“AAhhh let’s not," he said to himself.
Kyle then began to move down the space checking every locker and cabinet as he went. Every item he found he examined intensely and decided its value. Most would end up in a pile on the floor, lab coats, paperwork, personal effects of people long dead piled up as he moved meticulously through the space. He added anything of value he found to the bedpan as he went. His small treasure included 2 unopened boxes of exam gloves, several boxes of suture kits, an assortment of gauze and bandages. As Kyle continued his search his smile faded and he began to worry. Yes, anything medical had value, but he wouldn’t be able to trade any of it. Anna would look at him with that raised eyebrow way that she has that says “Really?” and that would be it, it would all go to supply the clinic, net profit zero.
The next locker had apparently been used to store cleaning supplies. When Kyle opened it, he laughed out loud and scooped 4 rolls of toilet paper into his arms.
“Living like a king! No more mildewy newspapers for this guy!” Kyle shouted as he laughed again.
Putting the precious rolls down on the workbench he turned back to the closet and found his second win fall, a ½ gallon container of bleach. He opened the plastic jug and carefully smelled it, the pungent odor of bleach was overwhelming, no flowery additives, pure bleach. Enough to treat his personal water for…well for a hell of a long time. Grinning he put the jug down and turned to the last cabinet in the room. It was tall but narrower than all of the other. This was it he thought, this would make or break the trip. He pulled the cabinet open or at least tried to. It was locked he realized seeing the small cabinet keyhole for the first time. Considering that a good sign, he recovered his pry bar and with very little effort popped it open.
“Honest locks for honest times," Kyle said shaking his head considering how much the world had changed.
He lifted the lantern pouring light into the space and froze. He was speechless, his heart hammering in his chest. Dozens of white plastic pill bottles filled the cabinet, all in neat uniform rows, several bottles deep. Kyle examined each turn, Levofloxacin, Amoxicillin, Doxycycline, and a dozen more than Kyle didn’t recognize and couldn’t pronounce. Then he found one that he could, Oxycodone. Kyle snatched up the large bottle and then the second one behind it, letting the others tumble from his arms to the floor. He held them in each hand and gave them a shake, in turn, they were both full. He was dumbstruck for a moment, he turned holding up the bottles as if to show them to an imaginary friend.
“I’m rich, I’m fucking rich," he shouted.
In the living hell that the world had become modern drugs was one of the first casualties. It was followed quickly by all of modern medicine. Those who had the knowledge and skills, people like Anna, they now did what they could for whom they could. But for most people healthcare was now relegated to home remedies and procedures made popular in the dark ages. Whatever these medicines were Kyle knew Anna could probably use them to help people. But these OXys, this was something else. This went beyond medicine, in this world anything that could give a person some sense of relief from their living hell had value. Most narcotics hadn’t lasted long after the fall, neither had, alcohol, nicotine, caffeine or Tabasco. A planet forced to detox together. Kyle didn’t know how much he could get in trade for what he held. It had been years since he had even heard of anything even close to this being traded at the Hub. He only knew this was his ticket out of the desert.
The search over Kyle suddenly felt very tired, the thrill of the search having left him. He had no way to judge the time, but he guessed the sun was close to if not already set. He would stay here tonight and walk out at dawn. He left all of his gear and most of his new found wealth in the narrow room and moved back out to the shallow pool. Scraping together a large pile of dead…corn stalks or whatever they were, he lit a small fire. He chuckled to himself as he filled the bedpan with water and set it over the flames to boil.
While he waited, he sat in the dirt eating a meager handful of jerky from his pocket. It tasted like salty shoe leather he thought, but it kept him going. He had known the trip back was going to be on an empty stomach, the cost of moving light and fast. Fortunately, he thought everything he was bringing back was relatively light. He glanced down at the jug of bleach and frowned.
A small blue light flashed and then disappeared in the corner of his eye. Kyle froze, his mouth still full of jerky he turned his head ever so slowly. The light was nowhere to be seen now. He waited his eyes stared into the darkness. Did he imagine it? It looked like it had been high on the wall, on the far side of the field. He turned back to his small fire and chewed the rest of the jerky, eating for purpose, not for pleasure and then swallowed. He shook his head and stood. Scooping up the lantern he relit the mantle and stalked across the dark field. He walked directly to the spot where he thought he had seen the flash. A blue light, not a flame an actual electric light. He had to have imagined it. As he contemplated his sanity, the light flashed again. It was a few feet to Kyle’s right and about 8 feet up the wall.
Kyle moved down the wall and raised the lantern above his head. Holy shit he thought, an actual functioning electric light. How in the hell had it survived when every other electric circuit on the planet had not? But as Kyle looked at the source of the light he grew even more confused. How did this thing even make light? To Kyle, it looked like a starfish. A black steel starfish with only 3 legs. Its surface was polished smooth, and it had no visible bulb or markings at all. Kyle shifted the lantern and looked closely at the ground below the light and up and down each direction. The light wasn’t placed here to mark anything as far as Kyle could tell, no gas or water lines. Would a Mars station even have buried gas or water lines? Kyle somehow doubted it.
The light flashed again, this time Kyle was right in front of it when it did. It didn’t have a light bulb, and it didn’t seem to need one. The whole starfish body seemed to momentarily became infused with blue light. It was as if the steel had gone translucent for a moment and then just as quickly returned to solid steel.
“What the fuck?!” Kyle shouted stepping back and almost tripping over his own feet.
He eyed the starfish warily. Kyle only had an 11th-grade education, not by choice but the public education system had collapsed right along with the rest of the world, so at least he had a valid excuse. Whatever this light was, it was a complete mystery to him. He had never seen or even heard of anything like it. That had to make it worth something, right?
The Scavenger pulled the pry bar from his belt, then setting the lantern down he reached up for the steel crustacean with the tool. Starfish are crustaceans, right? He tried to get the tip of the pry bar under the light a half dozen times. It was painfully awkward, he had to stretch to his full height just to reach it. The starfish completely ignored all his attempts to pry it from the stone. It was during a break from his flurry of attempts, with his face resting against the smooth stone and trying to catch his breath that Kyle noticed the cracks. They were small but numerous well over a dozen of them. They started at each leg of the starfish and branched outward, some for more than a foot.
Well, that was sloppy work, Kyle thought as if someone had attached the thing with heavy bolts and then overtightened them cracking the surface in the process. The light flashed again as Kyle stood there, mocking him. Kyle needed a new plan. He had time though, with the pond suppling him water, he could afford to spend a day or two here even.
“My water, shit!” Kyle said and started back across the field with his lantern.
The water had been boiling for a while, and the fire was only coals now. Kyle gingerly pulled the bedpan from the hot coals. Then after giving it time to cool he gave it a few drops of bleach. He took the bedpan in both hands and drank from it deeply. He drank until his thirst was sated and then drank until he felt like he had to pee. One of the first rules Kyle had learned in the desert was when you had water, you drank it. A dehydrated man would think poorly, make bad choices and end
up dead. When he was finished, he topped off his canteen and used the little water that remained to wash his hands and face. He stood brushing out the signs of the small fire and then looked down considering the jug of bleach. The decision made, he walked over to the cavern’s nearby wall and buried the jug in the dirt. It was directly beneath a section of conduit protruding from the wall so he was sure he would be able to find it again later. Here is where the water is, why haul the weight back and forth?
Stepping back from the wall the Scavenger took a long and rewarding pee. As he did his eyes wandered up to the perfectly round hole that now showed a night sky filled with stars. It made him smile.
He gathered back up his things including his new favorite cooking pot and moved back across the field. The blue light flashed again as he walked, mocking him. It seemed like it was flashing more often now. He would sleep on that little problem tonight and tackle it fresh. He had the time now. He moved back to the ruined medical clinic, having decided the narrow exam room where he had found the meds would be the safest and least sooty place to sleep. He laid his bedroll down on the floor next to the workbench. Kyle shoved his precious toilet paper into the old lab coat and used it as a pillow. As an afterthought, he got back up in the darkness and closed the steel door.
Awakening
When Kyle did dream, they didn’t often make sense, but this night they were particularly odd and disjointed. Dreams, memory, and reality collided and intertwined. The long cold walk back to town along Old Mine Road, Cynthia sobbing all the while. The ringing sound Kyle’s steps made on the gravel as if his feet were made of solid steel, but that wasn’t right. The pounding of his father’s fist, trying to get into the house. He was angrily shouting, desperately trying to get to back to Kyle. But that wasn’t right, he had never seen his father again, his dad had never returned home. The smell of death. Cynthia choking and coughing up blood, her cries like the sound of twisting steel as she died.
Kyle’s eyes came open, and he was awake, but the sounds didn’t end with the dream.
Ping, Ping, Ping
A series of loud metal on metal sounds were coming from somewhere in the facility as if someone were striking a pickaxe on steel. Kyle froze, trying to discern any sounds other than his own heartbeat. The sound would come in flurries increasing in speed and then would stop suddenly, just to begin again a moment later.
The magnum was already in his hand, but he couldn’t remember reaching for it. Someone was outside. Raiders? Had they followed him? Little chance of another soul stumbling upon this place twice in the same day after so many years, not by accident.
Kyle stood in the darkness, his heart still pounding in his ears. The ringing of steel on steel would start and then stop again sometimes with just momentary pauses. The sound would be clear and then quickly fade away and then become clear again, but would always be louder when it returned. It was moving down the hall he realized, they were searching each room, moving back into the facility, closer and closer to him each moment. He took a few cautious steps forward and raised his arm, pointing the large handgun at the door’s center. With only 4 rounds he wouldn’t waste a shot through the door, it was too heavy, he couldn’t risk a ricochet or a wasted shot.
“Fuck!” he whispered to himself. The small room had seemed the safest bet, but it was a bolt hole. Only one way in, with no place to hide
Ping, Ping, Ping…Ping, Ping
What the hell was that? Did somebody have a fucking jackhammer? Kyle wondered, a working, well anything would be a miracle. That was until some raider asshole used that miracle to jackhammer you to death. The sound was clearer and louder now than it ever had been. They were in the exam room right outside the door. The twisting sound of metal followed by a crash and Kyle pictured the examination table flying across the room. That was enough for Kyle, he made the decision in a split second, better to hold up here. Maybe he could wait them out or at the very least take three of the bastards with him. The last round he would save for himself, of course, that wouldn’t be plan A.
The Scavenger reached up and grabbed the steel frame of the workstation next to him. He threw all his weight against it, and it didn’t even budge. Desperately he kicked his legs up against the wall pushing with everything he had. The door behind him began to groan in protest as someone threw their weight against it. Then with a small metallic pop, the world shifted, and the cabinet gave way, it fell, and Kyle barely rolled out of its way. With a loud crash the heavy cabinet came down, the sound reverberating through the small room. It blocked the doorway completely.
Kyle stood in the darkness, all sounds from outside the door had stopped. Just as Kyle began to wonder if his attackers had moved on to easier prey.
Ping, Ping, Ping.
The jackhammer was being turned loose on the heavy door. Kyle could see through a gap in the mangled cabinet as the steel tip penetrated the door a half dozen times, but the cabinet still held it shut. The Scavenger grinned.
“Hey man, you know what you can do with your little toy. You can go fu-,” Kyle only got the curse half out before his world exploded in a white heat.
Sometime later Kyle’s eye fluttered, the smell of smoke, ozone, and death filled the small space. His mouth tasted like old pennies. He tried to sit up and immediately regretted it, his head swam. He rolled to his side, curling up and passed out again.
A pounding had returned, it was loud enough to wake Kyle, but this time the sound was coming from inside of his own head. He was lying face down and at the moment couldn’t think of any other place he would rather be. He willed sleep to return, but something nagged at the edge of his consciousness or unconsciousness he supposed. It was Anna of course, not her really, but something…something she had said. Something that seemed important for some reason. Head wounds! Kyle grinned into the dirt congratulating himself on what seemed like a monumental mental win. Now for a victory nap.
No, wait. That somehow seemed wrong. He could picture Anna now standing over him, she was reciting in her textbook like, lecture sort of way all of the signs and symptoms of a …shit…what was that last part? It would have helped if he had audio and not just hazy video. Kyle rolled over, and he swore he could feel his brain slosh around in his head. Oh, he remembered now, it was called a concussion. It was a lot like a really bad hangover. Minus all of the fun of the prerequisite night of drinking.
Leveraging his back up against a smashed locker his stomach rolled and for a moment he felt he would be sick as he was suddenly struck by a sense of vertigo. His hands were sticky almost slimy covered by something, but he didn’t think he was bleeding anywhere, so he doubted it was blood. It seemed he had landed squarely on his backpack and improvised bedding which had apparently absorbed much of his fall, except for the back of his head. He found a small damp tender spot and a growing goose egg on the back of his head.
Hhhhmmmmm, eggs, when was the last time he had eggs? The thought of food sealed the deal, Kyle rolled to his side and threw up violently. Luckily for him, he hadn’t eaten much in the last 15 years so not much of a loss there, the wasted water was another matter though. Even in his current condition, Kyle knew that was a bad sign and pretty well cinched it, concussion. Anna would be so proud of his examination skills.
He had to stay awake, now Kyle was certain of that. He needed to move. He slowly made to sit up in the dark, putting his left hand directly into the center of his own vomit, at least it was his own vomit, he was fairly confident in that. As an added bonus he also found his magnum, it was of course under the pile of vomit. He shoved the sticky revolver into his belt, perfect thing to go along with a head injury, firearms. Then with what seemed like a herculean effort made it to his feet.
He was still dizzy and leaned heavily against what was left of the cabinets, he didn’t know which way was out, so he began to creep along one pace at a time in the darkness. His calf hit something hard, and with his already questionable balance he pitched forward and managed to fall right outside the doorway. The o
uter exam room was just a shade brighter and the hallway a shade brighter than that. Rising to his feet and just narrowly avoiding another round of vomiting. Kyle was able to gingerly stagger across the room.
The hallway was easier going. The walls were smooth, and as long as Kyle avoided the open doorways, he could lean his body against it and simply force his legs to drag his broken head along one step at a time. He reached the opening to the field, it was bathed in a bright beam of light from the hole in the roof. His eyes objected to the sudden brightness, and he painfully squinted. He had been out for a while it seemed. Standing in the light, Kyle got a chance to really look at himself.
“What? No, no, no, no….,” Kyle repeated aloud.
He was covered in a thick layer of black, foul-smelling sludge that at one time he could only assume had been human blood. In the dark, he had pulled down the cabinet full of blood samples it seemed. His stomach heaved on its own accord, threatening to empty itself again, of what Kyle didn’t want to find out.
He rushed out into the field and the light, at a lumbering run that only the very young or very drunk can master. He made for the pond, intending to wash the gore from his body. However, the shadows along the cave wall, his concussed head and gravity had apparently conspired together in some type of unholy alliance. They had come up with a different plan. He tripped at the edge of the pond and went splashing head first into the water.
It was the greatest thing ever, well done unholy alliance, this was much better than anything he could have come up with on his own. His body was wrapped in a cool, soothing blanket. His head was face down in the mud at the bottom of the pond. He did a simple pain full push up and arched his head out of the water far enough to take a breath, then dropped back in gain. He could stay here forever, take a nice cool nap. No, that was the concussion talking again.
To Cross a Wasteland Page 3
