Worth Saving
By
G.L. Snodgrass
Copyright 2014 Gary Snodgrass
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means. This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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For Shelley
Chapter One
I wasn’t the last person on earth I reminded myself, it just felt that way. A gut wrenching loneliness that never went away.
Blowing trash and a whistling wind were the only distractions as my eyes searched across each window, every doorway, searching for movement or anything not right. So far everything seemed okay, but hey, you can never be too sure.
Taking a deep breath I scrambled across the street and ducked into an old restaurant. The door had been smashed but the windows were still intact, a minor miracle after five years. The air smelled dusty and old with a biting taste. Stepping in I followed my bow and arrow, ready for any surprise, be they bogey men or worse, rats. I hated rats, they always appeared so damn happy with the world. Thankfully the place was quieter than a corps.
My stomach growled as I began searching for food. Hell, it beat hunting in the park. You never knew I might get lucky. My heart dropped when I realized the place had been cleaned out years ago. Everything was empty. All the shelves in the kitchen were bare, even the trashcan was empty. I slammed my hand on the counter top and slowly spun around. Searching, my mouth watering, I’d let my hopes get to high.
Spying an office to the side, the door partially open I stuck my head inside and gave it a quick glance, I almost tripped over my own two feet when I saw what they’d left behind the desk. Somebody had made a nice little pile of a ten pound bag of flour, a restaurant can of cooking oil, and a Danish ham in a can. I couldn’t believe it and had to keep swallowing as my mouth filled with saliva just thinking about all that salty goodness.
Using my free hand I wiped off a fine layer of dust from the can of ham, hoping to see some kind of expiration date. Hell who was I kidding, the thing could have expired years ago it wouldn’t stop me. Nothing I couldn’t fix with a hot fire and a frying pan.
Bending down I stuffed my backpack. My heart racing a mile a minute as I started thinking of all the ways I could cook it. Throwing my bag over my shoulder I scanned the kitchen area one last time. Finding nothing new I sighed and returned to the dining room. I might have made it out if that one thing hadn’t caught my eye, something off kilter, that one thing out of whack.
A small boot prints in the dust by the front door. It had me instantly dropping my pack and slipping my machete from its scabbard with a hissing “sssshwing” sound. I quickly searched high and low, every dark corner and under every table but there was no one. I was still alone and able to breathe again. Squatting down I examined the boot track. It wasn’t mine, too small, and with a pointy toe.
Resting on my heels, I ran a finger along the edges comparing it to my tracks through the dust. This one looked a little older, like it’d been made a few days ago. I must have missed it.
“Not good Kris,” I mumbled to myself. Mistakes like that could get a person killed around here. I never would’ve missed it at home. I knew where to look and what was important on the mountain. Here, everything was different, out of place. I had to think about every action, every detail. None of it came instinctively since I left the mountains.
A scary thought flashed through my mind, why hadn’t they found the ham and flour? Had they left it for me? Was it some kind of trap? Poison maybe? Or did they have so much food they didn’t need this stuff? It was confusing, not enough to get me to leave the food behind though. I might be nervous, but I was also hungry. Hunger can make a man do some pretty dumb things. I hoped this wasn’t one of them.
Closing my eyes I let my senses take over, searching for any noise or smell. Hoping to get some type of feeling about what I should do next. Of course nothing happened. A little disappointed I grabbed my pack and peaked out the front door, machete back in its scabbard and bow and arrow leading the way. I made sure the street was clear before I left the building and started making my way back to my home in the Library.
I’d walked about half a block when a subtle twitch started traveling between my shoulder blades. You know, the kind you feel when someone is staring daggers into your back. Whoever they were they were good at hiding. I stood there, examining every possible hiding space.
Seeing all the useless cars parked on the street made me remember the Tinker I’d met two years earlier. He’d driven to the farm in a horse drawn wagon and laughed when he saw me staring at his horses. He bitched about the useless electric cars. “No electricity, no car, He said as he unhitched his team and complained that all the gas had gone bad, ruined by the chemicals the big oil companies added to it. After a few years of sitting around, the gas clumped together and ruined the engines. Because no one had pumped new oil since the illness, that meant no one went anywhere and that was why being a Tinker with horses was valuable. “No gas, no car,”
My mind snapped back to the street. It wasn’t good to let my mind wander like that. I must be hungrier than I thought as I scanned the street again. Nothing! The feeling was still there. It was so frustrating. I wanted to find people, I was done with being alone all the time. Unfortunately they didn’t want anything to do with me.
Resuming my journey, I was almost at my new home when I spun around real fast and caught a movement. Someone had ducked back behind the big brown First National Bank on the corner. Running as fast as the heavy pack would let me, I rounded the corner but no one was there. The street was emptier than my stomach. There wasn’t even blowing trash to distract the eye. They could be anywhere by now, having slipped into any of a dozen buildings.
“I just want to talk,” I yelled, surprised at the sound of my voice. I hadn’t planned on saying anything but I was getting pissed off with this constant game of hide and seek.
Frustrated, I turned for home. The shoulder twitch didn’t go away.
.o0o.
Sitting on the ledge of the cathedral’s bell tower, six stories above the street. I draped my arm over the ugliest of the gargoyles like a modern day Quasimodo as I wondered about my future.
Looking out across the city I scanned everything, each street, building or back alley for any sign of life. Hoping to see smoke, moving cars, recent construction, anything. The city looked deader than the bodies in the church below. I’d come to the cathedral ledge to watch the sunrise over the city and come to some type of resolution. Go or stay? If go, where?
The purple sky slowly turned red and eventually yellow enough to start throwing deep dark shadows. This was the most active time of the day, with enough light to see potential predators and enough shadows to find good hiding spots. Dispersed People made quick trips from doorway to doorway and into derelict building to retrieve what they needed.
After several minutes of watching, I saw what I was looking for; a slight figure at the end of the block slowly opened a door and scampered across the street to a strip mall and into one of the stores. They were dressed in jeans and a green sweatshirt with their hood up. I’d seen this person twice before and didn’t think they lived in either building. If they followed the normal pattern they’d return the same way they came. I gathered my things and ran down the stairs, two
at a time. Within minutes I was in the tall building and in place. Crouched behind a receptionist desk, my leg muscles burned as I waited.
It wasn’t long before I was rewarded with the crunch of glass as the person returned from their supply run. Quickly standing, gripping my bow and notched arrow aimed between their shoulder blades. I watched them close the door.
“Hello,” I said. What else do you say in a situation like that?
The person squealed and turned with a nasty looking spear in her hand. She crouched ready to take on whatever awaited her.
A Girl! About my age. Eighteen or so, and she wanted to shove her spear into me three ways from Sunday. She whipped her hood back to eliminate any blind spots and put her back to the wall making sure nothing could come up from behind. Her eyes bore into me with such hate that I felt dirty, like I’d failed somehow.
“Hold on, I just want to talk,” I stammered. My voice sounded horse and unused. I moved the arrow so it no longer pointed at her and held up my other hand. “Just talk,” I said with more clarity this time.
Her pony tail whipped back and forth as she searched the area for other threats. Seeing none, her gaze returned to stare at me as she slowly slid back to the door. The tip of her spear never waved. Reaching behind her she grabbed the knob with her left hand.
“Please,” I said, sounding all needy and stuff. “Why is everyone hiding?” I added. Hoping that if she knew I was curious and not a threat she might relent. Still no response
She was short about five foot three with blond hair and blue eyes that didn’t stop moving and were so intense they could cut through steal. She reminded me of a cornered badger, cute and ready to tear my heart out by the roots. Her jeans were tight in all the right places and made me feel sort of strange inside. It was her face though that shocked me; it’d be beautiful if she ever stopped scowling.
“I just want to …,” What did I want I wondered, not for the first time. Taking a step to the side of the desk I stepped towards her, I didn’t know why, I just wanted to get closer.
“Stay back,” she screamed, emphasizing her point by thrusting her spear my way.
I froze in my tracks before slowly moving back behind the desk, anything to make her feel comfortable enough to stay.
Both of us looked at each other across the room, neither knowing what to do next. “Can I meet your group, maybe your leader?” I asked. God how lame, I thought, kicking myself internally. This isn’t some alien visiting the planet, you’ve’ been reading too many Sci-Fi books. Watching her I wondered if she thought I was a total idiot or only partly one.
“What makes you think I’m not the leader,” she said, her voice pitched high and tight. Sticking her chin out a little she dared me to contradict her. “And what do you know of our group,” she added with a worried look on her face.
“Nothing, I mean, I don’t know. I’m trying to figure out what’s going on around here,” I said. Exasperated that I couldn’t think straight and continued to make a fool of myself.
“Nothing’s going on, the world ended,” she said. As if that was all the explanation I needed.
“What about here in the city, who’s in charge?”
“No one’s in charge,” she said as if it should be obvious. “And before you ask, there are no zombies or mutant aliens. Between the dogs, the slavers, and the Bengal Tiger some idiot let out of the zoo we have more than enough monsters thank you. We’re all trying to avoid becoming someone’s next meal. And the best way to do that is to avoid other people.”
It was as if someone had hit me upside the head. No one in charge, how was that possible? I’d counted on some kind of organization, something I could join. I didn’t care if my emotions were showing. I’d hoped for so much. Five years of hiding, of following my father’s instructions to the letter. I’d risked everything, abandoned his wishes to find something else. And these people were no better; in fact they seemed to have it worse. At least in the forest and on the farm I knew what I was dealing with.
Did she say Bengal Tiger? Looking at her, I didn’t know where to go from here.
The girl’s brow furrowed with pity, but she didn’t leave the door. “Welcome to the big city,” she said with a sneer. “You should probably go back to where you came from,”
The words hurt, did she think that little of me. Hell, I was the one who'd trapped her. Believe me my bow outweighed her puny spear. I knew I could take care of myself, that wasn’t the questions. Besides, I didn’t need some girl telling me what to do, even if she did fill out a pair of jeans to perfection.
I’ll admit up front, I didn’t have a lot of experience talking to people, especially female type people. Five years in the mountains will do that. This one seemed awful bossy, maybe they just naturally told people what to do. Shaking my head, I tried to get my mind wrapped around what she’d told me.
“I’ve got to go,” she said, and was out the door in a flash. I ran to the door to stop her but she was already across the street and entering another store. At the last moment she turned and looked back at me, those blue eyes boring into my soul. “The Library was a good choice,” she yelled. Pushing a wisp of hair behind her ear she knocked a piece of hanging glass out of the way with her spear as she ducked into the building.
I stood their hoping she’d come back. Slowly realizing I was alone once again. My anger slowly built as I made my way back to the library. Things were so screwed up. By the time I got back, my face was beet red and my hands ached from clinching the bow so hard. It wasn’t right; someone should have done something about it by now.
Reaching my room, I put my things into the corner and flopped onto the bed I’d dragged in from the department store down the block. My anger slowly gave way to despair as I realized that all of my hopes, plans, and dreams had vanished. Should I go back to the mountains? Maybe somewhere else might be better.
As my mind wandered, trying to figure out what to do next, I thought of the girl and the way she looked in those jeans. I hadn’t even gotten her name but could remember every curve, the way her eyes cut right through me. I cringed when I remembered the sting of her words. - Go Back! Not on your life.
Chapter Two
I climbed into the bell tower the next afternoon in a rather foul mood. I was going to have to start naming the gargoyles if I was going to continue coming up here. Hell they may be the only friends I ever had.
“She isn’t the only person in town,” I mumbled to the stone creature next to me. “Not even the only girl I’d bet. There must be other people. Someone must be willing to talk, maybe an adult.” Okay, I talk to myself. It happens when you live all alone for as long as I did.
I could easily see what the city used to be like, full of movements, never still. Cars and people rushing everywhere, horns blaring, music spilling out of the bars and taverns, traffic lights, neon signs, and street lights mixing together to create a canvas of vibrant images. The aroma of fresh bread, car exhaust, and the ozone of electric motors mingled to form the sweet smell of progress and comfort. I could taste it on my tongue I wanted it so bad.
Now the city was dead stone buildings, tan, brown, and gray interspersed with glass and steel. All of it drab, dirty. The black streets lay out in a grid. Shuffling blowing trash from one side to the other. If I listened hard I could hear the wind whistling through the man-made canyons across the sun faded cars parked neatly along broken sidewalks. Today’s city had that sweet dry smell of dust and old death. The smell was constant, regardless of which way the wind blew. A deep sadness at the huge waste of it all washed through me.
Pulling my dad's pocket knife from my pocket I absent mindedly flicked it open. Closed it, and flicked it open again. It was a habit I'd picked up since leaving the mountains. I think it kept me in touch with my home, my dad, and all I'd left behind.
If I closed my eyes I could also see what the city would become, a future pile of grass covered rubble located next to the river, a huge hill between the prairie and the mountains. T
he type of place that the future local wondering nomads spoke of in hushed tones as they migrated with the great herds. A place filled with un-placated ghosts.
I’d left the mountains on my eighteenth birthday two weeks earlier after spending five years up there on my own. Ignoring everything my father had said on his death bed. Disregarding the three black and white marbled notebooks crammed with dictated information passed along by a dying man who knew he was leaving his son all alone in the world. Books filled with everything from how to dress a deer to changing a flat tire, all of the things he thought I’d need to survive in this new world. The pages interlaced with a single message – Avoid people at all costs.
After five years I couldn’t take it any longer. I didn’t care. I couldn’t stay there all alone anymore, living like a hermit. Something inside my gut pushed me. An unknown force was driving me to stretch the limits, to break some rules, to ignore what was smart and do what felt good instead. To hell with the consequences. Maybe it was hormones. I don’t know and there wasn’t anybody to ask.
So without really thinking about it I’d left our small farm on a tree covered mountain and sneaked into the deserted city hoping to find other people. This was not what I expected.
I sat there on the ledge sixty feet above the deserted street, my feet dangled over the side as my mind drifted to the past. The plague was pretty efficient, leaving five people for every 10,000 it took. It’d come out of some Mid-East war and spread across the world in less than a month. Most people had time to make it home and crawl into bed before dying an agonizing death. Not everyone had chosen that path of course as the pews in the church below demonstrated. Old white bones covered in old clothes were the iconic image of this new age.
Movement caught the corner of my eye; a pack of feral dogs was hunting near the park. Their noses close to the ground, sweeping back and forth as they searched for that elusive scent which would signal dinner. I shivered. It hadn’t taken long after the illness swept through before they’d gotten used to human flesh; there’d been a full course meal on every corner.
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