The Lonely Living

by McMurray, Sean

  “How’d you get down here?” I whispered.

  I stepped on something that snapped under my feet. I glanced down in horror as I realized that it was the carcass of a dog. In a flash it hit me and my heart began to race. I peeked up at the cat and it immediately backed away, curling its spine and hissing.

  My heart now racing, I looked to my left and to my right in a panic. “Where is it?” I asked.

  From behind me came a rushed scuffling sound and a moan. Instinctively, I turned around to see the fiend’s skeletal arms reaching desperately for me with its mouth gaping open. The fiend’s dark eyes flashed as it knocked aside the barrel of my gun and launched itself on me. I stumbled backward and used the stock of the gun to fend off its attack. The wretch attempted to bite my neck, but I shoved it away and it fell over the stairs onto its back. Before it could climb to its feet, I walked over to the fiend and splattered its head all over the floor with one clean shot.

  As I always was after I dealt with them, I was unsettled. Still, before leaving the basement I looked for anything that could be of use to me. I didn’t find anything aside from more animal carcasses. It appeared that the old woman was keeping her husband alive by feeding him animals that she lured down there and when she ran out of food to trap them with and to eat she must have given up. That would explain why there wasn’t any food in the house. I did find some batteries and some light bulbs which I packed in a shoebox that I strapped to the snowmobile.

  As I did with every house or building after I searched it, I painted a large X across the door of the farmhouse with spray paint then left. I headed south out of Red Lake, stopping to siphon gasoline from abandoned cars on the highway until my extra tanks were full. I searched a few more houses, perusing through kitchens, garages and medicine cabinets and decided that with only a couple hours of daylight left and my sled nearing its capacity for freight that it was time to head back to Little Eagle’s Island.

  By the time I crossed over the frozen lake and reached the island, the last of the sun’s rays were beaming over the western woods. I pulled the snowmobile up to the back porch of the lake house and unloaded the sled. When I was finished, I went inside and stoked the fire until it was burning hot once again. I heated up a can of beef stew, ate it quickly and then sipped on a cup of warm tea as I wrote more in my journal.

  As I described the day’s events, I was hit with a tinge of guilt when I wrote about the dead woman I had found in the farmhouse. She hadn’t been dead long. If I had checked that house last winter I would have found her alive. I was very unsettled by that thought and stopped writing for the night. I had enough guilt following me around, so I did all I could to push that thought out of my mind. A couple hundred pushups, a bout with the heavy bag and six chapters in a John Grisham novel did nothing to assuage it. As I laid down for the night my mind was like a broken record. I couldn’t escape the thought that if some old woman was able to survive so long, than maybe others were still out there. Maybe, I wasn’t alone after all. However, I’d learned some hard lessons in the previous three years and perhaps the most prominent was never trust a hope.

  7

  I awoke a few hours later, having dreamed once again of the blue light, but there was something different this time. As if I was flying behind the light, my perspective moved with it as it glided over the trees and moved away from the lake. I followed it until it came to an abrupt halt mid air. It hovered for a few seconds then dropped rapidly out of the air as if the bottom fell out below it. I looked down into a mass of clouds that slowly dissolved revealing a city of lights. The city burned bright and beautiful and I couldn’t help but admire it. Then, one at a time the lights began to go out and before long the entire city was dark, save the one blue light. Strangely saddened, I descended until I was once again on the ground. The light began to pulsate then disappeared into a nearby snow covered building. Located on the wall next to the entrance was a plaque. I approached it and wiped the snow off with my hand. I stumbled back when I read it, James E. Davis High School. I was in Burbank. At that realization, I woke up.

  I tried to shake it off, but after a couple hours of tossing and turning I surrendered my attempt to fall back asleep. I went downstairs and sat in my chair by the fire. As I stoked the flames, I pondered the dream.

  What did it mean?

  I told myself it meant nothing, but my entire being betrayed me. At that point, I didn’t believe anything outside of empiricism and I definitely didn’t apply profound meaning to mundane things, but I couldn’t escape the feeling that there was more to the dream. I began to question my sanity. I had been alone a long time, perhaps it was getting the best of me. But, do insane people question their sanity? All I knew was that I’d had the same vivid dream three times and it ended in Burbank. Was my subconscious telling me to go back to Burbank? If so, why? I’d been to Burbank one time since I left and it was burnt out and desolate, not to mention that my last trip there didn’t go so well.

  The more I thought about it, the more I decided it was just a vain hope. I was just lonely and lacking purpose. There was nothing in Burbank for me, it was no longer my home and to go there would waste precious resources. However, the guilt I was feeling about the old woman refused to go away. It gnawed at me like a dog gnaws a bone the entire next day. I couldn’t shake the thought that if I’d gotten there sooner she may still be alive. Then I dreamed of the blue light again, this time waking up in an agonizing sweat, despite the chilly temperature in the house. I lit a nearby candle and staggered over to the wall mirror. I peered into my own hollowed reflection and sighed in resignation, I have to go to Burbank.

  The next morning a heavy snow began to fall accompanied by a whipping northern wind. Any hopes of leaving that day were dashed when I opened my door to a three foot high wall of snow and near white out conditions. So, instead I sat anxiously by the fire the entire day, coming up with reasons not to go. I had plenty, chief among them was the obvious danger I was putting myself in, but not enough to make me repent my decision. Eventually my mind drifted to days past.

  The snow reminded me of Abbey and I hated it. When I gazed out over the windswept landscape I couldn’t help but picture her happily playing in the snow, tossing handfuls of it harmlessly into the air and twirling as it fell softly around her. I thought of her often and I missed her. But those memories were never alone and soon I was consumed by guilt. In an attempt to distract myself, I pounded the heavy bag hanging in the den until my muscles burned and I nearly collapsed with exhaustion.

  I didn’t sleep well that night, but I didn’t dream of the blue light either. When I awoke the next morning, I was greeted by a pale uncertain sky and I cursed myself for ever taking weathermen for granted. Pale grey skies usually meant more snow and there was no way of telling when the northwesterly wind would whip up another storm. However, I couldn’t take another day like the one before so, despite the uncertainty staring me in the face, I pressed on. I ate a quick breakfast, readied the snowmobile and departed.

  It was bitter cold the entire day and despite the multiple layers of clothing, the thick ski mask and ultra tight goggles I could still feel its icy fingers upon my skin, forcing me to stop periodically and rub my arms until they warmed. The snow had fallen thick, rendering it impossible to see the road. Fortunately, I didn’t need to see the road, I knew the way and what landmarks to follow. I moved as fast as I could. Keeping in mind the strain on the engine and the distance I had to travel, I stopped only once to refuel the tank and give the engine a little break. It was early afternoon when I reached the peak of the hill that descended into Burbank and by then the sky had grown more dark and ominous.

  I paused at the top of the hill and peered out over the valley. Burbank was a shell of its former self, a winter ghost town full of empty and dilapidated buildings. In that moment, I learned that the outbreak hadn’t just suffocated hope, but nostalgia as well. Any significance Burbank carried for me was gone. My home was no more and would never be again.
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br />   Beyond the decimation lay the frozen river, snaking through the valley from east to west. James E. Davis High School was not far from it on the west side of Burbank. That was where my dream ended and that was my destination. As I peered out over the valley in the direction of the school, I crossed my fingers and swallowed hard, hoping that the dream I’d been having would be just that, a dream, and not a nightmare.

  8

  As I prepared to descend into Burbank, fear swept over me, but different then the kind I lived with everyday. My heart beat with anticipation and I took a long deep breath to calm myself and gather courage before plunging the nose of the snowmobile over the hill. I sped downward, closing my eyes briefly, hoping that when I opened them again I would be descending upon Burbank as I remembered it. When I opened them I was disappointed. I reached the bottom and slowed down as I entered the city. I knew these streets like the back of my hand, so despite the large drifts and fresh blanket of snow, it was easy to find my way around. I cruised slowly, looking in every direction for any signs of life. There was none, no footprints in the snow, no winter birds perched on high and no sounds, save mine. Everything was still, frozen like the river that once gave it life. Like the skulls of the catacombs of some long forgotten cathedral, the empty homes stared at me with hollowed eyes as I passed. At that moment, I’d never felt lonelier.

  I drudged on and soon the faded red brick of James E. Davis High School appeared in the distance. I pushed the throttle and sped up until I came to the front doors. The glass was shattered, the hinges bent and busted. It was obvious that the doors had been forced open from the outside. The whole place looked long abandoned. If ever a place was haunted that was it. Too bad I didn’t believe in ghosts. I glanced at the ever darkening and foreboding sky and asked why I was there.

  Determined to search the place and get out before nightfall, I climbed off the snowmobile, grabbed my rifle and stepped carefully through the broken doors. The halls were empty and dark, the only light coming from the windows perched above the staircases that concluded each hall way. I flipped on my head lamp and glanced down each hall. Although dusty, the place looked just like I left it the day of the outbreak. A banner urging the football team on to victory in the homecoming game was strung above the main hall. Lockers still personalized with pictures, magnets or posters of boy bands marked my passing. It was as if everyone had simply vanished.

  I decided to head to the cafeteria first, which was located at the end of the main hall at the rear of the building. It was so quiet, despite walking softly my steps still echoed off the tile floors. The surrealism may have got the best of me, as I kept waiting for a bell to ring and the classroom doors to fly open with masses of students pushing on to their next class. But the melody of my steps was the only sound.

  I reached the cafeteria and pushed the large swinging doors open. The tables were folded up and stacked against the far wall with the chairs stacked against the wall to my right. Tall windows on my left illuminated the room, but made everything look like it was out of a black and white movie. It was dreary, but at least I could see clearly, which was far better then stumbling through the dark with no idea what could be around the corner.

  With nothing of value in the cafeteria, I headed to the kitchen, in the small chance I would find some food. I passed through a short, darkened hallway before coming to a metal door. The door had been battered and was badly dented and scratched. I tried the handle and it was locked. I knocked on the door then pressed my ear against it. I didn’t hear anything so I knocked harder.

  “Hello!” I said, but again there was no sound.

  If whatever was trying to get in there couldn’t break the door down with brute force, then there was little chance that I could. Much to the displeasure of wanting to stay quiet I was forced to shoot the lock off the door. The shot rang loudly in the small hallway and then echoed away like sharp crack of thunder. With the lock broke, I pulled the door open and slipped into the kitchen. There were rows of stainless steel refrigerators, ovens and sinks. I opened the nearest refrigerators expecting to find food, but to my surprise it was completely empty. I opened another one with the same result and then another. To my bewilderment all the refrigerators were empty. I checked the freezer, it was empty as well!

  Damn it! What the hell am I doing here?

  I kicked the side of a stove in frustration and its oven door fell open spilling a pile of trash unto the floor. Curious, I examined the trash and found an empty can of cut green beans, a used tube of tooth paste, two D batteries and empty soda bottles. I opened all the others and found they were full with trash as well.

  My heart skipped a beat. “Someone was living here recently. But, where did they go?” I quickly scanned the room with my flash light, looking for either a hiding place or a way out. Two overhead doors were the obvious answer, but both of them were pad locked from the inside. The kitchen was rather small and there didn’t appear to be many places to hide, but I checked everywhere anyway. Without any luck, I plopped down on a stool in frustration.

  “Whoever it was,” I mumbled, “is probably dead anyway.”

  I got up to leave and was at the door when the silver shine of something pulled my attention to the ceiling. Hanging above me was an air duct. I followed it with my flash light until it disappeared in the wall to my right. I tilted my head in thought, Hmm. There’s the air duct, where’s the vent? I pondered that question for a moment before it hit me. All the stoves were lined up side by side save one which was suspiciously out of place. In fact, it was located on the wall to my right, not directly below the air duct, but not far from it. Strangely intrigued, I hustled over to the stove and pulled it away from the wall revealing a hole where the vent should have been.

  “So that’s how you got out.” I said as if I was hunting a mouse.

  The hole was narrow, not more than four square feet. I bent down and peeked inside. The air duct inclined for about seven feet then flattened out at the ceiling. For how many years the air duct was in service one would’ve expected it to be filthy, but that one was remarkably clean and there were white and black scuff marks all over the metal. The person who used the air duct to access the kitchen had to be small and there was no way I could contort myself and make it through. Still, I took courage because at the very least I knew which direction they had headed, the 2nd floor boiler room, though the thought of being stuck in that place after dark filled me with dread.

  I stood to my feet, looked at my watch and sighed. “I need to hurry.”

  I followed the duct work all the way out of the cafeteria until it disappeared in the main hall. The hallways weren’t as quiet as they had been due to the breeze that had picked up substantially since I entered the school. The sounds of the winds whipping through broken windows and battered seals made the darkened halls all the more eerie. In spite of my uneasiness, I pressed on, rifle at the ready with only the glow of my head lamp to guide me. As I moved silently through the dark, I heard noises from above. With a calming breath, I attributed it to the wind and kept moving. I climbed the staircase to the second floor and much to my displeasure, it was darker than the one below. I briefly shined the flash light down the hallway, it was as mess of clutter. Someone or something had torn that hallway apart. I paused at the top of the staircase. Now absolutely unsettled, my gut screamed for me to leave that place.

  I’d gone this far. I finally told myself. I’m not giving up now.

  My heart pounding and my breath short, I urged myself forward. I tried to keep the echoes of my footsteps to a minimum as I stepped over broken chairs and overturned lockers. Keeping the light low, as to not garner any unwanted attention, I passed open doors and a shattered trophy case. Finally, after an anxious trip, I reached the door to the boiler room. I shined the light on the door and discovered that the handle was broken and that the door was cracked open. I took a step back, covered the light with my hand and prepared to open the door. I inhaled one last uneasy breath then flung the door open
with my foot. A hiss rang from the dark and I uncovered my light just to see the flicker of ravenous eyes behind an ethereal face lunging desperately for me. I fired my rifle and in a brilliant flash the fiend fell away. I prepared to fire again as the creature leaned up, but it fell back dead before I could pull the trigger.

  “That was close.” I whispered.

  Just as those words escaped my lips, a horrible wail echoed through the hallways. It was the inhuman chorus of the hoard in search of food. The frightful melody rose to a crescendo and I froze in terror. Then all at once came the sound of stampeding feet from all directions. I could see their shadowy silhouettes stumbling toward me like a rising wave on the sea. I fired a few rounds to slow them down and then looked for a way out. There was a staircase to my right, so I quickly darted up the steps. I encountered one of them at the top of the stairs, but I dodged her lunge and struck her at the base of the skull with the butt of my rifle. She tumbled down the stairs behind me and I saw my momentary salvation as I rounded the corner. There was a metal overhead door that was used to close off the hall when school was out. With the horde not far behind, I jumped up and grabbed the short piece of rope and pulled the door out of the ceiling. It came down with a crash and I quickly latched it shut just as the horde slammed into it from the other side.

  They pounded and clawed it, hissing and moaning in anger. Without looking back I sprinted through the darkness in hopes that the stairwell at the other end would be empty. Halfway down the hall, I was tackled from the side and thrown against an open locker, as my rifle slid away from me. A very emaciated one leapt on top of me and attempted to sink its teeth into my neck, but I quickly shoved it away. It fell on its back, but swiftly climbed to a crouched position. Sitting with my back to the open locker, I reached behind me in hopes of finding something to defend myself with. With a ferocious growl, it leapt at me. I grabbed a heavy text book and swung it desperately from right to left. My swing connected with the fiend and it fell to the side of me. I hastily climbed to my feet and stomped its head until it was a pile of goo under my boot. I marched over to retrieve my rifle. When I bent down to pick it up, I realized I was still clutching the textbook.