Anyone? (6 page)

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.

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 movement 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.