Get in, and then get the hell out. That was the plan. I held my nose with one hand, shoved the gun in my waistband, and grabbed a basket with the other. I ran up and down aisles, careful not to step in the slippery water or broken glass, until I found something I’d come for—a harness and a leash.
Callie was bound to love that, but what else could I do with her? City folks sometimes walked their cats—weird, but doable—so why couldn’t my stubborn cat learn to do the same? Even if she hated it, she’d have to get over it. It was this or the bag.
Holding my breath, I grabbed a pink leash with the letters SASS spelled out in rhinestones, and a matching harness from the hooks on the peg wall. I used my arm to swipe all the cans of cat food into the basket—fancy stuff too—and then got out of there before I started dry heaving.
I grabbed the duffle bag, the basket, and moved as far away from the pet store as possible. At this rate, going inside buildings would suck something royal.
Callie had fallen silent—whether that was a good sign or not, I didn’t have a clue, but opening the bag right there in the middle of an open space didn’t seem like the best idea. If she was dead, she was dead. I wouldn’t be able to change it. But if she wasn’t, I was certain she’d sink some teeth and claws into me before sprinting off.
The sun cast an orange haze over everything and reflected its beauty in the unbroken windows—the perfect hour, Dad had called it, for taking pictures. That meant I only had about an hour before everything fell into complete darkness. The idea of that terrified me, and as much as I didn’t want to go back inside any building, staying outside sounded even worse.
Maybe the third time would be the charm—no dead things, fingers crossed—and I decided the apartment complex across the road would be as good as any place to spend the night.
At least one apartment was bound to be dead-free.
Dad could pick me up from there once I called him, but first things first: I needed to let my cat out of the bag.
The second floor studio apartment faced west and continued to receive light from the setting sun. I only had a few minutes before the sun set, so I hunted for candles, lanterns, anything to provide light. The place was clear of dead bodies—I’d already done a quick search for anything horrific or nasty smelling—but now I tossed open cabinets, drawers, and closets in hopes of finding something useful before it was too late and the place became shrouded in shadows, leaving me with only my flashlight to go by.
Two scented candles would have to do. Once lit, the place began to smell like a mixture of clean sheets and cherry blossoms. Not too bad, especially after the kind of day I’d been through.
“Okay, Callie. Time to come out.” I unzipped the side pocket of the bag then scooted as far away as I could and waited for the hellcat to emerge.
It took a minute, but her orange and white head peeked out over the top. Thank goodness. She hadn’t died and she wasn’t any worse for wear, having existed in a duffle bag for nearly two hours. The guilt I’d been carrying lifted from my shoulders.
She hesitated for a moment, which seemed odd since she had scratched the crap out of the bag in an effort to escape only minutes before. Now, she perched there, her front paws on the edge of the bag, the remainder of her body tucked inside.
She wasn’t as pissed as I’d imagined she’d be. Somehow, I’d figured she’d look right at me, hiss and arch her back, and then attempt to claw my eyes out for having shoved her in the side pocket like a pair of dirty gym socks, but she actually looked rather cute and innocent. All appeared forgiven.
“You hungry?”
She meowed—adorable.
“Here you go.” I twisted off the lid to a can of food and placed it near her, but slid myself out of the way once more. Just because she was cute and didn’t look as though she’d tear my face apart didn’t meant I trusted her—not yet.
She took to the food and while she ate, I poured some water from a bottle into a small bowl and placed that near her too.
Feed her, water her, let her explore the place, and then I’d wrestle her into the harness. It sounded like a good plan to me—butter her up before torturing her once more. She’d need to get used to the leash soon, so she would be safe and I could grab her if I needed to.
With my cat occupied for the moment, I snatched my phone from my pocket and pressed the power button, turning it on. The battery flashed red, not a good sign, and indicated only twenty percent of the battery remained, which sucked since I had no connecting bars. Not even one. Damn it.
I stepped out onto the fire escape and made sure to shut the sliding door behind me. All I needed was for Callie to get out after all the effort I’d put into keeping her safe.
I raised the cell phone over my head and turned in several circles, even hanging myself over the edge of the railing, but still got no reception. Maybe getting higher and more open would be better.
Callie had climbed on the kitchen table then made a leap for the counter, barely making it. Apparently, she was attempting to get higher too as she explored her new surroundings. She’d be okay for a moment, so I tucked the phone back in my pocket, grabbed hold of the ladder, and climbed two stories to the roof of the building.
Heights, along with school, were on my list of hated items but the need to call Dad outweighed my fear. I stepped away from the edge of the roof, lessening my chances of falling to my death, and did my best not to look down.
Still no bars and my battery slipped to ten percent. No cell service? Really? What had the world come to? The message icon with seventeen voicemails was too tempting, and though I should have saved the battery until I could find a way to use it, I pressed play.
“Tess, it’s insane out here! Oh, my gosh! People are looting stores and everyone’s trying to get out of town. I’m stuck in traffic. This is so scary. Call me and let me know you’re okay. Okay?” Julia.
“Where the hell is everyone? Dad’s not answering his cell and you’re not either. Tell me you didn’t leave it at school again. Damn it, Tess! Half the town is on fire and the other half is bolting for the hills. Where are you? Shit. I gotta go. Call me when you get this.” Toby.
“Tess, this is Grandma. I can’t get a hold of your dad and I’m worried about all of you. I’ve been watching the news and... and I need to know you’re all fine. Please have your dad call me as soon as you get this message, okay sweetheart. I love you. Be careful.”
I swallowed hard and wiped my eyes. How I missed hearing their voices.
“Tess, it’s me, Dad. I don’t know if you have your phone or not or even if you can get cell service in the bunker, but honey, I’m not going to be able to get back to you as soon as I thought. I’m sending someone for you though. They don’t know Morse Code, Tess, so open the door for them, okay baby. Just open the door. They will find me and your brother and bring you to us. Right now we’re staying—”
The phone died.
Where? I shook my phone, willing it back to life, and it tumbled from my fingers onto the gravel roof. The battery fell out, slid several feet away from me, and the face of the phone shattered. Stupid.
I dropped to my knees, ignoring the bite of the tiny pebbles digging into my flesh, and scooped up my broken phone and dead battery. I pressed them to my chest—my life line—and knew I needed to somehow find a way to figure out where Dad and Toby were.
When I climbed to my feet after several moments of trying to convince myself not to fall apart, the devastation of what had happened to my city almost caused me to fall to my knees again.
No.
This couldn’t be real. No way.
My chest grew heavy as if a Sumo wrestler sat on it, squeezing the life out of me. My breath came in small spurts when I happened to breathe at all and my hands shook, the rest of my body slowly following suit. I wrapped my arms around myself to steady the unrelenting tremors. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
Cars sat stationary along the roads, lining both directions, some lying on their roof
s, some on their sides. The scene looked normal like a movie put on pause. Trees had tumbled over, uprooted from the spots in which they had lived for decades. Power lines, street signs, billboards—scattered like a box of Legos. It looked much the way my neighborhood had, but on a much larger scale. Garbage, debris, and dirt covered everything.
A large section of the city no longer existed, gone, replaced by a large crater several football fields long. Skyscrapers, businesses, homes—wiped away. Shells of buildings, burned to only their frames, lined the circumference. More smoking craters dented the landscape to my left, my right, and behind me. The normally busy freeway in the distance, taking people to and from destinations, remained stationary.
Miles and miles of stillness stared back at me. No movement anywhere except for downy clouds floating overhead and the occasional piece of trash rolling across the street. The lack of noise, any noise, seemed surreal.
This is not my life.
It had been nearly two months since.... Jeez, I didn’t even know what had happened. The city and the cities next to ours had all apparently been evacuated, but this was insane! Why weren’t the people back already? What was going on? Where were the people who fixed everything after a disaster?
Red Cross where are you?
My brain could hardly process what my eyes were taking in—a nightmare of epic proportions—but the one thing that seemed certain was that, whatever happened, I was on my own.
A thick coating of dust covered the futon couch. I smacked the mattress several times with my hand, the cloud of yuck swirling in the air nearly choking me before I spread my sleeping bag on top.
The candles burned down to liquid and one began to sputter out.
Callie situated herself out in front of the sliding glass door and began her grooming, completely content to be in this new environment. I kind of wished I was a cat—self-absorbed and unaware of my surroundings. Unfortunately for me, that wasn’t the case. I was quite aware. Too aware.
I didn’t bother changing clothes or brushing my teeth or doing anything normal. Nothing was normal. Not anymore. So I climbed into my sleeping bag and pulled it up over my head. Screw this. Screw all of this.
Today was the worst birthday ever, and as much as I willed myself not to, I ended up crying myself to sleep.
Puffy red eyes stared back at me in the bathroom mirror as I leaned in closer to inspect myself. Gnarly hair, knotted and crazy, stuck out from the sides of my head. I felt the same way I looked.
Somehow, in the midst of everything, I had managed to fall asleep. Weird, since the apartment didn’t belong to me and the world had become a scene reminiscent of every apocalyptic movie I’d ever watched. Minus the walking dead or terrifying aliens—at least to this point I had yet to lay eyes on any.
Please don’t let me lay eyes on them. That’s all I need.
Callie purred and rubbed against my ankles.
“You want to know what the plan is, huh?” She probably wanted to be fed again, but I scooped her up so she could look in the mirror too. “I wish I knew, but we need to figure it out soon. First, breakfast.”
My hair and face could wait. Maybe I wouldn’t even brush my hair. Or my teeth. Who would know if I did or didn’t?
I was hungry, and though the idea of eating canned or MRE meals made me nauseous, they were better than nothing.
A can of food and some more water and Callie became an affectionate cat, purring and following me around. The rest of the time she had very little to do with me unless I forced her to snuggle. She didn’t have a choice. I needed snuggles.
I was about to open a can of peaches, but stopped before turning the crank of the hand-operated can opener. A box of rainbow deliciousness peeked out from one of the opened cupboards. Poptarts.
No friggin’ way!
Poptarts lasted forever. All the artificial flavors and additives meant they could survive nearly anything, which, as I’d found myself in the middle of a nightmare apocalypse, came in handy.
It didn’t take much to open the box and pluck out one of four silver packages. A brand new box—such joy. Eight pop tarts for me!
I slid to the floor right there with my back against the counter and shoved almost half a pop tart in my mouth. Strawberry. Sprinkles. Gooey goodness. It had been forever since I’d tasted something so sweet. It nearly caused my eyes to roll into the back of my head and I almost forgot my troubles for a moment.
Four pop tarts later, I stood up and dusted off my butt. Yes, life still sucked. Yes, I was still alone without a clue as to what had happened to make it that way. But one thing was for certain: staying in the apartment forever, as I had planned to do the night before, would not change my situation. Maybe I wasn’t a brave or strong person—physically or mentally—but I could do something. What other choice was there really?
I needed a battery. I may need a new phone.
Because finding out where Dad went had become priority number one.
A few unscathed cars remained in the apartment complex parking lot and somewhere there had to be keys. The apartment I had spent the night in turned up nothing, not even in Marin Peterson’s purse, though the unused chapstick, roll of lifesavers, and sunglasses might be useful. Her cell phone had some battery life in it, but no bars. It also had a pass code to open it, and after spending several minutes punching in random numbers, it died and became a useless piece of junk. Go figure.
She also had a pair of really nice Doc Martens boots in my size—new and in the original box. I would have preferred black, but the dark red would do. It sure beat my pair of worn out Toms—not practical for walking long distances even if they were extremely comfortable.
Stealing wasn’t my thing, along with school and heights, but leaving perfectly good items to gather dust seemed wasteful. Recycle and reuse was a pretty good practice to adopt, especially now. Besides, these were Doc Martens. Anyone with a sense of wicked-cool style would have done the same thing. This was a smart move. Even Marin Peterson would have to agree with me.
But I needed keys! I left Callie, made sure the door remained unlocked, and went hunting in the adjoining apartments. Every time I stood outside an unlocked apartment, I gave a mental chant no dead bodies, no dead bodies, before pushing open the door. So far, the chant had seemed to work.
I rummaged through purses, backpacks, and drawers and searched closets and boxes. A set of keys hung on a hook in one guy’s kitchen, but none of the keys looked like they belonged to a vehicle–more like house keys. I pocketed them in case I happened to be wrong. How did one person come to have so many random keys? Either he was the super, or he was a freak. By the looks of the apartment—a 1980’s Chucky poster on the wall, several Betty Boop figurines on a shelf, a boat load of Star Trek Enterprise toys, still in their packaging, and hand-me-down furniture—I would have to go with freak. But to each his own.
Several bags of unexpired chips sat in the cupboard of the weirdo’s apartment, plus some individually packaged cookies and an unopened bottle of Mountain Dew. Sweet happiness. I saved all of it for later.
Rule number one when searching an apartment, which I learned the hard way, was never to open the fridge. Horrible, horrible, horrible, such a big mistake. Nasty things are left to rot and die in there, and after several months with no electricity, it becomes vomit inducing.
But after searching five apartments, I had the keys to a Ford vehicle. Not my first choice, but being picky had no place in an apocalypse. Now, I had to hope the Ford wasn’t lying on its roof.
“You little bugger!”
Callie wiggled in my arms, and as I shoved one of her legs in the harness, she’d yank out the other. She dug her claws into my thigh and a string of profanities escaped my lips.
“I’m this close”—I pinched my fingers together and placed them in front of her nose—”to shoving you back inside the bag. Is that what you want, huh? Really?”
A dog wouldn’t be this difficult. A dog would love the idea of a leash. A dog would bathe
me in kisses and think I was God. It would look up at me while it skipped at my side. But cats, arrgh... they thought they were Gods, which probably stemmed from the Egyptians treating them that way. Damn Ancient Egyptians.
“You’re an animal! I’m human. If times get tough, I could eat you, you know?” Okay, that was creepy. “I won’t though, because that would be weird and you’d probably taste horrible, but come on. This is for your own good.”
I managed to finagle the pink glittery harness onto Callie’s stubborn body and attach the leash. Once free from my grasp, she bolted, but as the leash tightened she came up short. The jolt flipped her onto her side, and when she righted herself, she gave me an “I will kill you in your sleep” kind of look.
“It’s for your own good! Get used to it.”
She took a few steps, trying out the strange contraption attached to her back, and I couldn’t help but giggle at her antics. The harness weighed only a few ounces, but the way Callie behaved it may as well have weighed a hundred pounds or more. Each step she took was calculated and precise, not to mention hilarious.
She tried shaking it off.
She tried turning herself in a circle to get a better look at it.
After several minutes, she simply fell over on her side and lay there defeated.
“You’re being dramatic. It’s not that bad.” I scratched her between the ears. “Think of it this way: not only are you safe, but now you’re the coolest looking cat around. Very hip.” Most likely, she was the only cat around, but she didn’t need to know that.
She stared up at me and gave a pitiful meow.
I left her lying there on the floor and proceeded to repack my bag. It already weighed a ton, but since I had the keys to a Ford, I figured I might as well pack it. I shoved in a jacket from Marin’s closet, a Beatles’ tee from the apartment on the bottom floor, and a pair of jeans from a girl’s dresser in the apartment directly above.
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