Resilient

by Toni Cox

  It’s been three days, and he hasn’t woken up. I have done everything I can for him, but I am no doctor or even a nurse. Putting that needle in his arm to give him the IV took me three tries.

  He’s moaned a few times, and his eyelids flutter periodically. I talk to him, reassuring him that he will be okay, but I am not so certain anymore.

  I removed most of his clothes and checked his entire body. He seems to have an internal injury in his stomach where the box fell on him, and I suspect there may be more to his head injury than a bit of blood. The area around the cut is swollen and leaking a clear liquid.

  Keeping him clean and hydrated is all I can do. I feel helpless. His features are darker and more angular than those of the typical South African, so I guess he’s an immigrant from up north. Probably French speaking. I’ve named him Jules.

  Unable to do anything else for him, I finally decide to go back for the truck. Jules has given me hope. I am not the only one who has survived. There must be others out there.

  I have been too scared to leave the security of my house, and too focused on my own survival, so never considered searching for others. Only now do I realise how depressed I have been. How my mind has been hiding under this dark cloud, letting my body operate on autopilot. I need to deal with what has happened. Grieve for my parents. Grieve for my friends. And then, I need to move forward.

  The truck is still where I left it. Checking the back, I make sure everything is in place, but I don’t leave immediately. With an LED headlamp strapped to my head and my 9mm drawn, I enter the store.

  If two people had the idea of procuring provisions from here, there might be more. I am careful, though, as I’ve seen more dogs roam the streets. They are hungry, and I am sure at this stage, they will not mind taking a bite out of me.

  The massive store is quiet. I’ve checked every aisle, and everything is as it was three days ago. I am disappointed, but this is just one shop. Once Jules is better, I will drive around to the areas of Edenvale, Bedfordview, Boksburg, and further if I have to.

  The truck starts immediately when I turn the key. It smokes for a bit but then idles smoothly. I have fun driving the big vehicle back to the house. It’s a challenge.

  The truck is too large to fit into the driveway, so I park on the curb and unload from there after I check on Jules. He’s still unconscious.

  I forgot how much stuff I loaded into the truck and it is dark by the time it’s all stacked in the lounge. That’s where it must stay for now until I can bring some order into everything.

  Truck keys in hand, I hesitate. It’s late, and I don’t want to be out in the dark, but I don’t want to leave the Range Rover at Makro either. Also, the truck is a good asset to have. I have a conundrum on my hands.

  “Urgh.”

  Making a decision, I hang the truck keys on the board and take the keys for the Polo. It’s almost out of petrol, anyway.

  Driving at night is creepy. There are no lights at all, except those from my car. I have never seen the Earth this dark; it is frightening. It takes me almost twice the time to drive to the store.

  When I get out to switch vehicles, there are noises everywhere. Having grown up in Africa, I know most of those noises are crickets and cicadas, or frogs, but I am terrified, nonetheless. There are other noises, too. Growls, yelps, and things I dare not contemplate. I leave the Polo’s headlights on as I dart the short distance across to the Range Rover.

  Shivers run down my back when I cannot open the door fast enough to climb into the safety of the SUV. My mind makes up unimaginable horrors lurking in the dark behind me, and I am trembling when the door finally slams shut.

  The darkness ahead of me illuminates as I turn on the Rover’s brights. The stark lights put everything in front of me into eerie contrast as I drive through the blackness and helps little to allay my fears.

  Zombies, monsters, demons. Movies I’ve watched. Books I’ve read. They’ve all come to haunt me as I drive home. Closing the driveway gate behind me is the scariest thing I ever had to face.

  Having shut the house door behind me, I lean my back against it. With a shudder, I realise I am safe, and something inside me snaps. Sinking to the floor, tears burst forth unbidden, and there is no holding them back.

  The pain within my chest swells with every sob. Flashes of my parents’ faces as they sat on the sofa; Stephan hunched over his desk; the cop at the police station; the couple at the restaurant; Elias.

  I see them all, staring at me, accusing me of being alive. Why did I survive? Why me? I wish I could take it back. Join them in the blissful nothingness and stop this horror I am in now.

  An anguished wail escapes me before I can prevent it, and I hug my knees tight to my body, rocking. Right now, I can’t see what I have already accomplished in the time I have been alone; all I know is that there is no one else.

  Everyone I have ever loved has left me. Abandoned me. Doomed me to a fate worse than death, for I shall walk the Earth alone for all eternity.

  There is a knife in my chest, twisting, stabbing at my heart, ripping it apart. I clutch my hands over my chest to still the pain, but it runs too deep. The loss runs too deep.

  Make it stop.

  Please, just make it stop.

  Chapter 7

  “I’m sorry, Jules,” I whisper in his ear as I close his eyes, silent tears streaming down my face.

  He smells as if he has been dead several days. Maybe he has, and I haven’t noticed. I have done everything I can, but I suspect that his internal injuries were too severe, or his head wound eventually killed him. I just don’t know.

  Now, I am alone again. Completely alone. Can one person have any more bad luck?

  I bury Jules next to Elias across the road, making him a grave of red rocks.

  There is no point to all of this. Not unless I have someone to share the life I have been given.

  I go back inside, wash, and grab the keys for the Jaguar off the hook. I have never driven it, but, as I don’t have any use for it, it is the perfect car for today. Also, its tank is full and ideal for the round tour I have in mind.

  It is after 10 a.m. by the time I get onto the highway. Even here there are abandoned cars, and I wonder what people might have been doing driving around, sick as they were.

  It’s a short trip from the Edenvale on-ramp into Bedfordview, where the highway ends. I turn left at the traffic light and spend an hour driving up and down the streets of the suburb, looking for any signs of life.

  I finally make my way up Queen Street through Kensington and back to the highway. The next off-ramp I take is Modderfontein, and I head into Edenvale from the top, cruising its streets, desperate now.

  Those bloody tears are running down my face again when I get onto the N12 towards Boksburg. I hate that I cry so much. I hate that I’m so weak.

  I turn off at Atlas Road and then right onto North Rand Road. It runs parallel to the highway and will lead me back home. There are shops, car dealerships, malls, nurseries and restaurants fronting this road and I hope to see something along this usually bustling thoroughfare.

  The later it gets, the more despondent I am. As the light fades, so does my hope. Storm clouds gather overhead, shadowing my mood. My heart can take no more.

  I stare blankly ahead as I drive home. Heavy raindrops hit the windscreen as I reach the highway. It’s a short trip from the Jet Park on-ramp to the Kraft Road off-ramp, but by the time I’m off the highway, heavy rain pelts the car.

  The wipers can barely keep up with the amount of water cascading over the glass, and I struggle to see. These are the summer showers I have been waiting for. Water. But now I don’t care.

  Going through Primrose, I can’t see the speed humps because of the rain and the Jag makes a terrible noise as it bounces over one of them. I don’t care. I fly up the hill, not caring that there is a fifty-meter drop on the other side.

  I know the road, though, having lived here all my life, and I take the corner, racing down t
he other side of the hill. The left turn comes up, but I can’t see it well, the wipers struggling with the amount of water.

  Squinting at the windscreen, I over-steer, and the Jaguar swerves, setting my heart racing. I feel its fancy mechanics kick in, for it pulls itself straight and careens on.

  Kloof Road is the turnoff to the left. I need to take it now, but I am going too fast. I put my foot on the brake and yank the steering wheel to the left. I regret it instantly, as the car skids on the gravel the water has washed down the road.

  A sharp pain shoots through my right thumb as the steering wheels turns the opposite way. My head slams sideways against the window, and I see the shadow of a tree move past in slow motion.

  The seatbelt catches me with a jerk before my head hits the roof, and I am vaguely aware that I am upside down. Then, the car slams into something. Hard. I get flung sideways, snapping my neck. Glass shatters. Something white explodes in my face.

  Everything goes dark.

  Wet. Persistent. Pain. Darkness.

  Wet. Licking. Persistent. Pain. I open my eyes, confused. The pain in my body is real, but I cannot connect it to the wet kisses on my face.

  I twitch with fright at the sight of the dog standing over me … and scream — the dog barks.

  Lying still, I eye the dog warily, knowing I am in no fit state to defend myself. The dog barks again, and something about his bark makes me take a closer look.

  “Morgan?” I croak.

  He wags his tail.

  “Good boy.”

  I close my eyes. So tired. So much pain. Morgan barks again, bringing me back before I drift off. I grind my teeth and try to move.

  The car must have flipped, probably several times, for it is now standing on its tyres but is as flat as a pancake. I am wedged between the driver’s seat and the roof, with my legs stuck underneath the steering wheel.

  The car is at a slant on an embankment, and I am afraid it may slip if I move too much. I can’t see what is beyond the car, or how far down it goes on the other side.

  I can tell I have a head wound; there is dried blood down the right side of my face. My thumb is dislocated, and I think there is something wrong with my left leg. I may also have some broken ribs, as I am struggling to breathe.

  Great.

  Pain shoots through my body as I try to free my legs from the steering wheel. Morgan’s barking keeps me from passing out, and I try again. Something tears when my legs eventually come free, and I feel a wet warmth down my left leg. Turning my upper body as much as my broken ribs allow, I grab hold of the edge of the roof and slowly pull myself out of the broken window.

  The pain is incredible, and I have to stop often. It is only due to Morgan’s encouragement that I keep going. His excitement at my progress is contagious.

  With my upper body freed, I flop ungracefully onto the muddy ground, driving the wind out of my lung, and shooting agony throughout my body. I scream, making Morgan bark frantically.

  It is about 800 metres to the house, but it feels like 800 kilometres as I drag my broken body home, Morgan at my heels. I leave a trail of blood, dripping from my left leg.

  I don’t have the energy to doctor myself by the time I have dragged myself inside. Morgan is investigating all the rooms, while I take some antibiotics and painkillers and lie down on my bed.

  Once my breathing slows, the pain in my chest eases. I close my eyes, wondering if I have a concussion and if I should be sleeping, wishing there was someone here to look after me.

  This finally drives home the message that I am completely reliant on only myself and that what I did was foolish. If I had been hurt worse, I could have lain in that car for days, dying slowly.

  I shudder at the thought.

  When the painkillers kick in, I get up and take my clothes off. My body is bruised, and the gash in my leg is jagged and raw. I wash, gingerly, taking care to clean the leg wound properly.

  In the hospital room, I find the utensils I need to fix myself. I take a big swig of Vodka from one of the bottles I found in my dad’s bar before I start.

  I inject my leg with a local anaesthetic. To be the most effective, the injection should be given into the wound, but I can’t do it. I put half on either side of the wound, instead. I have no idea how to suture a wound, but I know how to sew. It will have to do. Taking another swig of Vodka, I start. The sensation makes me gag. I can feel it, but there’s no pain. The skin is tougher than I imagined, and my hands shake. The sight of the fleshy fat under the skin makes me sick. I puke, spewing Vodka over the side of the bed, the needle sticking halfway through my skin. I can’t do it.

  Morgan comes into the room and sniffs the puddle on the floor. It is obviously not to his taste, for he moves around to the other side of the bed and sits next to me.

  “Okay,” I say, “shall we try again?”

  It takes seven stitches to close the wound. I vomit three more times before it is done. It bleeds some more, so I clean it, put on an antibiotic cream, and then bandage it. I hope it will be enough.

  Next, I take a look at my head. It is a graze, so I clean it up and put on an antibiotic cream, just to be sure. There isn’t much I can do about my thumb, though. It hurts, but it is back in place, and it will have to heal on its own.

  I have no idea how to fix broken ribs. Anti-inflammatories will probably help it heal, so I take them. It can’t harm, at any rate.

  When I lie back on the bed to rest, Morgan jumps up and take a position at my feet. I look at him, about to order him off the bed, but then hesitate.

  He probably saved my life, and he is the first living thing actually keeping me company. I need him, and I think he needs me, too. With his head on the blanket, he looks at me with his amber eyes and I don’t have the heart to make him get off.

  “You can’t keep eating my food, Morgan. We will have to get you some dog food.”

  Morgan tilts his head, listening. He always pays close attention to what I say and also obeys hand signals. No matter how much his barking used to annoy me, I have come to love this dog in the short time we have been together.

  “I don’t want to go back to Makro, but Checkers will have dog food. Do you want to go for a ride in the Rover?”

  He barks.

  “Okay, then, let’s go.”

  I feel more confident having Morgan with me, especially since I am still injured. My leg is healing but remains strapped up. It hurts when I take a deep breath, and my thumb does not have its full mobility back.

  Feeling the way I do, I wouldn’t go out if it wasn’t for Morgan, but since I have to anyway, I will make it worthwhile. Armed with several shopping bags and a list, I climb into the SUV.

  Morgan jumps into the passenger seat beside me and sticks his head out of the window, his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth. I laugh, happy to have someone beside me.

  Shopping with him is a breeze. Even though it is dark in the shop and I have to rely on my torches, he scouts ahead, assuring me that there is nothing lurking around a corner.

  Today, I take all the small bags of dog food, simply because I cannot lift the twenty-kilo bags yet. I will come back for them once my ribs are healed. There are plenty of small bags to last him several weeks, so I am not worried. I take tinned dog food, too.

  Once the dog food is packed into the Range Rover, we go back inside and get the things from my list. It’s little things; stuff I didn’t think of the first time I came shopping but have missed during the last couple of weeks.

  I think I am getting pretty good at this survival malarkey now. Mother Nature has already thrown her worst at me, and I have survived it. I can handle whatever comes next.

  Morgan has given me a new lease on life. His company came at a time when I needed it most and lifted my spirits so that I have a will to live again. I am ready to fight for my life, and his.

  We are a team now, and we are going to build a new life together. There is much we need to do to survive in the long run, but with him by my
side, I have the motivation to do it.

  Outside in the parking lot, Morgan chases some birds while I pack the SUV. It is a hot, humid day, with a promise of a thunderstorm on the wind. I want to get home before it starts.

  For now, though, I am happy to watch Morgan play. I have not been this carefree since before this apocalypse started, and I want the moment to last.

  Looking across the lot, I see Cash Build; the hardware store; an idea forms. I have been looking for a way to collect more water, but my Jo-Jo tanks are already full.

  I need to make full use of the summer rains, before the winter drought. Otherwise, I will run out of water. After my incident at Builder’s Warehouse, I don’t want to go back there, but Cash Build should have plastic piping and guttering, as well.

  I smile. Finally, matters are looking up for me. Here, at the Meadowdale Mall, is almost everything I need, at least for the next couple of months. I feel safe here, especially with Morgan by my side.

  Turning back, I look for him, but he has disappeared. I suffer a moment of panic before I notice him sitting beside my leg.

  “Hey, boy.” I ruffle his head. “You did good. Shall we go home?”

  Morgan barks, I laugh.

  “Come on, then.”

  We get home just before the first raindrops fall. It is a beautiful, African thunderstorm, not the downpour in which I crashed the car, and I decide to unpack the car tomorrow.

  Instead, Morgan and I cuddle on the couch in the small lounge, and I put on a DVD. Having electricity is a luxury I truly appreciate, but I have not used it to watch a movie before.

  We watch AXL. It’s a movie about a metal dog made by the military that ends up bonding with a human boy. Morgan is fascinated by it, and I laugh and cry with him in my arms.