Ten feet away from the hulking old camper, I stopped. Someone sat in the driver’s seat, looking out at the view. I just froze, holding the bow tightly and waiting for something to happen, waiting for a sign of life, waiting for the head to turn toward me.
Nothing happened, so I inched closer, reminding myself to breathe and trying not to blink. A few feet closer and I relaxed just a little, letting out a long breath and loosening my grip on the bow just a bit. Stalks protruded from the driver’s face.
The motorhome’s main door was open, but a screen door was closed. I approached, reached for the handle, and just listened for a few seconds. Then I pulled at the respirator so it dropped below my chin. “Hello?” I said quietly. “Anybody in there?”
No reply, no movement, no rustling.
“I don’t want to hurt anybody. I just want to know if I’m alone or not, okay?”
Still nothing.
“I’ve got a weapon,” I added, hoping I sounded believable.
The door opened with a squeak after I clicked the button on the screen door’s handle. Then I climbed the steps and went in. It was dark inside, all the curtains pulled shut with the only light coming through the windshield and the driver’s compartment. I just stood there for a few seconds to let my eyes adjust. When I could make out faux wood cabinets and a stovetop and fridge, I turned toward the back of the motorhome.
The body was where I thought it would be, sitting at the little table all the way at the back, slumped forward. The table would fold down, I knew, to form a bed out of the seat cushions. That would have made a more comfortable final resting place. As it was, the woman who’d died here had her arms under her head, her upper body halfway across the tabletop, the stalks poking out toward a window. When I got closer, I could see that she’d been old—gray-haired and wrinkled, probably somebody’s grandma.
I left her and went to the cab. The old man sitting in the driver’s seat had died with his seatbelt on and the Hollywood sign in full view on the next hilltop. A perfect place for tourists to meet their ends. I wondered which one of them had died first. Probably the wife, I thought. Maybe here, maybe down below. And then the old man had sat and looked at the Hollywood sign and the trees and the hills until it was all over.
Leaning over him, I saw the key still in the ignition and gave it half a turn. The instrument panel lit up showing three-quarters full on the gas tank. That was good. I immediately started thinking about loading the motor home with the supplies I had gathered in Pasadena and using it to head out of the city when the time came. It was a good idea, but it would be hard to find a route out of Southern California that wasn’t already clogged with people who’d died trying to do the same thing. On the way here, I’d passed Interstate 5, now literally a parking lot filled with cars and corpses.
Still, I thought, there might be some use for the Winnebago. I took the keys and left the old couple there, planning on coming back later to drag them into the bushes. Then I went back to the motorcycle and rode the rest of the way across the parking lot, up onto the sidewalk, and past the statue of James Dean that my mom had gone on and on about.
Before me were the steps leading up to the entrance, and at their top an ornate black door hung open, ready for visitors. From the bottom of the steps, I could see that the lights still burned inside the building. That was good. I didn’t like the thought of searching it with a flashlight. Taking another deep breath and gripping the bow and arrow once more, I walked up the steps and poked my head through the door.
All was quiet, and no bodies lay on the floor in the main hall. Glad of that, I walked in and carefully toured the first level, ignoring all the educational displays about gravity and the phases of the moon and looking instead for any sign that I wasn’t alone. The place wasn’t that big, and after a few minutes I’d covered both of the ground floor wings; I remembered that there was a downstairs with more exhibits and a cafeteria and that upstairs were observation decks and access to the dome and the telescope. If anyone was hiding in here, it would be downstairs or else in some of the employee-only areas.
But to get downstairs meant going back outside, and when I slipped out one of the rear doors, I found myself on the lower observation deck…the same one where I’d posed with my family for the picture now in my backpack. No other tourists crowded against the rails now; no little kids begged for quarters from their parents so they could look through the big telescopes at the city that spread out as far as anyone could see. It was just me and the breeze.
I felt like a ghost, returned to some earthly haunt, stuck there and confused at the changes all around. A ghost might not have understood that the change was in itself, that it had passed on and no longer belonged here. In my case, I understood the change, and it was hard to take. Ghosts are better off, I thought as I walked to the wall at the edge of the deck.
The city went on forever…the skyscrapers downtown, the freeways clogged with cars, the grid of streets, some running straight as could be for miles and miles. In the distance I could see the ocean, and I made a guess at where the Santa Monica pier was. Smoke from several fires rose into the air. And all was silent—no traffic, no jets in the sky, no distant voices or laughter, no sirens.
I nodded at the view, telling myself I’d have plenty more time to look later. Then I turned away to continue exploring the hilltop.
On the observatory’s top deck, I found a single dead man. He’d dropped to the concrete not far from the entrance to the dome, and I squatted next to the body for a moment, noticing that it had already begun to shrivel as the fungus consumed it. I thought about dragging the body off to a corner where I wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore, or possibly hefting it over the rail and to the ground so I could move it off into the bushes later, but for now I decided to just leave it be.
Downstairs, I found the cafeteria and more exhibits, also several back rooms for employees, but no more people, no more bodies.
“Just me,” I said aloud as I sat in one of the plastic chairs in the dining area with a bottle of cold milk in front of me.
The place would do, for now. I needed more of a plan for the future, but at least I would be safe here for a while. The thought of those fires burning in the city below made me nervous, as there was no one left to put them out, and it wasn’t hard to imagine them spreading, maybe even as far as the Hollywood hills and Griffith Park. Though the high ground of the observatory brought me safety from a lot of things, it also made me vulnerable with all the vegetation in the hills. Who knew what could happen? The best thing I could do was to stay vigilant and keep the motorcycle gassed up.
I drank the milk, wondering how long the power would stay on. Before long, I knew, luxuries like cold milk would be just a memory. I decided to enjoy it while I could, so I added ice cream for lunch.
After that, I found the security office and a set of keys. Soon, I had the place locked up tight, every exit door on every floor. Then it was time to head back to Pasadena for the rest of my supplies.
*****
I made three runs by the end of the day, and that was enough. On the last one, I added a trip back to Anna’s Nissan to recover anything else from Jen’s house that I didn’t want to have to replace through scavenging in the mansions on Los Feliz just below the observatory.
Each time I returned to my hilltop sanctuary, I approached the parking lot with caution, trying to spot anything that looked different from when I’d last left. I also carefully circled the outside of the observatory to look for other visitors, but there were none.
After I’d gotten my last load stowed away in the entrance hall, I went back out to the dead tourists’ motorhome. I didn’t like doing it, but I pulled the bodies out and dragged them behind the restroom at the edge of the parking lot. Then I started the Winnebago and backed it away from the curb. It took some maneuvering and quite a few failed efforts, but eventually I got the motorhome situated right at the edge of the parking lot so it completely blocked the way. Anyone coming up here i
n a car would have to stop and walk the rest of the way to the observatory; a motorcycle could get by, but the rider would have to slow to a crawl to get around the front of the motorhome. I wasn’t expecting anyone, of course, but I still wanted to be cautious. Facing someone on foot wouldn’t guarantee that I could best them, but I felt it would still give me the upper hand if some other survivor had to abandon his car to get to the observatory.
It’s not that I expected a fight. If there were any other survivors, I figured they’d be as thrilled to find me as I would be at being found. But at the same time I relived my memory of the man who’d attacked Debbie in Pasadena. There might still be some people messed up from the disease but not dead yet. And there might be survivors who’d been bad people before the outbreak. Being among the last humans on earth wouldn’t necessarily change their temperament. It might even make it worse. Not to mention the thoughts some men might have at finding the last female in California waiting up here for them. I thought of Rapunzel in her tower as I walked back toward the big dome with the sun setting beyond it.
The breeze had shifted since morning, and now I heard a new sound. It frightened me at first, and then it made me sad. The Los Angeles Zoo was just over the hill on the other side of Griffith Park. The animals were probably starving, and the breeze carried their cries and roars toward me. I could hear elephants and either a tiger or lion pretty distinctly, but there were other sounds, too—maybe the gorillas, or birds. It was too hard to tell.
For just a second, I imagined myself trekking to the zoo and releasing the animals so they could fend for themselves in this new wilderness. But I knew the idea was ridiculous. If I could even figure out how to do it, my kind-heartedness would get me nothing more than attacked by a hunting jaguar in a few weeks’ time. No, if the animals could get out on their own, so be it. I couldn’t involve myself in their plight.
This got me thinking of other animals, though. I knew there were coyotes in these hills, and maybe even bobcats or mountain lions. If not in these hills, then in others, and before long the wild animals would move down into the city to take it over. There’d also be dogs and cats that would go feral now that their owners were dead and no one else was around to open a bag of kibble. Not to mention all the pets trapped inside houses, many probably starving already. Again, I knew I could do nothing for them. Freeing the thousands of dogs and cats—and hamsters and rabbits and whatever else—would be well intentioned but foolish. I was already going to have to worry about territorial German Shepherds and Chihuahuas; adding to their ranks would be asking for trouble. The downside, of course, was that there was going to be a lot more death and decay, and with that perhaps more disease.
I stood at the rail of the observation deck thinking about it as the sun slivered its way past the horizon and the flames from the still burning neighborhoods and factories in the distance grew brighter with the coming night. The city was dead, or dying. Beyond saving. And I was like the last parasite trying to suck just a little more life out of my host.
I couldn’t stay here, not for long anyway. I had my supplies and relative safety, but the security of my fortress wouldn’t last. If it wasn’t brush fires or disease brought on the breeze by all the death around me, it would be something else. Coming to the observatory hadn’t been a mistake or a waste of time or resources. It was better than staying in Jen’s house or the sporting goods store. I could gorge on ice cream and potato chips in the cafeteria, eating enough to remember what those things tasted like in the years to come when food wouldn’t be so easy to get. And the parking lot would be a good place to learn to shoot a gun and a bow; I should also practice my driving skills. If I played it right, I could come down from the hill in a month or so a much different person, someone ready to light out for parts unknown and make a new life for myself. Maybe even find a boat in the marina that would get me to Australia or New Zealand or some little island with just a few other people on it…people who’d welcome me.
Or fear me.
I shook my head and turned my back on the view. It was all too much to think about now. I headed inside to unpack my gear and get my little fortress all set up, telling myself I wouldn’t be able to hear the tragic sounds of the zoo once I was inside the building’s thick walls. In the morning, I’d start planning what to do next.
Right now, I just wanted to sleep and forget.
*****
I awoke with a start, nearly panicking.
Everything was dark. Everything.
I’d set up my sleeping mats and sleeping bag in an office behind the cafeteria on the lower level of the observatory. Before turning in, I’d left on the lights in the hallway outside and kept the office door open a crack. It had been just enough light to sleep by.
But now I couldn’t see anything, literally couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. How long the lights had been out, I couldn’t know, but I had the feeling it had been only a few seconds, that the sudden darkness had been the thing that woke me.
I sat up in the sleeping bag, staying perfectly still, just listening.
And then a light came on in the hallway, much dimmer than it had been when I’d gone to sleep.
Someone was in the building. Someone had to be. I could think of no other explanation.
I’d gone to sleep with my backpack beside the sleeping bag and the gun under it. Somewhere inside the pack was one of my flashlights, and now I cursed myself for not thinking ahead to have it more easily accessible. Still, the gun was reachable without much effort, and I snaked my hand outside the sleeping bag to grope for it beneath the backpack, all the while listening for the sound of footsteps or anything else in the hallway or beyond.
Crawling out of the sleeping bag, I was conscious of every noise I made, and I held my breath, tensing myself for an attack from beyond the door. None came. Soon, I was at the door, peeking out the narrow opening and hoping I wasn’t making myself visible to whoever was out there. I had yet to hear a noise and began wondering if I hadn’t just dreamed the darkness and was now simply imagining that the light in the hallway was dimmer than it had been when I went to sleep.
Finally, I found the courage to pull the door open just a little more. When I heard nothing more beyond it, I opened it all the way, poked my head out with the gun held tightly before me. After a quick glance in both directions, I let my breath out and lowered the gun.
I had my explanation. The main lights were out, but the emergency lights mounted at either end of the hallway burned dimly.
The power had gone out. After the few seconds of total darkness that had awoken me, an emergency power system had kicked in, maybe a generator or two somewhere in the building coming to life when the main source of electricity switched off.
It was still possible that someone had tampered with the observatory’s power, but I doubted it.
Going back for the flashlight and keeping the gun with me, I made a search of the lower floor and then went outside to head upstairs.
On the observation deck outside the cafeteria, I decided there was no point in a trip up to the next level. The city below me was almost all in darkness. I guessed that there were some other places with generators, as a few electric lights still shone in places. Several fires continued to burn across the city, but everything else was blackness for as far as I could see.
The power was out, the electric plants having shut down now that there was no one left to run them. While I felt some relief at knowing I was still safe here in my fortress, the darkness extending to the horizon made me uneasy. The city was dying, plain and simple. It might sustain me for a while as I lived off whatever I could scavenge from houses and businesses, but it wouldn’t last forever. The gas and water would stop soon, too—no more heat, no more toilets, no more drinking from a tap. I couldn’t guess at what else I’d soon be without, and the thought made me sad: not because I’d miss the comforts of modern life, but rather because I knew I’d have to move on sooner than I’d thought necessary. I had just wanted the ch
ance to collect myself, to use the safety of the high ground to get used to my new life.
“That’s the way it goes,” I said to the darkness and turned back toward the building, trying not to think of what I should do next, but knowing I couldn’t not think about it. Sleep wouldn’t come easily again, I knew. Resigned to lying there and waiting for it, though, I went back inside, resolved to keep a flashlight handy from here on.
Chapter Eight
I kept myself busy for the next couple of weeks: making myself more comfortable in the observatory, calculating how long the cafeteria’s bottled water supply would last, and practicing my marksmanship and archery in the parking lot. Books on camping and outdoor survival from the sporting goods store showed me how to pick a good spot for a latrine and how to dig one. And the houses in the neighborhoods next to Griffith Park provided me with the supplies I hadn’t thought to gather in the first days of my new life.
Going into the homes was a bit unnerving at first, as I warily crept in and surveyed the rooms for any sign of living occupants. I got more used to it after the first couple of days—though I still forced myself to focus before each entry. It would not do to become complacent. At first, I considered the dead when I went in, looking them over and wondering about their lives and deaths. After a while, though, it got to where I would just pass the bodies without thinking about them, like they were part of the abandoned furniture or no different from the houseplants that had been left behind.
It was worse when there were pets in the house. The starving cats would tear out of the doors the second I cracked them open, just like Jen’s cat had done. But the dogs were a bit tougher, torn between defending their territories and getting out to find something to eat. Usually, they only tried staring me down for a few seconds before deciding I wasn’t worth the trouble. I doubted any of the dogs had ever had a gun pointed at them, but they all managed to figure it was something formidable and backed down after a bit of barking, slinking past me and out of the houses—much to my relief.
The Girl at the End of the World Page 9
