by Harley Tate
It would survive this apocalypse.
Carrion birds and cockroaches. They would make it. But what about a middle-aged librarian and her boss? Two women alone, without a car, fifteen miles from a house filled with supplies.
Wanda dropped her hand and closed her eyes, giving in to the fear that threatened to pull them both under. Tracy couldn’t let it. She wasn’t going to go down that road. She wasn’t going to fail already.
She forced the truth between chapped lips. “Someone stole it.” There. I said it. Tracy inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, focusing on the act of breathing and ignoring the smell. She could control her breath. She could determine her own fate.
“But why?” Wanda’s plaintive question did nothing to quell the anger rising inside of Tracy. Screw helplessness. She’d skipped through denial in record time. Anger was stage two and Tracy would be happy to spend the rest of the day mired in it.
All those self-help seminars, all the directing patrons to the grief section of the library. It only served to hone her focus now. This is reality. This is the only thing that’s real. Right here. This moment.
Tracy inhaled and exhaled again, channeling her mind. “Because they needed to.” She turned back toward Wanda’s apartment. “We need to rest. Get a good night’s sleep and start fresh in the morning.”
“What are we going to do?”
Tracy closed her eyes. She couldn’t do this now. “Let’s just get back inside. We can figure it out in the morning.”
Wanda opened her mouth to protest, but closed it just as fast. Her shoulders slumped as she trudged past Tracy and back toward her apartment.
Tracy didn’t have the strength to tell Wanda her plan. Come morning, the woman would either be with her or be on her own. But first, she needed to tell her which car to steal.
Sacramento, CA
8:00 a.m.
Tracy couldn’t wait anymore. She barely slept the night before, tossing and turning on Wanda’s couch as she thought and prayed about her daughter. If Madison made it home already and she wasn’t there…
If she hadn’t made it home and was trapped somewhere between Davis and the house or stuck on campus without power… Tracy could have driven herself mad thinking about all the what-ifs. Instead of thinking, she needed to be moving. Preferably on four wheels.
She slammed a cabinet in the kitchen. Waited. Slammed it again. At last, Wanda stumbled out of her bedroom, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“What’s going on?”
Tracy threw the verbal grenade. “We need a car.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have one. That’s why I was waiting for the bus.” Wanda pushed her hair off her face and entered the kitchen, reaching for the coffee pot before she remembered the lack of power. She grabbed a bottle of water instead.
Tracy turned to face her, a grim determination setting her jaw. She had to make Wanda understand. “Who had the best vehicle here?”
Wanda blinked in slow-motion, pale eyelashes fanning up and down like the shutter on a vintage camera. At last she figured it out. “We can’t steal a car!”
“Of course we can.” Tracy walked over to the window, raising her hand to her brow to shield her sight from the early-morning sun, and scanned the parking lot. Most of the cars were tiny little things with gas tanks the size of her watering can back home. “We need something that runs well and has plenty of gas. An older model with pull up door locks and an accessible steering column. That or one where we can get the keys.”
Wanda took a step back, bumping into the counter and sloshing her water. “We can’t steal a car. Someone could need it. These people are my neighbors.”
Tracy eyed her, expression unchanged. “Then pick a dead one. Dead people don’t need transportation.”
“You’re serious.”
“How else do you think we’re going to get home?” She pointed at the supplies they’d hauled back inside the night before. “We can’t walk fifteen miles carrying this stuff under our arms. It’ll take us days.”
Wanda’s brow knitted as she thought it over. “So we’ll be slow. That’s okay. We can take a while.”
Tracy raised an eyebrow. “And what will we do at night?”
Wanda hesitated. “It’s bright at night. We can find somewhere to rest, sleep in shifts.”
“We’ll be robbed before we make it two miles. Maybe worse.”
“You don’t know that.”
Tracy pointed at first herself and then Wanda. “Look at us. We’re a pair of middle-aged women with nothing more than a World War II pistol between us. It probably won’t even fire. What would we do if someone accosted us?”
Wanda glanced over at the bags she’d packed. “We don’t really need any of this stuff. We could do without.”
“What if they want more than food?”
“That wouldn’t happen.”
“Are you sure?”
Wanda didn’t answer. Instead, she turned to look out at the management building. She walked over to the sliding glass door and yanked it open. After standing and listening for a moment, she glanced back at Tracy. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“It’s too quiet. I think the generators shut off last night.” She shut the door and came back into the kitchen. Her hands trembled as she spoke. “Without the generators, there’s no way to keep the residents on oxygen alive. Or keep any food cold. Or run the HVAC to the main building.” She glanced down at the linoleum, teeth sneaking out to nibble her lower lip. “You really think we’ll be robbed if we walk?”
Tracy nodded.
Wanda stood in the kitchen staring at the floor for so long, Tracy thought she’d fallen asleep standing up. At last, she nodded. “Okay.” She looked up, fear and determination warring on her face. “I have an idea.”
After eating a quick breakfast and getting dressed, Wanda led Tracy out of the front door and around the edge of her building. They headed down a set of stairs running alongside the faded yellow stucco and emerged in a smaller parking lot tucked between the back gate of the community and Wanda’s building.
She slowed to a stop and leaned close to Tracy, her voice dropping to a whisper. “See that little gray car across the lot?”
Tracy squinted. “The Nissan Leaf?”
Wanda nodded. “The man who lives below me owns it, but he can’t drive. He was one of the residents on 24/7 oxygen. His daughter bought the car so that she’d have something to get around in when she flew down from Seattle to visit.”
“Do you think it has gas?”
Wanda bobbed her head again. “Always. He keeps it filled up. And it’s part electric, so the mileage is great.”
Tracy hesitated. Would it even work now? Did the CME do anything to hybrid cars? She didn’t really know. “Are there any other options? Something older and not electric?”
Wanda chewed on her lip. “I’ve got an upstairs neighbor that drives an old Impala, but that thing’s always in the shop.”
Tracy exhaled. She didn’t want to break down on the road. “All right. Nissan Leaf it is. Can we get the keys?”
Wanda nodded. “Should be able to. George always leaves his screen door open.”
“Just like some other people I know.”
A blush crept up Wanda’s neck. “He’s the one who gave me the idea. But we’ll need to be careful. He has a cat.”
Great. All they had to do was break into a stranger’s apartment, hope they weren’t attacked by a house cat, and pray the car turned on when they got inside. She adjusted the butt of Wanda’s revolver that she’d tucked into the back of her jeans.
It might not fire, but it was better than nothing. She nodded at the apartment. “Let’s go.”
Wanda took the lead, creeping toward the man’s patio as she scanned the lot for any movement. Tracy hoped the management guy from earlier didn’t catch them, or anyone else for that matter. If the police didn’t care enough to come save the people dying in the complex, then the
y probably wouldn’t care about a car theft, but she didn’t know for sure.
Getting trapped in jail when the world was falling apart wasn’t part of her plan.
Wanda motioned at a little patio with a bistro set and a dead plant. “It’s this one.” She eased over the half-height wall, her short, stocky legs barely clearing the top.
Tracy followed behind. “Are you sure he’s not home?”
Wanda shrugged. “I’m not sure of anything anymore.” She gave the screen door a yank and it slid open. The glass door yielded just as easy. As soon as it cracked an inch, the smell hit them, followed by a plaintive yowling.
Oh, no. Tracy braced herself, pulling her sleeve down over her hand and smothering her nose with the fabric to cut down on the putrid odor.
They eased inside, stopping a foot into the room as their eyes adjusted to the dim light.
George hadn’t left home. His dead body lay just as he’d lived, sitting in his recliner, facing the TV, one hand dangling off the side with a remote beneath it on the floor.
His face had turned gray and ashen, his eyes clouded and milky blue.
Tracy took another step when a little orange fluff ball darted out from the hall, howling and yowling at her feet.
Wanda bent down to pet it. “Hey Fireball, how are you?” She scooped up the scrap of a cat and it nuzzled her cheek before licking her nose. She smiled at Tracy. “Whenever George had a hospital stay, I’d watch this little guy.” She glanced at George’s decomposing body. “Guess I won’t be doing that anymore.”
Tracy turned away from the recliner. “How long has he been gone, do you think?”
“Looks like a few days.” Wanda rubbed the scruff behind Fireball’s neck. “This guy’s been on his own too long. I’m surprised he didn’t start nibbling.”
Tracy fought back a wave of nausea. Fireball wouldn’t be the only animal trapped in a house and starving. If they hadn’t come inside, it wouldn’t have been long before he turned to his master to keep himself alive. In a way, humans weren’t any different. She was a scavenger now, too.
She motioned toward the kitchen. “Can you grab the cat food? We’ll take Fireball with us. No sense in leaving him here to starve. Where are the keys?”
“They should be in the hall.”
Tracy took a step that way when a voice stopped her still.
“Hey, I found an open one. Come on!”
Shit. She turned to Wanda. “Run!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
TRACY
Sacramento, CA
9:30 a.m.
“Christ, man, you smell that? This one’s ripe.”
“Don’t be a little bitch. Just tell me if there’s anything worth stealing. And hurry up. That asshole from maintenance will be making his rounds any minute.”
No no no. Tracy ran down the hall with Wanda scurrying to catch up behind her. They had to hide, and fast. Whoever was breaking in didn’t sound like anyone they wanted to know. If they got caught inside this apartment, who knows what would happen.
The sound of the sliding glass door opening shot a bolt of panic down her spine. She’d never make it to the front door in time. Tracy scanned the hall, tugging open the first door she could reach. A coat closet. It would have to do.
She rushed into it, shoving old coats and a vacuum out of the way as Wanda rushed in behind her. Tracy tugged the door shut just as a flashlight beam lit up the hall. Had they been spotted? Did the guy breaking in see them?
She held her breath as the light bounced around before receding.
“Man, this guy went out the right way, sittin’ in front of the boob tube, empty can of PBR on the side table. We should all be this lucky.”
“Come on Hank, let’s just get what we need and get out. The smell’s makin’ me sick.”
“Oh, is little Ricky squeamish?”
“Shut up, asshole.”
“What you want to bet this guy didn’t even know what hit him? Look at that oxygen tube. It probably shut off and he croaked, just like that.”
“Who cares? His loss is our gain. You search the kitchen. I’m hitting up the bathroom. Bet this guy had all sort of meds.”
Tracy managed to suck in a breath of air. They hadn’t been spotted. If they could just stay still and quiet…
A brush of fur tickled her nose. Oh, no. She turned to see Fireball climbing up Wanda’s shoulder and into her hair. She practically hissed. “You brought the cat?”
“Of course!” Wanda whispered back. “You think I’m going to let those guys hurt him?”
Tracy steeled herself. There was no way they’d make it out of there without being found now. Wanda might as well have put a giant flashing beacon in the hall. She could see it now, a big banner with Hollywood lights: “Hey bad guys, two crazy ladies and a cat are hiding right here!”
She whispered again. “Do you know them?”
Wanda shook her head as Fireball climbed down her other shoulder and batted at the fringe of a scarf hanging on a hook.
Great. Tracy tried to stay calm. The more in control she could be, the better shot they had of making it out alive. She fingered the butt of the pistol sticking out the back of her jeans. Worse came to worst, she could use it. Tracy knew how to fire a gun. She’d hunted as a kid, shot a handgun for target practice, even went shooting with Walter and Madison as part of a 4-H camping trip when her daughter was twelve.
But shooting a person was a million times different than shooting a painted circle on a bale of hay or even a deer at the end of a rifle sight.
Her palms grew sweaty and Tracy wiped them on the front of her jeans. She needed a steady grip, not a slick one.
The sound of metal jingling made Tracy’s teeth clench.
One of the men shouted from the kitchen. “You think this stiff’s got a ride?”
“A guy who breathes from a tank all day? Naw, man, he can’t drive.”
“Then what’s with these keys?”
Damn it. They’d found the car keys in the kitchen, not in the hall. She hadn’t even been close. Tracy needed those keys. She had to get home to her supplies and to her family. What if Walter had made it home and she wasn’t there? What if he’d shown up and found the house empty?
Would he think the worst? Would he come looking for her? She needed to get out of this apartment, get home, and be safe. They couldn’t take her best shot to get there.
Tracy eased the gun from out of her waistband and pulled back the hammer.
“What are you doing?” Wanda whispered as the cat squirmed in her grip.
“Getting ready. They can’t take the car.”
“You can’t shoot them!” Wanda’s voice edged up a notch and Tracy hissed at her to be quiet.
The cat let out a little yowl.
“You hear that?”
“What?”
“Sounded like a damn cat.”
“Ignore it. Little bastard’s gonna be dead in a few days anyway.”
“I hate cats. Damn things were always crapping in my front yard.”
Tracy braced herself.
“I said let it go, man. We ain’t got time for your shit.”
The cat squirmed again and Wanda lost her grip. It landed on the crowded floor of the closest with a thud. Tracy inhaled and brought her other hand up to grip the revolver. She held the gun down and out in front of her, arms straight, barrel pointed toward the floor.
Fireball meowed and pawed at the door. It was only a matter of time, now. Footsteps sounded in the hall. Thud. Thud. Thud. The flashlight beam swept the bottom of the closet and Fireball reached out to swat at it, his little paw dipping below the door to stretch out into the hall beyond.
Wanda reached to pull the cat back, but Tracy shook her head. It was too late. No sense in waiting. She reached for the door handle and twisted, popping the door free before she pulled back and kicked. Her boot hit the door a few inches to the left of the handle and it flew open.
From the sound of the smack and garbled curse,
she’d found her target. Tracy eased into the hall, gun raised, arms straight. A man stood half behind the door, half not, hands covering his face.
Blood oozed between his fingers. He unleashed a string of vulgar curses, his mouth obviously unharmed.
“Stay back!” Tracy shouted at him and the man finally looked up, somehow surprised by her presence.
“Hey now! Easy!” He held his bloody hands up in the air. From her vantage point, most of his face was in shadow, the dropped flashlight casting an eerie, almost hallucinatory glow around his feet. He had to be over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a stance that said he packed more muscle than the average office worker.
Tracy would be no match for him without the gun. She motioned with it. “Step back!”
He licked at a trail of blood that seeped into his mouth, but didn’t move. “Listen lady. You already broke my nose. What are you gonna do now, shoot me?”
“If I have to. I said, step back.”
“And if I don’t?”
She cocked her head. “I know how to use this. Don’t think I won’t.”
While Tracy trained the gun on the man, Wanda slipped out into the hall, the damn cat back in her arms. “Let the cat go, Wanda. He’s caused enough problems.”
“Hey, Wanda! Is that you?”
She stammered a response. “W-who’s a-as-sking?”
“It’s Richard from maintenance. Remember me? I helped you with your HVAC.”
She sniffed back some snot. “You don’t look familiar.”
“Come on, you know me. Tell your friend here to put down the gun and we can all talk, like civilized folk.”
Wanda glanced at Tracy and shook her head.
“I’m not lowering the gun. Now do what I said and step back.”
“Hey what the hell’s going on out—” The man from the kitchen appeared, his hands full with a bag of Cheetos and a six-pack of beer. “Whoa! Hey now!”
“Hold up your hands!”
He complied, hands and snacks up in the air before Tracy had to tell him twice. “Now set the beer down and toss me the keys you found. Nice and easy.”
