He woke up hours later. The rays of sunlight were coming in through different windows at different angles than when he laid down. The sound of knocking on the door caught his attention. He now realized why he had woken up.
“Chuck, Chuck!” a voice whispered behind the side door.
The handle jiggled.
“Chuck!” the voice called again.
Chuck arose from the couch and grabbed the shotgun again. Whoever was at the door knew who lived in the house. Chuck peaked out of the side door to see an un-kept ragged Roger at the side door.
“Chuck, Chuck, hey man.” Roger said seeing him inside the house.
“What do you want?” Chuck said.
“Well, the wife and I were wondering if you had any food?” Roger said.
“No, no food.” Chuck said leaving the door closed.
“Oh come on, you bought a bunch last week.” Roger said. “Look just a few cans or something. We are starving here.”
“No go away.” Chuck said.
“Roger what did he say?” It was Roger’s wife at the door.
Chuck heard mumbling in the driveway.
“Chuck, we can trade. We have things. We can give you whatever you want.” She said.
“Go away.” Chuck said. He kept his face away from the door. He remembered Roger bringing the gun home on the Day.
“What is it you want? You can have our TV, our furniture, take our car! What do you want?” She yelled.
“Maybe we should leave,” Roger said.
“Quit being a pussy, this is all your fault. I’ll take care of this.” She said. “Chuck I’ll give you what you want. Are you lonely? I’ve seen you looking at me before. I know what you want. You can have me. I’ll let you do want you want. You can put it anywhere. Please. Let me in.”
“What are you doing? You Bitch! You never let me do what I want. It’s always your boring shit.” Roger said.
“Fuck you, if it wasn’t for your job I never would have been with you. You’re not a man, you’re a boy, you’re not even a boy, boys have a dick. Boys have potential. You will never be a man.” She pulls her shirt up exposing her breasts to the door. “Chuck you can have these.”
Roger pulls the gun from the back of his pants where it was hidden. He pulls the hammer back.
“Say that again.” Roger says to his wife. “Say that shit again.”
“Roger put the fucking gun down.” She sounds calm. She pulls her shirt back down. “I’m just playing him, trying to get him to open the door so all the food will be ours. I’m not going to fuck him. I’m trying to get in there for us.”
“You lie, you never respected me. You never have.” Roger said.
“Baby you know I love you.” She said. “I’m not the enemy, he has all the food.”
She moves closer.
“Put the gun down.” She says.
Roger feels his anger leave. He can’t do it. He has always tried to make his wife happy, a goal that would never happen.
Chuck watches the two of them from the living room window. He couldn’t believe how insane people were acting. He thought for sure Roger was going to shoot his wife. When they first moved in next door he did find her attractive. The more he saw how she treated Roger and how she acted, he realized how ugly she truly was.
She grabbed the gun from Roger and moved closer to him.
“Roger, I love you. But you’re holding me back.” she said.
His eyes lit up. He grabbed for the gun. His hand wrapped around the cylinder. She tried to pull the trigger but the hammer wouldn’t release. Both of them had their hands wrapped around the gun. She pushed him against the car. He pushed back and shoved her against the house. The impact sounded like somebody was trying to kick the door in. Chuck stayed inside and watched the chaos in the driveway.
“You bitch!” Roger yelled.
“Fuck you!” She yelled back.
She was shorter than him but stronger from her daily visits to the gym. She shoved him back to the car and he hit the driver’s side door. The side mirror hit his back. Roger hollered out and pushed the gun down to the ground.
“Let go,” he yelled.
“Fuck you,” was the only phrase coming from her mouth. The rush of adrenaline shifting blood from her brain leaving only basic functions. It was eye opening for Chuck who had gone through less only a few hours ago but was seeing his experience to an extreme.
The gun went off. Chuck didn’t know if anybody was hit.
“Get the fuck off me.” Roger’s wife said as she pushed him away and he dropped to the ground, his back against the car. She stood back up with the gun in her hand. She kept the gun on him.
“I loved you,” he said.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have,” she said. She pulled the rings off her left hand and threw them at him as he held his stomach. Her engagement ring hit Roger in the chest and bounced off, rolling onto the pavement. “Second thought I might need that,” she said leaning over and picking up the rings. She turned around and ran to the street. From there she disappeared leaving Roger behind.
“For better or for worse.” Roger said looking down at the whole through his belly. He looked up and saw Chuck at the door. He was standing behind the screen door with his shotgun in hand.
“So your whole plan was to rob me?” Chuck said.
“I’m sorry, wasn’t my idea.” Roger said.
“I bet.” Chuck said.
“I don’t suppose you’ll let me in.” Roger said.
“No, I don’t think so.” Chuck said.
“I’m not going to survive this am I?” Roger said.
Chuck shook his head. Roger stood up from the car.
“I’m sorry Chuck.” Roger said.
“I know.” Chuck said closing the door and locking it behind him. Roger walked to his house, went inside and closed the door behind him.
Chuck never saw Roger or his wife again. He wondered if her act would have opened the door at another house. She was a very attractive woman. He was sure that many men would fall for her trick.
He stayed in the house well into winter. He didn’t have any contact with anyone until after spring. His food supplies that he bought barely lasted him until that point. When he journeyed out into the world and found people dead in their houses, at first he thought they had starved to death. When he started finding left over food in their houses he realized that it wasn’t starvation that did them in. Next to a bed sat a half used box of Theraflu. It gave him a clue as to what happened.
Carrying his old college backpack Chuck traveled the streets with his shotgun and several goals on his mental check list. First, find food. Second, gather information. And three, find people.
That last of his food sat in his pack along with his ammo for the shotgun and lighters to create fire. He didn’t have much left at the house to worry about. His car no longer started. The charge on the battery was dead. He tried switching it out but found that the rest of the batteries were dead as well. He gave up after a few hours. He figured the car would bring too much attention to himself if he did get it running again anyway. He started to notice subtle things about the neighborhood and the world in general. The air was quiet. He never saw a dog or cat. Lawns grew to the height of the first story roofs on houses. The air smelled cleaner. When he looked to the sky he didn’t see any planes, no exhaust trails, no dots in the sky. The blue dome above him was left to the birds and insects.
Nature was reclaiming the world. He remembered a show he watched late at night about the world without people. Now he was seeing that show come true. Pictures of Chernobyl came to mind, picturing the trees that would appear in the coming years around the houses or in them. He thought about the rain gutter on his neighbor’s house that hadn’t been cleaned in years and how trees started to grow in them. Tiny bonsai maples that pushed through the creases of the aluminum fighting to find soil of some kind, fed only by the decomposing remains of fallen seedlings that came before with less luck.
Chuck decided to look for a house or cabin on a lake. Shelter and water was high on his list of priorities and he thought about some areas that he always thought were nice. He never imagined that retirement would come early to him. Divorced and in his mid-forties he thought he was starting his life all over again. He never had kids, something that he always wanted to do. He always had a difficult time with the opposite sex. He couldn’t imagine a more difficult world to be in for meeting someone. The only option he could think of was moving forward to a retirement and learning over time how to live in this new world. It couldn’t be any worse than the jobs he slaved over the last couple of decades. If he was lucky, then maybe he would meet someone. He had a feeling that eventually he would be happy just for the company. The idea of having someone to talk to would be a positive change that he could live with.
Chuck set off on foot south. He knew of some nice lakes filled with blue gill and bass. The houses at one time cost a quarter to half a million. He was sure there would be something there he would like.
Chapter 4: A few Months after the Day
The lights had been off for over two months now. Not only the lights, but all power. Tom sat late at night on the cot in his basement rethinking The Day’s events looking for clues as to what happened. He may never know or find out. He has theories but they are wasted on himself and time is something that he has plenty of. His survival came from quickly adapting and thinking ahead. His dining room table now covers the picture window of his living room. The bedroom doors upstairs cover the remaining windows of the house. Blankets cover the basement windows so he can run his oil lamps at night and not draw attention. He still has months of food in his root cellar and basement. He stays inside except at night when he sneaks into his fenced in backyard and works in his garden in the moon light. He set up security devices so he knows when people are trespassing. A series of strings attached to cans in the house that move when touched. Only once has he gone to the window over-looking the yard with his .22 rifle and told people to leave. He felt bad, he knew people where hungry. He told a disheveled couple to grab what they could carry but not to tell anyone what they found or where. They nodded and climbed back over the fence with some tomatoes and peppers. He knew then that people were still not smart on what was more important in nutrition. He had a row of kale, broccoli, garlic and potatoes that could have been harvested. These had higher nutrition value and more calories. They grabbed what was familiar and ran.
At night Tom cranks his emergency radio and listens for a signal. Every night there is static and dead air. He had no news and he didn’t have any connection to anybody he knew. The last time he talked to his neighbors he told them to stay inside if they could. That was a week before there was a riot in the streets. It started off with kids running around yelling and chanting. Black Pride was the theme and yet he knew they were marching for help or food. Then it turned into something else. Car windows started to be smashed and some kids started to siphon gas from the tanks to make Molotov cocktails. He watched from the windows trying to stay unnoticed. He held a rifle in his hands, a Russian SKS 7.62 he had bought years ago, watching from the window he took notice as the kids first threw the bottles in the street creating circles of fire. Next had come the houses. His rifle was already loaded. He watched through the scope as the kids ran around the streets. Most of them chanting and joining the crowd. A few were trying to set the neighborhood on fire. They started with an abandoned house down the street. The cars were still being totaled. Then they set their eyes on his neighbor’s house across the street. An older retired woman who lived by herself. He knew she was still there trying to wait out the madness. He aimed the rifle at the boy holding the bottle. As the boy ran towards the house he breathed, and squeezed. The boy dropped with the loud concussion of the rifle and the bottle dropped, breaking its contents on and around him. He didn’t cry, already dead. The crowd dispersed faster than he had ever seen before. The body burning in the street, he put the rifle down and grabbed his shotgun. He moved to the back of the house and saw his car and garden. He watched closely and saw movement. Opening the window he pumped the shotgun discharging a round on the floor. Shadows moved and climbed over the fence. He knew they were trying to hide from the shooting that just happened. Even if they were starving they could still go home in one piece and live another day. That night he dreaded the events that took place. His neighbor waved from a window the next day showing a sign of thanks. He didn’t know if it made him feel better. Someone had picked up the body by the next morning. That was only two weeks after the power went out.
He moved most of his belongings to the basement and knew he may have to live out the winter in this living space. Aside from some ammo and binoculars in the upstairs bedrooms he had everything in the basement. He felt like he was back in his first apartment.
During the day he would sit by the upstairs window, read a book and watch for movement in the streets. Every couple of hours he would hear gun shots. Everything was so quiet. He could tell if it was miles away or a few streets over. When the shots were close it was difficult to figure out where it came from as it echoed between the houses.
Every day he would see more and more people leaving the neighborhood, pushing shopping carts filled with belongings and children holding on to the side. A few times he thought about running out with canned goods and handing them to the families to help the children survive. Then the thought of bringing attention to himself and having less food became a reality. He already had trouble with people knowing about his garden. If it was known that he had canned goods?
Tom was stuck in the house for the most part. He had a few weeks- worth of batteries for the lights to work on the garden at night when the moon wasn’t out. He rationed the food in the basement. Bullets he kept a log of how many he had left. He even counted his rounds of .22s to have an exact count and to waste time. He worked on his bug out bag that he hoped to not use for a long time to come.
When he was finally convinced that the power was not coming back on he tore his furnace apart and made a cooking station from the ducts and metal scraps. The smoke from his small grill traveled through the old exhaust pipe and into the chimney. He wondered about people smelling the smoke. Would it bring unwanted attention to his house? Heat and warmth was a priority. Winter would be here sooner than later.
Every day he would wake up early. Cook some oatmeal on the grill, eat it at the window, watch, and wait. His goal was to not see a soul for a week before he would venture out. He made a list of things he needed before winter started. Wood, food, building materials, matches, and the list went on and on. Much of it was redundant stuff.
It was now pushing towards the end of summer. His neighbor across the street had left weeks ago. He figured she would try to travel to her son’s house. She was armed and pulled an old two wheel shopping cart. He wasn’t too worried about her. She had fought off burglars before with her shotgun. She wasn’t afraid to defend herself.
Tom would mark the days on a sheet for how long it had been since he had seen anyone. He would get three or four days in and would have to start all over. He wondered if he would ever be able to stock pile wood for the winter. He knew that if he stayed hidden he would survive. He also knew that if he didn’t leave the house and gather supplies he would die.
It was the end of September. The days had started to cool and he was storing food in the house from the garden. With the items he collected he ate much of it but still had plenty to store. He made salsa and other simple recipes that didn’t require hard to find ingredients. Keeping the water at a boil he used a hand timer to make sure that the jars were heated for the needed time. He wasn’t going through all this trouble to later die of botulism. He didn’t know how he would eat it without tortilla chips but decided that it may help with the taste of squirrel later.
He dried herbs and some vegetables in the basement hanging them from the rafters. With his car sitting in the yard receiving full sun he used cookie sheets and other stack
able trays to dry out fruit and vegetables from the garden. One night he pulled an old tarp out of the shed and made a teepee style structure out back and lined the bottom with a stone pit for making a small fire. He still needed more supplies for winter.
The season was fully into fall and the mornings were cool with the start of frost. He lost track when he saw the last person in his area and it had been over a month since he heard the sound of a gun shot. Grabbing his 7.62 he left the house in the middle of the night and walked a mile to a preserve that housed a lake and bike trail he rode at one time. Slowly marching on foot he made his way to the preserve carefully listening and looking for movement. It took an hour but the sun was still not up and he kept listening to the birds and other animals becoming louder as the sky changed color.
Tom sat against a tree watching the light show, seeing the rainbow of colors that shifted in the sky with the stars and the moon still peeking through the atmosphere. Then he heard the crack of wood. He moved, just enough to look around. First he saw branches moving, but they weren’t branches. Antlers weaved down to a face and body that blended with the bark and brown leaves. He flipped the safety off his rifle and looked through the scope. He had never hunted before. He had an old book that told the basics. Shoot the heart or lungs for an instant kill.
The deer moved a little and started sniffing a tree. It was completely sideways to him, the perfect shot, all he had to do was aim behind the shoulder. He leveled the rifle and squeezed the trigger. The crack was louder than he remembered. The deer didn’t have time to react. It staggered, legs shaking, and dropped its body to the ground.
After the Day Page 4
