People had left a lot of great things behind, so wherever they went they left in a hurry. No one leaves Doc Martens and Beatles’ tees behind. No one.
The cut on my arm had stopped bleeding the day before, but ached whenever I moved my arm. The budding scab, every once in awhile, would snag on my shirt and remind me of its presence, so I decided to take a look at it since I’d ignored it since yesterday.
It stung a little but for the most part wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d first imagined: three inches long, but more a deep scratch than a full-blown cut.
After using some rubbing alcohol from the medicine cabinet, biting my lip as I dabbed the cut with cotton balls, I slapped a Band-Aid on it and went back to ignoring it.
The outside world awaited, so I slipped the duffle bag over my shoulders and jerked on Callie’s leash to get her up and moving.
She didn’t budge.
“Come on.” I tugged the leash, dragging the obstinate cat a foot or so across the floor. Are all cats this stubborn? “Fine.”
I picked her up and perched her on top of the duffle bag next to my shoulder. I had hoped she would walk and reduce the weight I already carried, but since she seemed pretty determined not to, she could ride. At least she wasn’t shoved back inside the bag, and with the strap of the leash wrapped around my wrist, if she took off, she wouldn’t get too far.
I let out a huge sigh and placed my hand on the doorknob. “Time to go.”
I had wasted several morning hours searching for keys and wrestling my cat into the harness, so the orange sun hung high overhead, bathing everything in its warmth and causing shadows to hide. The day still offered plenty of daylight, but I really should have gotten a much earlier start, except that getting up early wasn’t my thing and I had no interest in changing my bad habits. Not today anyway.
The parking lot was of average size, but finding the vehicle that matched the set of keys proved a lot harder than I had first anticipated. The number of Fords in the lot surprised me, but I inserted that key into every upright and undamaged one until, finally, a door opened.
As would be my luck, both side mirrors hung like broken bodies and dangled by only a few cords. The back windshield was blown out and tiny shards of glass and dried leaves covered the entire back seat. A giant spider web crisscrossed over the opening—beautiful and somewhat uplifting—but I didn’t see the spider anywhere, which was a good thing. I would have probably killed it had I seen it. Spiders gave me the creeps. Good for the spider to survive the initial blast and craziness, but it sure as hell needed to have moved on.
I placed Callie in the car and attached her leash to the gearshift—another unlucky thing for me. Of course, I would have to find the keys to a standard. She turned herself around in the passenger seat and curled up into a ball. I tossed the duffle bag on top of the leaves in the back seat and slid in behind the wheel.
I gave the key a quick turn while pumping the gas and pressing down the clutch. I may not have had a lot of experience with driving a standard—okay, I had very little—but I was doing my best to make lemonade out of the massive lemon life had handed me.
The beat-up car came to life, but jerked and sputtered, surprising me so much that my foot slipped off the clutch. I bounced around inside the car as it stalled and settled.
Callie freaked out and jumped into the back seat nearly hanging herself in the process. I unraveled her, gave her several comforting strokes, and placed her on the seat next to me once more.
“Okay, car. Work with me here. It’s the end of life as I know it and you’re all I’ve got.” I glanced at Callie. “Well, besides a temperamental cat, but I could really use a break.”
One foot on the clutch, the other on the gas, I turned the key once more. It chugged to life, and as long as I kept my feet balanced on the pedals, the car didn’t bounce around like it was having a spasm.
“I did it!”
Callie didn’t appear too impressed.
Now came the tricky part—putting it in reverse and backing out of its covered spot. Had the cement barrier not been placed in front, I would have driven forward, up and over the sidewalk and grass, but the barrier nullified that plan.
Six attempts to put the car in reverse, and I still hadn’t moved more than a foot, but I had succeeded in scaring the crap out of my cat. She’d gone as far under the seat as her taut leash allowed. This wasn’t working, but the idea of leaving a car with half a tank of gas didn’t feel right either, especially when carrying a cat and a huge bag on my back seemed like the only alternative. Why couldn’t things work out for me? Just once? But the car did run, it had half a tank of gas, and a cigarette lighter. If I could only get my hands on a car charger for my phone, I could find out where my family had gone.
And if walking was my only option, then I guess I would start pounding the pavement in my new Doc Marten boots.
What I would have given to hear an airplane fly overhead or even the annoying blast of a train’s horn. The heavy silence of nothingness was slowly killing me, bit by bit.
I had never experienced this kind of quiet before. Even in the stillest times—a library, a hospital, a funeral, the middle of the night—there had always been some background noise to fill the void.
But not now. Not here.
My boots pounding against the concrete and the occasional hiss from my frightened cat were the only sounds. No traffic drone or white noise.
Absolutely nothing.
The normalcy of day to day existence —the buzz, the chatter, the hum of the living—swiped clean like an eraser over a blackboard, leaving only faint signs of what had once been. Each empty building I passed made the reality of my situation that much more deafening, and lonelier.
I shifted the bag, lowering the straps to my upper arms to give my aching shoulders a break. The need for a phone charger kept me moving forward one step at a time. My small town didn’t boast any large chain stores, so I had my walk cut out for me.
I tried each car I passed, looking for a miracle among the abandoned vehicles—unlocked doors, keys, a charger that would work for my particular phone—but nothing. A car would have been nice, but the roads were such a mess, I doubted I’d have gotten very far anyway.
When the sun slipped further in the sky, I stopped looking. It marked my time, gave my only real light, and forced me to hurry along.
I’d walked miles and yet, the large city, my destination, seemed to grow farther and farther away the more I traveled toward it. From the apartment roof top, it seemed so close, and since Dad and I had driven into the city several times, taking only fifteen minutes to get there, I hadn’t expected walking to take this long.
I had definitely underestimated this trip.
My shoulders ached from carrying the heavy bag, my boots rubbed against my ankles, and I wasn’t even halfway yet. Another hour and I’d have to start looking for a place to stay the night. Then, to top off this whole trip, if I was successful in finding a charger, I’d have the joy of turning around and walking back to the apartment where the car waited–the only car I had access to.
There had to be a better way, because this way totally sucked.
“I’m not cut out for this survival crap!” Maybe I had to walk, but that didn’t mean I had to do it with a pleasant attitude. Complaining about it was the only thing that gave me some relief. I tipped my head to the sky and voiced my displeasure, “This sucks so bad!”
Callie meowed near my ear, nearly deafening me—at least it wasn’t silence—but when she quieted down, I could have sworn the slight breeze in the air carried a deep, but faint laugh.
I whipped around, knife in hand, and searched behind me, all the while unsure whether to be excited, weary, or afraid I had lost my mind.
Everything appeared the same as it always had: empty, barren, abandoned, and more than a little depressing. I scanned the side streets, the desolate homes, and stationary cars. My eyes jumped from one spot to another like a hyperactive child’s. If there was move
ment anywhere, I was going to find it.
But I didn’t see a thing. Nothing stood out as different. Nothing appeared hopeful at all. Just me, myself, and I... plus an ornery cat.
Had someone been there, I had no idea what I would have done—cried, wet myself, fainted, thrown myself in their arms—but knowing I was still alone, a deep sadness gripped my heart and wouldn’t let go.
Even though there was still a good couple hours of daylight left, I no longer had the desire to keep going. Not today.
I couldn’t.
I’m not sure where I had pictured myself sleeping when nightfall came, but camping in a gas station certainly hadn’t occurred to me. The door had been left ajar, and seeing the candy bars and bottles of soda made my decision easy, despite the automotive and stale coffee smells.
I pushed the rack of greeting cards away from the big glass window and spread out my sleeping bag on the linoleum floor beneath it. That way the moonlight would brighten up my dark existence once the sun completely disappeared from the sky.
Callie tested her boundaries, walking with a little more ease as she got used to the harness and leash. I had tied one end to the bottom of a magazine shelf so she couldn’t get too far, and watching her coming around to being a bound animal instead of a completely free one lifted my heart a little, as weird as it sounded.
I placed my back against the wall and popped a handful of Skittles into my mouth before taking a big swig of warm Sprite. It didn’t taste as great as it had before all the end of the world nonsense, but I finished both of them. No need to be wasteful.
Besides Poptarts, soda, and Skittles, I hadn’t eaten much of anything—nothing substantial anyway. The freedom to eat what I wanted without anyone to harass me or wag their finger in my direction began to take its toll. The sugar rush was awesome. The coming down part, not so much. My stomach ached and my head hurt a little, so I slid a little further down the wall and rested my cheek against my knees.
I would try to eat something more nutritious later, like a bag of pretzels or some stale nacho chips—both available for a limited time at the local convenience store. Yay, me. I should have busted open a Ready Meal right then, but that required being in the mood to eat the dried mix with warm bottled water. And with a belly filled up with Skittles and Sprite, the very idea of eating an MRE didn’t sound appetizing at all. Spewing seemed most likely.
Callie meowed, and I managed to slide an open tin of cat food in her direction, which shut her up. I had no energy to do anything more, so slipped off my boots and crawled into the sleeping bag. It wasn’t quite time for bed, but the desire to disappear in sleep outweighed the desire to keep my eyes open.
Suddenly, I felt really, really tired.
The hard linoleum of the floor cooled my cheek and felt amazing against my hot skin. Part of me wanted to strip to nothing and spread my entire body over the dirty floor to absorb the coldness, but the rational part, the lazy part, stayed in the sleeping bag and shifted back and forth between sweating and shivering.
The sun poured in through the large window, and had actually done so for hours, but I couldn’t manage to rise from the uncomfortable spot on the floor. My head hurt. My body ached. I wanted to keep sleeping.
Callie licked my face and meowed over and over, refusing to be ignored, until I finally pushed myself up on my arms. My left arm hurt, and warmth radiated from my elbow to my shoulder. I managed to sit upright with my back against the wall. Callie rubbed against my legs as I removed the nasty Band-Aid on my arm. Yellow pus oozed from the cut and a deep redness surrounded the entire thing. It felt warm to the touch and it looked worse than it ever had.
The cut hadn’t seemed like a big deal two days ago, nothing a Band-Aid couldn’t handle, but now as I inspected it a little more, I wondered if it hadn’t actually needed stitches. Stupid high school locker. Thankfully, I remembered having received a tetanus shot with my immunizations before starting tenth grade, so I wasn’t going to die a painful death, though my arm hurt like hell and made me think otherwise.
I poured some bottled water in a little dish for Callie, then poured some more on a clean shirt from my bag and dabbed at the messy cut, wincing when the fabric touched my sensitive skin. The dried scab fell away and a trickle of blood mixed with puss dribbled down my arm. Beautiful.
The first-aid kit in my bag held more bandages and some antiseptic cream, but with the redness, the inflammation, and soreness, not to mention my growing fever, I needed antibiotics. Something I didn’t have.
I rubbed a little bit of the cream on the wound and did my best to close the deep cut with butterfly bandages before wrapping the entire thing with a roll of gauze to hold it all in place. Two ibuprofens and a bottle of water later, I shoved everything back in my bag, hooked it over my good arm, and took hold of Callie’s leash.
She needed to walk, and no longer fought the harness, though she made walking a slow-going process. I didn’t mind. Slow-going sounded good to me.
The bright sun caused me to squint, and I dug out my confiscated sunglasses from the bag, finding relief from the glaring rays and giving my budding headache a break.
“Now what? Where do we go?” I directed my questions to Callie, but she was too busy trying to capture her own shadow, jumping on it before turning to see where it had disappeared to. Not that she would have answered, but it would have been nice not to be in charge for once.
The big city was out of the question. Another nine or ten miles would do me in. I doubted I would even be able to walk to the opposite corner as tired and as feverish as I was. But the need to keep moving forced my feet to take step after step. I weaved down the middle of the street, around abandoned cars, trash cans, and garbage that covered the old highway.
The local hospital was miles off, at the edge of the city. I wracked my brain to remember the nearest pharmacy and figured it would be a good three or four mile walk. At my current pace, I could plan on it taking most of the day to get there.
Tears trickled down my cheeks, but I kept moving. Bravery and guts in the face of disaster was obviously not my strong suit. Tears and whining were more like it. Toby and Dad would know what to do, where to go, and how to make the best of this situation. They would have got a car running. They would have found a phone. They would have been saved by now.
Even Mom—sweet, caring, Mom—would have managed to figure out how to live this kind of existence with a smile on her lips. She had faced some pretty extreme situations in her shortened life and I had no doubt she would have kicked butt during this one.
But not me.
I couldn’t stop crying.
I wanted Dad to swoop in and whisk me away to my home, to my comfortable bed, and make me soup. Soup sounded wonderful. I really wanted my dad, but since he didn’t show, I dragged myself down the road unsure of where I was going or what I planned to do once I got there.
I dropped the duffle on the pavement, and it fell with a resounding thump. My shoulders couldn’t handle the weight any longer. Somehow, by the grace of God, I had managed to walk the four exhausting miles to the neighboring town. Dazed, feverish, and a bit wobbly on my feet, I had done it, but instead of celebrating the fact that I now stood in front of Rite-Aid’s sliding glass doors, all I wanted to do was fall onto my bag and not move. Taking care of myself was a lot of work.
A few blocks over, a large crater had replaced the Five Points Mall and the surrounding areas. Buildings large and small seemed to have evaporated—poof—not even a hint of framework left behind. But here, right in front of Rite-Aid and the grocery store next door, everything appeared normal. Except, of course, for the ghost town feel. A giant tumbleweed rolling down the middle of the street would have completed the picture. Only tumbleweeds didn’t grow around here.
I tied Callie’s leash to the handle of the duffle bag, and gave her and myself some water, then cupped my hands around my eyes and pressed my face against the glass window. Even though I had only seen Mr. Stanger’s dead body and no other
s, knock on wood, I didn’t want to take any chances. I doubted I could become desensitized to death and decay, and wasn’t in the mood to find out.
Dim rays from the late afternoon sun penetrated the interior of the building, lighting it enough to see that, for the most part, the store looked intact: the Photo Center to the right, the perfume section to the left, the seasonal supplies—Christmas decorations—in the middle. Easter decorations should have been on display now that Christmas, New Year’s, and Valentine’s had passed. Those holidays had slipped by and no one had been back. A shiver crept up my spine. My stomach turned to lead, and I forced myself to breathe and swallow my rising emotions.
One step at a time, Tess. One step at a time.
The intensity of looking at my situation as a whole would drown me and right now, I needed to focus on getting my hands on some antibiotics. I couldn’t think too far ahead to phone chargers, to keys and cars, to calling for help, to any of the hundred other things needing my attention or I would have given up right then.
Callie had curled into a ball on my bag, so I did my best not to disturb her and reached inside for my gun.
It had worked for the pet store, and since my mind was a sick mess, I didn’t have it in me to find a different way.
Lift. Point. Aim. Prepare for loud noise. Fire.
The glass shattered into tiny diamond shapes that glittered in the sun as they came raining down, covering the ground.
Callie bolted, but her leash kept her tied in place.
Sorry, kitty. So much for not disturbing the cat.
The human shadow popping up from behind a display case sent me scrambling backward, and I forgot all about my screeching cat. I nearly stumbled over, but managed to keep upright with the gun pointed straight at him. What? No. What?
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