Wasting Away (19 page)

Chapter 16

We
walked for miles, ensuring the dead were far enough behind us. A look of pain
crossed Mary’s face and she tried her best to hide it. I could see the tears
welling up in her eyes and a slight crease at the side of her mouth as she
gritted her teeth. Smears of dirt caked under her eyes where she had wiped away
the evidence.

We
were still shaken from the quake, waiting for the tremors to continue. The
earth moves so suddenly that the tingle at the back of the neck just before it
strikes is little warning. The deep thump in the distance before the ground
gives way is nothing but a tease.

I
watched Mary as she plodded along ahead of me, her back slightly bowed as she
watched the ground in front of her. I would have never thought of taking her
away so soon. I had hoped to buy another week or so, making sure she was eating
enough to get her strength back. When the quake hit, my instinct was to run. My
instinct is to always run. It sounds cowardly, but I have learnt that it is
just another part of life now. Sleeping, eating, running: these are the things
that make up survival. There’s no way to fight them all.

A
neat row of shops lined the street in the old section of the city. Boutiques,
restaurants, coffee shops, lined up a few blocks long. There was even a book
store with a large display window, showing off the best sellers of days gone
by. So many stories left unread.

“I’m
sorry for this. I truly am,” I said.

She
worked out a smile and shook her head. “It was bound to happen sometime.”

I
shrugged. “I didn’t want to take you away so soon.”

“We
did what we had to.”

“Can
you go a little bit longer?” I asked.

She
nodded. “I think so.”

“Good,”
I said. “We’re coming up on the city limits. There shouldn’t be as many of them
in the suburbs. We’ll find somewhere to stop there.”

“Okay,”
she replied.

The
sun began to part along the sky, filtering through long wisps of clouds. Deep
purple marked the darkening shroud of night beyond. The hallow call of an
animal sounded from far away. It’s odd to think there are still living things
in all of this.

We
made our way through wreckage and debris. Cracked asphalt guided our way. Ahead
of us there was a sink hole, an SUV tilting at the edge where the ground had
tried to swallow it up. We crossed along the side, using the sidewalk as a
bridge over the chasm. The ground had all but gone away, leaving only the small
concrete walkway. Pipes exposed, crisscrossing over the darkness below. I held
Mary’s hand as we negotiated the narrow expanse.

She
let out a small laugh under her breath.

“What
is it?” I asked.

“Nothing,”
she said, shaking her head.

“No,
really, what is it?”

“It’s
just funny, you know? Like the dead weren’t enough,” she said with an awkward
smile. “Like the nightmare we’re living in just wasn’t good enough and there
had to be an earthquake too.”

I
took her hand again and gave it a small squeeze. “It’ll be all right,” I said.
“It’s just another hill in the road.”

“It’s
not the hill that bothers me,” she replied. “It’s falling down the other side
that scares the shit out of me.”

 The
silence is deafening when night comes. It’s amazing how much you miss the hum
of electricity and the commotion of life when it’s gone. It’s so quiet that you
can hear your heart beat steady in your chest. It’s a lonely feeling.

Mary
placed her hand on my shoulder. “You know, it’s probably better this way.”

I
tilted my head questioningly. “How so?”

“I
think it’s a lot like learning to swim,” she said. “Sometimes you just have to
dive in.”

I
chuckled. “Yeah, in a way, I suppose it is. I wouldn’t think anyone would
willingly go out in this.”

“No,
me neither,” she agreed. “How many people do you think survived this?”

“I
couldn’t imagine,” I replied.

“Maybe
there’re still people tucked away like I was.”

“It’s
very likely,” I said.

“What
will you do if all of this suddenly ends?”

“You
mean if the dead go away?”

She
nodded.

“I
don’t know,” I replied. “I guess I’ll try to start my life over. I know one
thing; I sure as hell won’t be doing any more traveling.”

She
laughed.

A
corpse called from somewhere in the distance, a lonely echo along crumbling
buildings.

I
placed my finger over my lips. “Be little quieter,” I said.

Her
eyes widened. “Sorry.”

We
came to a neighborhood with small one story homes. White picket fences lined
most of the lawns. Some were surrounded in stone and brick. For a moment, I
almost thought that the street lights would turn on and guide our way. There
was very little evidence that anything had happened here. There were a few
cracks in the road where the earthquake had separated the asphalt and a few
broken windows along the rows of homes. A compact car parked sideways in the
road, its driver’s side door hanging open. A broken mailbox, sheared off at the
base, lay in the street. Everything else was picture perfect. It was like this
portion of the world couldn’t have been bothered with the apocalypse. It was as
if it had been here too long to let some little nuisance overcome it.

“What
about that one?” Mary asked.

A
small brick bungalow trimmed in a withered flower garden. Hedges drooped along
the fence. The lawn was slightly overgrown and pockmarked in brown and yellow.

“It’ll
have to do,” I said.

I
peered in through the front window and took the flashlight from my pack. A
long, narrow glare washed out over the living room. I waited quietly for
movement. Inside, it was still and calm. A couch was placed in the center of
the room with a recliner off to the side. An area rug lay beneath them,
horizontal with the room. A small fireplace was in the corner, surrounded by
bookshelves.

I
motioned for Mary to follow me as I walked along the side of the house, shining
the light through each window as I went. Through the last window I saw the
kitchen. It was a simple room with counters wrapping halfway around and
cupboards hanging above. There was a table in the center of the room with a
napkin holder on top.

At
the back door, I shined the light on the handle, edging it toward the crack to
see if it was bolted.

“I
think we’re in luck,” I said, pulling out my pocket knife.

“Is
that usually how you get in?” Mary asked.

“Not
usually,” I replied, “but there’s a first time for everything.”

 I
slid the blade to the back of the mechanism in the door and twisted, pulling it
at the last possible moment. The door creaked open.

I
grinned. “I’ll be damned.”

Mary
followed me closely. I could feel her breath on the back of my neck. There was
a deep silence crouching in every shadow. I slowly pulled the pistol from my
waistband and held the flashlight with my free hand, guiding it along the walls
where it was too dark to see.

We
wound through the kitchen and into the living room. Dark, faceless pictures
hung on the wall. There was a painting of the ocean above the mantle, a ribbon
of light washed over it from the front widow. A tired ship crested over lapping
waves, ready to settle over the next curl. Seagulls bound forever in a pastel
sky. An invisible sun glared from somewhere off the canvas.

I
listened as I came to the end of the wall and encountered a small bedroom, as
simply furnished as the rest of the house. Eye glasses lay on a nightstand next
to a lamp. There was a book on the floor and a small, circular stain next to
it. I thought of coffee, it was so dark.

The
bed was made, a pleat at the top of the dark comforter with a swatch of white
sheet contrasting against it. An old oak chest of drawers was situated against
the far wall next to a closet door. I could smell fabric softener in the air,
subtle jasmine with a hint of cologne underneath.

“I
think it’s clear,” I said.

Mary
came closer. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,”
I replied.

In
one of the kitchen drawers, I found a couple of candles and a box of matches. I
placed them on the side table in the living room and lit them. Faint, orange
light played at the walls, sending long shadows across to the floor and beyond.
In the light, Mary seemed younger. She wore a solemn face, contoured in
thought.

“What
is it?” I asked.

“We
can’t stay here, can we?”

“Not
for too long.”

“So
this is how it’s going to be, here on out?” she stated. “This is what you’ve
had to do all this time? I don’t know if I can.”

“There
have been so many times that I thought the same thing, I can’t even begin to
tell you,” I replied. “I won’t lie and say it gets easier. It’s going to get a
hell of a lot worse, if anything. Every day, you have to push yourself that
much harder. The worst part is that there may not be a payoff in the end.”

“Back
there at the freeway, I thought for sure we were going to die,” she said,
softly. “I saw all of those things coming after you, squeezing their way up the
stairs at the bridge and I thought that that would be the end. I was afraid
that they would get you, and I would be forced to watch until they were
finished and came for me.”

I
laid the matches on the table and sat down next to her on the couch. “That time
may come,” I said. “But not as long as I have anything to say about it.”

She
rested her head on my shoulder. “I can still see all of their faces.”

I
edged my hand along her cheek. “So can I.”

Chapter 17

Sunlight
came through the front window, casting its glare along the floor in thin
streaks. Sometime during the night, Mary had stretched out on the remainder of
the couch, using my lap as a pillow. I ran my fingers through my hair and
looked around the now visible room.

I
stared at the painting above the mantle again. It was much more vivid in the
light. I thought about being on that ship, wondering if I could sail it,
wondering if it would be better out on the ocean. I looked down at Mary, the
way the sun lay against her face, and wondered about our freedom. I thought of
how long we would continue to run. I thought of the misery that would greet us.
I thought of futility.

She
awoke with a sigh, the slightest breath. Her body tensed as she stretched and
looked up at me.

“Good
morning,” she said, blinking.

“Are
you hungry?”

“I’m
starving,” she replied.

She
sat up and blinked at the sun, dreary eyed and yawning. Working at a kink in
her neck, she said, “I can’t believe I slept so well.”

“Yesterday
was a hell of a day, you were tired,” I said, standing up, relieving my own
kinks.

She
bent over and touched her toes. “Ouch, my legs are sore.”

“Running
will do that to you,” I said with a knowing smile.

“So
what’s on the menu?”

I
opened my pack and sorted through. “Anything in a can,” I said. “You know, we
never checked the kitchen, maybe they left some food behind.”

With
another stretch, I went into the kitchen and began to scrounge. I looked
through a ceramic pot that sat on the counter with sunflowers painted on the
side. The stale cookies it contained smelled like expired lard and the
chocolate chips had all turned white. To the side of the microwave was a
breadbox and I opened it, hoping to find anything other than mold. The bread had
a dull blue and grey color to it. I closed the lid and inspected the cupboards.
There were only scraps left, a half a bag of rice, a can of tomato soup, and a
box of crackers.

“On
second thought, maybe we should just go with what’s in my pack.”

“Pretty
scarce, huh?” she asked from the living room.

On
my tiptoes, I reached a bag in the back of the top shelf. “There’s a bag of
dried peas if you’re looking for something crunchy.”

She
laughed. “I think I’ll pass.”

I
opened the refrigerator. Through the rush of air like a stagnant tomb, came the
smell of expired food. I turned my head away and closed my eyes tight to the
venting fumes. I regained my nerve and peered in through the moldy leftovers.
There, on the bottom shelf, I found treasure.

“You’re
not going to believe what I found,” I said, peeking around the corner of the
fridge into the living room.