and a round wooden table was in the middle of the room. It had newspapers spread across the surface. A single box of cartridges sat on top. He grabbed it, checked the size, and dropped it back to the table in disappointment. There was a small stack of cardboard boxes against the far wall. Thick dust covered everything. It brought him comfort to know he did not have to worry about the owner’s coming in to discover him.

  Ben opened the cabinet doors one by one to find an assemblage of various dishes and cooking pots. There were no medicines tucked away inside the leftovers of a normal time. He looked inside the fridge, found it empty, and gagged from the smell of mildew that escaped. The room was empty except for the cot, the table, and the boxes. He pulled a chair away from the table and sat down to rest. It did not last long before his stomach gurgled again. The sharp pains returned stronger. Ben pressed his right fist into his navel and stood up.

  Ben made sure the entry doors were locked before he went into the small bathroom. It had been a long time since he had the luxury to use a toilet. The pains grew worse even after he finished. Sweat dripped from his face as he tried to flush the toilet. The simple motion was made by the force of habit. He knew there was no water with which to flush.

  As he sat on the toilet, trying to think of what to do next, he noticed the medicine cabinet above the sink. He stood and opened it, unconcerned that he had not cleaned himself yet. The mirror swung away to expose its three filled shelves. Ben scanned across shaving cream, toothpaste, razor blades, a box of bandages, along with several bottles that sat lined up on the glass shelves. He pulled each bottle down to read its contents. Aspirin was in one, antacids in another, followed by perfumes and a large bottle of vitamins. However, the next to last one read anti-diarrhea. He almost put it back before he realized what was on the label.

  Overwhelmed with relief, he sat down on the toilet again and opened the bottle. Ben poured out several of the pills into his hand. The directions called for a dosage of two, but he decided it best to go strong on the first dose. After he swallowed the pills down dry, he finished what little his bowels had left to pass. Use of toilet tissue, for the first time in several months, felt foreign to him. It differed from dried leaves and old pieces of random paper. The smell from the commode made him nauseated. He went through the contents of the cabinet again to take what might be of use. Ben closed the toilet lid and shut the door on his way out to block the worst of it.

  He returned to the secured room and decided to spend the night inside after seeing how the reinforced door locked. There was a large timber leaned beside the doorjamb that would sit in braces nailed to the wall. Whoever had secured the room did not take shortcuts. Ben paid particular attention to the thick boards over the windows. They were sawn to the exact length and placed with precision. Dozens of large nails held them secure to the walls. It made him wonder why anyone would leave such a safe place.

  The evening sky darkened as Ben retrieved his backpack and bicycle. He rode it to the back steps, lifted it into the hallway, and brought his claimed bike inside the room with him. After he placed the large timber across the door, Ben prepared for the night. I
t felt strange to be indoors making ready to sleep on a bed. He had spent so much time outside under the stars in the cold with the constant threat of rain.

  With the boots slid off his feet and his jacket removed, Ben looked again in the kitchen cabinets and the drawers. One drawer produced an old metal can opener, another drawer held two cans of potted meat and a sleeve of saltine crackers. He smiled as he took them from the drawer and placed them on the table.

  He peeked through the small cracks of the boards over the windows to the darkening world outside. The evening’s first star twinkled in the sky. There were heavy curtains for the windows. He pulled them over the boards to block the lamp light to the outside. His attention turned to the boxes stacked against the wall with the words ‘Various Things’ written in black marker on the tops. He opened each and discovered some mismatched gloves, a wool scarf, and a flannel shirt amongst the clutter of socks. The rest of the house was emptied to ward off scavengers, he thought, it was the only thing that made any sense to him. In the beginning, after it started, people would do anything to isolate themselves from the dangers of the outside world.

  There was no need for the can opener to get inside the potted meat, he only had to use the pull-tab to peel back the lid. He tested the crackers to see if they were still decent and grabbed a table knife from a drawer. Salty meat on salty crackers with large swallows of water from a bottle, it was a far better meal than any he had in weeks. He ate one can and put the other in his pack along with the can opener. He removed the cans of chili. The small numbers on the bottom showed the expiration dates of the cans were a year away. Ben considered they might have spoiled left out in the hot sun and he stuffed them back into his pack regardless. It was better to have something to eat than it was to starve to death.