Sound of Survival (Book 2): Fight or Flight

by Patten, Sean

  “There,” said Ed, pointing ahead at a long, rectangular building, low and white. “That’s where we’re headed. Come on.”

  He didn’t wait for me to give my thoughts on the matter. Ed lifted up from his crouch and hurried towards the building, and I did my best to keep up. Once we arrived, he went to work on a small combination padlock that hung from a latch above the knob.

  “Come on,” he said as he spun the dial, landing on different numbers but not managing to get it open.

  Finally, after a few minutes of messing with the thing, he got it open. He tossed the lock into the sand and opened the door. Air rushed out, but unlike at the warehouse, this air was hot and stale, carrying the scent of spoiled food.

  “Fuck,” said Ed, waving the air away in front of his face. “Not even a day without power and this place has gone to shit. Follow me.”

  He opened the door for me and I stepped inside.

  The place was a nondescript storage building, the walls lined with refrigerators, most of them open, and various dry storage units. Like Ed had said, the place was clearly intended as a building where some of the concert’s food vendors could store their backup wares. But less than one day of failed air conditioning and the desert sun beating down on the place had been enough to render much of the food inedible. And between the smell of the joint and what I’d just seen outside, it wasn’t like I had much of an appetite to begin with.

  But Ed didn’t seem to care about any of that. He began rooting through the place, pulling open drawers and storage units, yanking out bags and seeing what he could find.

  “Not much left,” said Ed as he plopped down a large jug of potable water. “Whoever was running this place when the power went off had the right idea—they grabbed what they could and hauled ass out of here.”

  “Then what’s left for us?” I asked.

  He answered my question by turning back to one of the storage units and pulling out a pair of plastic bags. Ed tossed them onto the fold-out table in front of me and I looked them over.

  “Hot dog buns?” I asked.

  He returned with handfuls of ketchup and mustard and relish packets.

  “And all the trimmings,” he said.

  “There’s…really nothing else?” I asked.

  “Not unless you want to try your luck with the meat that’s been sitting out all night. I’m hardly an expert, but I’m not risking food poisoning to eat some uncooked hot dogs.”

  I had to agree with him there. Things were already on the razor’s edge with us—a stomach bug could mean the difference between life and death.

  “It’s shitty carbs and sugary condiments,” Ed went on. “But it’s best we’re going to get for the time being. And you look like you’re not exactly in a position to miss any meals.”

  Without thinking, I glanced down at my body. He was right—it might’ve been the dehydration, but I was looking even skinnier than usual.

  I chuckled as Ed took one of the hot dog buns out of the package and began loading it up with condiments.

  “Something funny?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I said. “I’ve always been the kind of person who just gets so busy I forget to eat. No drugs necessary to get this skinny.”

  “I bet they don’t hurt,” he said, a small smile on his lips as finished preparing the faux hot dog.

  “Maybe back in the day,” I said. “But these days…no, not so much.”

  He handed me the lukewarm bun, yellow and red and green seeping out of the sides.

  “Anyway,” I said. “I always got fashion magazines wanting to talk to me, asking me about my look, my diet. Felt like they were encouraging their readers to starve themselves to look like me, if you can believe it.”

  “Shit’s fucked up,” Ed said as he began preparing another bun. “Personally, I always preferred my women with a little more meat on their bones—no offense.”

  “None taken,” I said.

  I regarded the bun for a long moment before continuing. “And now, in the blink of an eye, my skinniness has gone from ‘aspirational’ to a liability.”

  Ed let out a snort of a laugh, seeing the irony.

  “You’re going to be seeing a lot of that from here on out,” he said. “Weird shit that made sense in the old world, but now’s totally out of place.”

  I placed my free hand on my belly, my body fat already so low that I could feel the outlines of my abs and ribs through my T-shirt.

  Such a strange concept—a new world.

  “And the bodies,” I said. “I guess I’m going to have to get used to seeing those.”

  Ed gave a grim nod.

  “Especially with the Black Mountain guys here,” he said. “Ruthless pricks, down to the last man.”

  “How do you know about them, anyway?” I asked. “When you saw that guy in charge, Dante, or whatever his name was, you seemed like you’d seen him before.”

  Ed was quiet for a moment before answering. “I know the gang because there’s no way to run in the shitty circles that I’ve been in without coming into contact with these guys.”

  “What circles?” I asked.

  He glanced away, as if not sure if he wanted to say what was on his mind.

  “Let’s just say you and I have some shit in common,” he said. “Checkered pasts.”

  “Ah,” I said, getting it and not wanting to press.

  “Anyway,” he said. “Not a gram of anything makes it into the southwest without these guys knowing about it. You want to score some night when you’re out shit-wasted, a member of the Black Mountain Mob always had a way of showing up with just what you needed, like some kind of leather-clad, smiling demon. But the nice-guy front was just that. You get into debt with them and…well, the less said about that, the better.”

  “And their boss?” I asked, still hesitating to bite into my dog-less hotdog.

  “Dante,” said Ed. “Savage fucker. But I don’t need to tell you that, do I?”

  I shook my head.

  Ed went on. “I’d heard stories about him over the years, tales of how ruthless he was. Brilliant, too, but without the burden of a conscience. He always seemed more like a ghost story or something to me. Plus, I only interacted with the low-level guys. Never a need for someone like me to meet up with Dante-fucking-Arco.”

  “Then let’s make sure we don’t see him again,” I said.

  “Good call,” said Ed. “Get clear of this place and hope that they don’t give a shit enough to come after us.”

  I wanted to ask him more, maybe try to find out if he knew anything about why they might have an interest in Sandy Vista. But a stomach growl snapped me out of my thoughts.

  “I must be hungry,” I said. “Because this thing’s actually starting to look good.”

  “Damn,” said Ed. “Talking shit to the chef right in front of his face.”

  He allowed himself a grin, letting me know that he was just screwing around. Then he raised his hotdog into the air like it was a glass of champagne.

  “To a new future,” he said. “One that we live to see through.”

  I tapped my food to his, wondering just what the odds were of me not just living to see this new future, but living to see the end of the day.

  7 Ed

  Three relish-loaded hotdogs and a half gallon of water later, I was stuffed. Amy ate her share, but managed not to make a total pig of herself in the way I had.

  “Stuffed,” she said, patting her belly.

  “Spoken like someone who’s never been starving before,” I said. “Things go south and you might be looking back at this meal as a fond memory.”

  Amy’s eyes widened and she froze in place, a little smidge of ketchup on her lips.

  “Uh, I meant it as a joke,” I said. “Didn’t mean to scare the shit out of you.”

  She cleared her throat and nodded, her gaze on the floor.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Still getting used to all this.”

  “You’ll be doing that for a whil
e,” I said.

  She grabbed the big jug of water with two hands and prepared to take a sip.

  “Spoken like someone who’s lived through a worldwide power outage before,” she quipped.

  “Not quite that bad,” I said. “But I’ve, uh, had to rough it before. More than rough it, actually.”

  I had no idea why I’d said that. Talking about my past wasn’t exactly something that came naturally to me. And for good reason.

  But I could tell that I’d piqued Amy’s interest.

  “What do you mean, exactly?” she said.

  She lifted the big jug of water to her dry lips and took a long swig, her neck bobbing up and down as her eyes stayed fixed on me. For a brief moment I considered telling her, going on about the drug-fueled days I’d lived through, the ones that’d put me out on the street, the ones that’d driven a wedge between my daughter and me that still remained, the ones that’d brought me to the edge of total ruin.

  But I didn’t.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, an edge to my voice. “More important shit to think about.”

  I could tell Amy was still curious, but she had the good sense and the tact to drop it.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Guess you’re right.”

  She didn’t know the half of it. I’d gotten lucky so far with not needing my meds, but it was only a matter of time. God forbid I found myself in a spot where I’d be pushing my ticker to the limit, maybe trying to make an escape with Dante and his boys hot on my tail.

  “So,” Amy said. “What’s the next step?”

  I knew what I wanted to do. First-aid tents had been set up around the festival grounds, and I wanted to check out at least a couple of them to see if they had some of my meds. It wasn’t totally likely—not only were heart pills not something in high demand by medics working a festival full of healthy kids, but if the raid on the warehouses last night was any indication, the Dead Air attendees had almost certainly been spending the preceding night swallowing or shoving up their noses anything that even kind of looked like it might get them high.

  And there was more than that. I didn’t want Amy knowing about my condition. Last thing I needed was her pity, or her wondering if her life was in the hands of some old fucker who might drop dead at any moment.

  I’d never been that much of the fibbing type, but my brain quickly went to work spinning up a lie.

  “Big plan is we get a car,” I said. “But you know that. Before we set ourselves to that, though, we’re gonna need to get ourselves ready for a trek through the desert. Sandy Vista’s not too far away, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t make sure we’re prepared for any shit that might come up.”

  “Sure,” she said, her tone suggesting this seemed totally sensible.

  “Food, water,” I said. “And first-aid supplies.”

  “You really think we’re going to need all that just for a couple hours’ drive?” she asked.

  “Maybe not for the drive, but for anything that might come now or later. The longer this no-power shit goes on for, the more basic stuff like medicine’s going to be worth its weight in gold.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I guess that makes sense.”

  “This place has some water we can take,” I said. “But we’ll need to come back—and it’s not guaranteed it’ll still be here when we do come back.”

  “Guess we can cross that bridge when we come to it,” Amy said, sticking her finger into the relish jug and taking out a small scoop of green gloop and tossing it into her mouth.

  “Right,” I said. “For now, let’s check out one of the nearby first-aid tents. I was at one of them yesterday—they’ve got plenty of the kind of stuff that we’re going to want to get our hands on.”

  “Is it…going to be safe?” she asked, worry creeping back into her voice.

  “Should be,” I said. “As long as we stay away from the Black Mountain crew.”

  Amy nodded, seeming ready.

  “Okay,” she said. “Sooner we take care of all this, the sooner we can get moving. The idea of my mom being alone in all this is just…” She shuddered. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

  “Then don’t,” I said. “Focus on the here and now. That’s the only thing you have control over.”

  Another nod.

  “Then…I’m ready if you are,” she said.

  We both took one more sip of water and were ready. The two of us stepped over to the entrance on the opposite side of the building than when we came in. Just like every other door that we’d passed through over the course of the last couple of hours, the two of us stood at the sides and braced. It struck me as crazy to think that we’d so quickly gone from a reasonably safe society to one where you couldn’t even open a damn door without having to wonder if there was going to be a guy on the other side with a gun ready to blow your brains out. Maybe a dead body, if you were lucky.

  “I can do it,” said Amy.

  “The hell you will,” I said.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “Because if there’s a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound dude armed to the teeth on the other side—”

  “You want to be the one to take the bullet?” she asked. “I can handle myself.”

  “Not a matter of being a gentleman,” I said. “More a matter of me being the only one of us who’d be able to do a damn bit of good against him. Remember that conversation we just had about how scrawny you are?”

  “I prefer ‘skinny,’” she said.

  “Either way, it means you’ve got no muscle. Let me handle that shit for now.”

  An expression formed on her face that suggested she still wanted to press the point. But she didn’t say another word, instead nodding and stepping away from the door.

  I took a moment to steel myself before pulling the door open and sticking my head into the warm outside air, relief hitting as soon as I realized that the coast was clear.

  “What’s happening?” asked Amy from inside.

  I said nothing as I took in the scene. It was more of the same—more wreckage, more garbage, a few bodies here and there.

  “Clear,” I said, coming back inside and opening the door wide open. “Follow me. First-aid tent’s not too far from here.”

  Amy knew the drill by this point, staying low to the ground along with me as we moved. After about ten minutes, I spotted the green-and-white tent, the same one I’d been to when I’d found that kid passed out in the sun, back when the festival was controlled chaos instead of just the regular kind.

  “Looks clear,” said Amy as we approached the tent.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  The place had been ransacked, but there didn’t seem to be anyone still there. I wasn’t happy about the Black Mountain crew taking over the concert, but at least their corralling everyone into the same space meant that the rest of the grounds were clear.

  I picked up my pace, heading to the tent and stepping inside. My eyes flicked from here to there as I scanned the spilled supplies for anything that I might be able to take for my shitty ticker.

  “Damn,” said Amy as she entered and began looking around. “You weren’t kidding about them going through all this crap.”

  I didn’t say anything in response, so focused was I on trying to find what I needed. My hands seemed to move on their own, sifting frantically through the strewn bottles of pills and supplies.

  “What are we looking for, Ed?” asked Amy. “I mean, there’s lots of good stuff here.”

  Again I said nothing. Sure, I’d told her that we were on a general medical supply run, but in reality there was only one thing I was looking for.

  I was so focused, in fact, that I didn’t even notice that there was someone else in the tent with us. The click of a gun safety being released caused me to instinctively spin around on my heels and find myself face-to-face with a pistol.

  “LAPD,” came the voice from behind it. “Don’t move.”

  8 Ed

  Amy let out a scream—t
he last thing we needed at that moment.

  “Quiet!” came the voice from behind the gun “And both hands where I can see them!”

  My hands shot up. I was eager to show that I wasn’t a threat. The gun shook, a sign to me that the hands holding it belonged to someone who wasn’t exactly feeling cool and calm and collected.

  “Listen,” I said. My eyes fixed on the ground in front of me, my voice calm and even. “We don’t mean any harm. We’re just here to—”

  “I didn’t ask you for an explanation!” came the voice. “Not a single goddamn word!”

  The gun moved to my left, the end pointed in Amy’s direction.

  “You!” came the voice from behind the gun. “Quit screaming and put your hands up!”

  I wanted to glance up, to get a good look at this guy and see if he was actually with the LAPD like he said, or if it was some trick he was pulling to lull us into a false sense of security. But I also didn’t want to do anything that might make him jumpy or give him a reason to pull the trigger.

  “Do what he says, Amy,” I said.

  She didn’t say anything, instead playing it smart and moving to my side, her hands in the air.

  “We don’t mean any harm,” I said. “No reason we all can’t walk away from this alive.”

  “Yeah,” spoke the voice. “Didn’t mean any harm. Just wanted to raid the place for any drugs you could get your hands on.”

  “No,” I shot back. “It’s not like that.”

  “I don’t give a shit what it’s like,” he said. “Because as far as I can tell, you’re just more of these maniacs breaking the law.”

  I had no idea who this guy was, no idea how much danger I was in.

  “Let me see your badge,” I said.

  “What?” he barked back, clearly shocked that I’d ask him to do something.

  “You’re a cop, right?” I asked. “Well, I want proof. Because there’s a shitload of guys out there with guns who sure as hell don’t give a damn about upholding the law.”