Rather than choosing to move on right away, Alex decided to take advantage of his moment of peace to tend to his wounds. Before doing so, he moved an old chair from the living room and jammed it between the broken door and the wall directly in front of the door. He then went back up to the second floor to one of the bedrooms that overlooked the main street, where he could keep watch while patching himself up.
Alex sat on the corner of the small twin sized bed and pulled his first aid kit from his pack as well as the half empty bottle of hydrogen peroxide that he found earlier. The pink and purple colored princess themed bedding and wall stickers to match along with the baby dolls strewn about the floor made it clear that the room had previously belonged to a young girl. He silently wondered what her fate had been and hoped that her family had been able to get her to a safe place before things got too bad in the city. Sitting in the room caused him to think about his own daughter, only a few miles away, and filled his mind with doubts about why he was putting himself at risk by being away from her and the safety of his neighborhood.
Prior to the EMP, Alex used to enjoy watching episodes of the End of Days Preppers show on TV. The show featured different people who were preparing for various apocalyptic scenarios. Most of them had way more supplies than Alex and his family, but some of them did not stockpile supplies at all. Instead, they talked about their plans to go out on scavenging missions in a SHTF situation. Often times, they romanticized disaster scenarios as if there were going to be glowing caches of supplies waiting for them on every street corner as they ran around in their tactical gear and digi camo fatigues. Alex often joked that they probably spent too much time playing first person shooter video games in their mother’s basements. However, as he sat cleaning his wounds, he wondered if he had begun to believe in some of their wild fantasies, in hopes that he could find the medicine he needed for Jack. Reality was starting to set in and Alex began to realize that most, if not all, resources had long been used up with no hopes of magical resupply.
He poured the hydrogen peroxide into the semi-circle of puncture wounds on both sides of his forearm, where the German Shepherd had gotten him, and felt the sting as he watched the liquid fizz on contact. Then he wiped the area with one of the feminine pads he had packed in his kit to clean the blood away. He repeated the process a second time for good measure before wrapping his forearm with gauze. Next, Alex poured the rest of the antiseptic on a second pad and wiped the back of his head, causing it to begin bleeding again, when he disturbed the clot. To stop the small trickle, he laid back on the bed and held the pad on his head to keep the pressure on the cut.
“I sure hope Lassie didn’t have rabies,” he said to himself as he lay there thinking about what to do next. His headache had intensified and he began to worry about a possible concussion. Alex closed his eyes to rest for a moment, without considering the risk of dozing off given the fact that he was completely exhausted. He had been going on almost 24 hours without any sleep and prior to that had only slept a few hours during the previous few days, due to the crisis at the Walker’s house. Before long, Alex surrendered to the sandman and fell into a deep slumber.
A few hours later, Alex awoke from a nightmare to find himself surrounded by darkness. In his dream, he was attacked by a giant dog that had eaten his arm off. Initially, the throbbing of his arm convinced him that it was happening all over again, so he sat up with a start and felt to make sure his arm was still in place. The pain from his headache caused him to wince for a moment, as he tried to figure out where he was. It took him a moment, but eventually he remembered where he was. He squinted his eyes due to the pain, and by the soft glow of the moonlight from the window, he began to find his bearings in the room. He looked outside and up at the sky where a nearly full moon was the main attraction amidst a heavenly host of stars.
“Crap,” he said to himself. “I’ve been out for a while.”
Alex stuck his head out the window to survey the neighborhood and it quickly became apparent that it was not as desolate as he had hoped. He could see the glow of a small fire behind one of the houses across the street from him as shadows danced on the surrounding houses. There seemed to be other similar fires in the distance as well. The smell of smoke was always present in the air, since the EMP, but the smell of a campfire was usually a welcome change from the stench of burning homes and cars, where man made materials made the smoke much more repulsive and toxic. The aroma of a campfire usually elicited positive memories from Alex’s youth, when he enjoyed camping trips that gave him much needed respite time away from the inner city. However, the circumstances that Alex found himself in caused him to worry about the fact that other people were close by and concern for his wellbeing suppressed any positive thoughts normally associated with the smell.
Alex saw movement out of the corner of his eye and quickly ducked away from the window. He peeked and saw two men walking in the middle of the street coming from the same direction that he had come from. One man carried a rifle in his hands, while the other man had one slung over his shoulder. Ahead of them a third man appeared from the side of the house with the campfire.
“You find anything?” The third man asked. The men were close enough for Alex to hear them clearly.
“Not a damn thing,” The man carrying his rifle replied. “Everything’s been picked clean.”
By the way the men talked, he determined that the third man must have been a leader of sorts. “You run into any trouble?” The man asked.
“Nothing we couldn’t handle. We stayed away from the housing projects, like you said and just stuck to the single family houses.”
“Good,” the leader said. “No sense in tangling with low budget thugs. Besides, Archdale and the neighborhoods down that way probably ran out of food within the first week.”
“Yeah too many mouths to feed in the hood,” the other man said in agreement.
“Alright, the rest of the crew is in the back. Get yourself squared away and come over when you’re ready so we can make a plan for tomorrow.”
The men parted ways and he could see the leader head towards the back yard across the street, where the glow of the fire awaited him, while the other two men entered a house a couple of doors down on the same side of the street. Alex sat down beneath the window sill and thought about his next steps. He was worried about continuing to search houses in the neighborhood, but he knew that there was no place that would be completely safe to search. After considering his options for a couple of minutes, he decided to stay and check a couple more homes further down the block before re-evaluating his plans.
Alex gathered his belongings and prepared to leave his safe place behind. He was somewhat refreshed from his long nap, but was still feeling beat up physically and he couldn’t shake the pounding headache. He was also feeling the psychological effects that his excursion was taking on him. Even though he was a clinically trained counselor, he had seriously underestimated the effect of stress on his psyche from being alone in this difficult situation. Most of his other challenging experiences were in the context of his community or with his trusted friends nearby, so this experience was different and it was starting to take its toll on him, mentally. He had begun to lose hope of finding any medicine and, truth be told, he wanted to quit and return to the relative safety and familiarity of his own neighborhood.
Alex shook off the negative thoughts and headed for the back door, where he paused only to put on his backpack and double check his shotgun.
“Embrace the suck,” he said to himself. “There are a lot of people out here dealing with way worse situations than you.”
After his brief, but successful, pep talk, Alex stepped out into the darkness to continue his search.
CHAPTER 16
Alex slowly crept from yard to yard as quietly as he could, hopping the small chain linked fences that separated most of the back yards. Once he had made it half a block away from the previous house, he decided to try his luck again, hoping he was far enou
gh away from the other men he had seen. He checked the back door of his chosen house and found it locked. He knew it wouldn’t take much effort to break in, but he was worried that the noise would draw unwanted attention. Instead, he checked the windows and found one without a screen that was open slightly on the side of the house. He pushed it open enough for him to fit through and the old frame let out a high pitched squeak as he did so. Alex cringed at the sound and he stopped momentarily while he held his breath and listened for any movement inside or outside of the house.
After a minute, he resumed breathing and looked around for something to climb on to get himself high enough to climb inside without too much effort and without further injuring his already tender arm. He found a large trash barrel made from heavy duty plastic. It appeared to be sturdy enough to hold his weight if he laid it on its side and stood on it. A putrid smell emanated from the barrel forcing Alex to hold his breath again as he carried the container to the window, where he laid it on its side. When he did so, the lid popped open and the rotten contents spilled onto the floor, finally freed from their place of confinement. Alex escaped to the back yard for a quick breath of fresh air and worried that he would vomit again.
“I’m calling to file a complaint with the city sanitation department as soon as I get home,” Alex said to himself after gasping for air.
Once he had caught his breath, he took in a big gulp of air and quickly climbed on top of the trash barrel and leaned through the window, easing his backpack and shotgun onto the floor. He then pulled himself through the window, taking care not to bang his head or arm on anything. The air inside the house was a welcome relief from the rancid stench outside.
Alex wanted to make use of his flashlight, but decided against it, lest he advertise his presence to anyone who might walk past the house. He began to look around as he had done in previous houses fully expecting to find nothing but the same empty cabinets and belongings tossed about by those looking for anything useful. To his surprise, the house was in relatively good condition and did not appear to be in the same rough shape as the others he had visited.
When he got to the kitchen, the cabinets and drawers were all closed and the place appeared neat and tidy. A small wooden cross hanging on the wall near the back door was the only decoration in the otherwise plain looking kitchen. Alex unlocked the back door, so he wouldn’t have to fumble with it, if he needed to leave in a hurry. Then, without hesitating, he began opening cabinets. To his surprise, he found a small supply of canned goods. Although meager in comparison with the food supply he and his neighbors still had back home, seeing the food was still a complete shock to Alex. He began to wonder if he was hallucinating or if he was still asleep from earlier and he just had not realized that he was dreaming. He grabbed a can out of the cabinet and looked at it in his hand. It felt real. He held it in the dim light from the moon, which shone through the curtains of the small kitchen window.
“Chicken noodle soup. How is this possible?” He asked himself. “Every place has been picked clean except here?” He thought about the men he had seen and wondered how they could be out scavenging for supplies in other areas, yet miss a house on their own street.
A sudden sense of fear rose inside Alex as he considered the fact that he hadn’t cleared the rest of the house yet. He gently sat the can back on its shelf and closed the cabinet door. Alex then readied the shotgun and quietly walked towards the stairs leading to the second floor. He listened intently for a moment, before he began his slow ascent. A number of the steps seemed to creak loudly under his weight, causing him to pause frequently. He felt exposed on the stairway, but kept the muzzle end of the shotgun pointed towards the second floor landing, in case someone should suddenly appear there.
It felt like a long climb to Alex, but he eventually made it to the top. His heart was now pounding inside his chest and he could feel the rhythm in his ears as he listened acutely for any sound. While he was on the stairs, he found himself holding his breath, so he was now struggling to replenish the oxygen his body needed to help him think clearly. He had a surge of fear and adrenaline driving him now, preparing him to fight or flee, depending on which course of action might become necessary. This primitive state of hyperarousal had kept man alive when faced with sudden danger, since the beginning.
Alex breathed deeply, but slowly, trying not to hyperventilate in the process as he scanned the second floor. There were only three doors and he could clearly see that the room in front of him was a bathroom. He assumed the two other doors were bedrooms at opposite ends of the hall. One of the doors was closed and the other was wide open. After giving a quick look at the bathroom, he carefully approached the open bedroom door with the shotgun still raised. Alex looked inside and, in the darkness, he could see a sturdy looking desk and chair along with a few shelves that held a small library of books. On the corner of the desk sat a large black book with no visible writing on the cover. The room was small but appeared neat and orderly.
As he turned to retrace his steps, in order to check the other bedroom, the floorboard below him let out a loud creak and Alex instantly heard movement ahead of him in the other bedroom. He recognized the sound of feet hitting the floor and a couple of swift steps before the door flew open and Alex found himself less than ten feet away from a thin clean shaven man with bifocal glasses and wild eyes fumbling to remove a large revolver from a belt holster which he was carrying.
“Don’t move,” Alex said aiming the shotgun at the man’s face. The man paused, lowering his hands to his side, while he still held onto the gun belt that dangled by his right leg. The man appeared to be in his mid to late 30’s. He stood barefoot, wearing only a t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts.
“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” The man asked in tone that indicated he was more surprised and confused than scared.
“Put the gun down slowly,” Alex directed in the calmest voice he could muster. “Who else is here?”
“It’s just me,” the man said as he placed the gun belt and revolver on the floor beside him. “But I have very scary friends nearby that won’t be happy about you being here and waking me up this way.”
“Back up,” Alex said as he approached in order to check the room to make sure the man was telling the truth about being alone.
The man followed Alex’s directive and backed himself into a corner in the room as Alex squatted down to remove the revolver from the holster and stuck it in his waistband. Looking around the room, Alex was satisfied that the man was alone.
“What do you want?” The man asked annoyedly. “There’s food in the cabinets downstairs. Take what you want and just get out of my house!”
“Calm down,” Alex said. “I’m not here to steal your food. I didn’t know anyone was living here.”
“Some home invader you are,” the man said with a laugh. “What then? Just looking for a place to rest your weary eyes?”
“I’m looking for medicine.”
“You sick or something?” The man asked concerned. “You better not be bringing swine flu up here into my house.”
“It’s not for me,” Alex said. “A friend is hurt and needs antibiotics.”
“So you’re out here creeping around going door to door hoping to find a secret stash of antibiotics? How’s that working out for you so far?”
Alex lowered the shotgun and pulled the man’s revolver from his waistband. The man tensed up for a moment in anticipation of what Alex might do next. Alex opened the cylinder and dumped out the rounds.
“I’ll leave the gun in one of the cabinets downstairs. If I hear you trying to come down before I leave or if you try to follow me, it will end badly for you.” The man gave Alex a perplexed look as he started to back out of the room and headed for the stairs to leave.
“Wait a second,” the man said in a different, less sarcastic tone. He paused as if trying to process the odd scenario. “What’s wrong with your friend?”
“What?” Alex asked confused
.
“You’re friend...what’s the problem?”
“Infection,” Alex stated plainly. “A couple of marauders shot him in the leg and the wound got infected.”
“So if you came across something like Vancomycin or Cephalexin, it might help your friend out?”
Alex stared in disbelief. Most people couldn’t identify antibiotics by name other than a couple of common ones. Practically every school kid learned about the discovery of Penicillin and most parents knew about Amoxicillin, since the tasty pink liquid was usually prescribed to treat ear infections. In fact, both of Alex’s kids had been prescribed the medicine multiple times when they were toddlers. However, most other antibiotics were not as commonly known.
The man picked up on Alex’s confusion and offered an explanation. “I’m a pharmacist. Well...I was a pharmacist. Now I’m just trying to survive like everyone else.”
Alex still looked dumbfounded for a moment. “Do you have meds?” He asked once he could formulate the words.
“I do,” The man said with a grin on his face.
CHAPTER 17
“Where?” Alex said. He had so many questions, but chose the simplest and most direct one.
“The basement,” the man said. “I keep the medical supplies down there, since it’s cooler.” He began to approach and gestured towards the stairs, looking to Alex to make sure the man with the big gun wasn’t going to shoot him first.
Alex backed away and lowered the shotgun, engaging the safety in the process. He thought about issuing a threat to make sure the man didn’t get any “funny ideas,” but decided against it in hopes that he would truly be willing to part with the medicine he sought.
The Power Struggle Series (Book 2): The Downward Spiral Page 11
