Apartment 905

by Ned Sahin

  However, a number on the notepad grabs my attention: 218. It is underlined and circled several times. It’s too short to be used as a password, but they might have used a repetition of this number.

  A car passes by the street with loud music coming out of open windows. I crouch behind the monitor.

  Driving fast and loud is one of the annoying things Saviors enjoy doing. I better hurry. Who knows what they are doing in this small town. I hope they are just passing through. If they are planning to loot the businesses on the street, I hope this building is at the bottom of their “today’s break-in to-do list.”

  I look back at the monitor. This version of the computer operating system enforces a minimum of eight characters for passwords.

  I enter 218218218 in the password field.

  A “wrong password” message appears on the screen.

  I try 218218218218.

  “Wrong password” message appears, again.

  I go through the notepad and sticky notes one more time. I check drawers, even looking at the floor closely in case a piece of paper dropped from the counter.

  Sighing, I almost give up until I spot my laptop in the gas station’s plastic bag right next to the counter. I feel like my day just got brighter. I can use the password cracking software on my laptop to brute force my way into the main computer.

  Going around the corner, I follow the internet cable connected to the computer and find a routing box. Another cable is plugged into the same box from the landline phone. I unplug it and plug it into my laptop. This allows me to connect the main computer from my laptop.

  I open the password cracking software and quickly set the parameters. As I hit the “Start” button, combinations of words and numbers begin raining down on the screen. It is trying thousands of combinations to find the matching password.

  I don’t expect the employees to use a complex or long password. With my laptop’s boosted speed, it shouldn’t take more than half an hour to find the password.

  The number 218 on the notepad gets my attention again.

  I get it now. It’s a storage unit number. How did I miss it? My storage unit is 219. Whatever the reason they noted down the number 218, there must be something very valuable in that unit. Thankfully, it’s right next to mine.

  My laptop makes a chirping sound. It’s the sweet sound of a cracked password! The password is displayed in a big green box: Uhaul123. What a creative password. No wonder why it took only a few minutes to crack it.

  For the first time in months, I thank myself. Risking my life to keep my laptop is saving my life.

  I log in to the main computer successfully. I click an icon called “Unit Manager.” I always like the developers who give self-explanatory names to their software. They deserve a bonus for making the post-apocalyptic world a better place.

  The program has a bunch of squares with red-colored unit numbers in them. I click 219, and it turns to green. Sweet!

  I look at 218. Is it time for an integrity check? I shouldn’t open someone else’s unit, but what if there is something that may help me survive longer in the hard times coming? Even if it turns out empty, it’s better for me to open it instead of Saviors breaking in it.

  I turn the 218 to green too.

  A voice inside me asks: Why not others too?

  I hope this town forgives me.

  I unlock all units. I glance through the hallway and see the green light on the key panels of the units closer to the counter. I put my laptop back into the bag. It’s time for a little treasure hunting, but a ruckus outside forces me to stand still.

  “Let’s check this one out!” one of the guys outside yells, pointing to the post office next to the storage building. He walks toward the entrance while the other guy parks the car in front of it. They have Savior jackets. I jolt at the sound of a window shattering. I hope the post office has enough packages to keep them busy for a while.

  I get around the desk and walk toward the first unit, rolling up each unit’s door one by one and checking what is inside. Mostly a mess of old clothes, electronics, furniture, and moving boxes. One of them has a mountain motorcycle with the key in the glove box. As much as I am exhausted from walking, I know that it’s a bad idea to ride a motorcycle. The noise of the engine would make me an easy target.

  I continue to open and examine the rest of the units. After checking each unit, I press on the lock buttons. I don’t want to make life easier for the Saviors.

  Some of the storages have packages of canned and dried food. While it’s tempting to grab those, it’s better if I just stick with my own food stock for now. Nothing else looks worthy of taking, except for an old military backpack. I snatch it, knowing my laptop would fit in it since the gas station’s plastic bag could barely fit all my belongings.

  There’s another unit I want to check before opening mine.

  I am standing in front of Unit 218 now.

  As soon as I roll up the door, my eyes widen in disbelief. Jackpot!

  The unit is full of advanced face masks, hand sanitizers, and protective clothing boxes. This is what I call a treasure in this upside-down world. There is one problem though. I don’t have enough time to carry all this stuff outside if I also have to carry my food stock.

  Without much of a choice, I decide to carry food, but I can’t let Saviors have this treasure. It would only make them more powerful. The mess in the other units come in handy now. I use a mattress and old clothes to hide the valuables in 218 as much as possible. I only take a few masks, hand sanitizers, and protective clothes before rolling the door down.

  I hear shots fired at the front door. They are breaking in. The post office probably didn’t have much to offer.

  I open my unit and enter, then put two boxes packed with food and water on the hand cart I kept here for emergencies like this.

  “Let’s check out the units upstairs,” says one of the Saviors. I hear them walking up the stairs on the other side of the building. They must be looking for units that are already open.

  I close my unit door as quietly as I can and shut off the interior light. I can’t lock the door from inside. I hope they don’t notice the green light on the key panel.

  My heart pumps faster as his footsteps get louder. They stop in front of my unit.

  One of them punches my unit’s door.

  “Nah, these are all closed too, Ethan,” he says.

  I am glad that they are too dumb to check the light on the key panel.

  Their footsteps fade away. Then I hear them shooting and kicking the unit doors downstairs. This is the chance I have been waiting for.

  I open the door and drag the cart to the hallway. I lock my unit after rolling down the door. There is no need to leave any clue about my existence here.

  I pause for a second to figure out what they are doing. The modern-day barbarians continue to break in the units.

  I quietly drag the cart down the stairs at the opposite side of the building. The stairway exit is not visible from the first-floor hallway thanks to the structure’s T shape. I walk faster toward the emergency exit at the back of the building but stop once I see the red sign: ALARM WILL SOUND IF DOOR IS OPENED.

  Was it necessary to put an alarm here?

  I sometimes had to use emergency exits at the companies I worked for in the past. The alarms these warnings referred to never went off. It shouldn’t be any different today.

  If it does go off, I will say goodbye to my stuff and run to the woods.

  I push the door. The fresh and warm wind hits my face. I feel like Michael Scofield who just got out of the escape tunnel in Prison Break. The difference is that I have my supplies with me instead of fellow inmates.

  I carefully, but at a fast pace, drag the cart to the tree line as the sun goes down, covering my tracks.

  I am alive another day.

  Chapter 6

  It’s a beautiful morning view of Old Fort. Stretching across a green va
lley, this small town looks like a peaceful place to spend years after retirement. I wonder how it felt like living here when everything was normal.

  I carried the cart about a mile yesterday evening. The last quarter of the way was uphill. It pushed me to my limit, but it was worth it. I spent the night feeling safe at this rock hill.

  Seeing the town and the mountain road gives me an advantage against any threat that may come my way. I haven’t seen or heard anybody driving or walking by. It doesn’t surprise me. With 80 percent of the population dead from the virus and anarchy ensuing around the globe, it’s not unusual to have empty roads.

  After eating junk food for days, I couldn’t resist overeating canned beans and fish last night. I don’t regret it. I deserved this post-apocalyptic feast after the several life and death moments since I bugged out from my apartment.

  I don’t regret having this dried peach for my breakfast either.

  I lie down and feel amazed by how blue the sky is. Despite all the terrible things happening right now, the world is still very kind to us.

  I should find a way to go to San Francisco to be with my family. Seeing the love in my mom’s eyes and hugging her would help me forget all the ugliness in the world.

  There is one little problem. It will take almost three thousand miles to get there. I can’t even imagine walking all the way to the West Coast. I can possibly find an abandoned car that still has gas, but a car would get too much attention. There are probably Saviors checkpoints on highways anyway.

  A mountain bike would be the least dangerous and most effective way of doing my cross-country trip. Even if it takes more than a month to get there, seeing my family would be worth it.

  “Help!” a man screams in the woods across the road.

  “Help!” This time it’s more intense and deeper.

  I take my backpack and walk downhill over the rocks. I won’t be a selfish survivor. I will do my best if I hear someone asking for help. Whatever the danger is, I might eventually come across it anyway. Together, we can have a better chance of winning the fight.

  “What do you…” his voice cuts off. I hear him louder this time. He shouldn’t be too far. I pass the road and run toward the sound.

  “Nooo…” he screams.

  I don’t see anybody in the jungle. I decide to pause and listen to find out his location, I only hear birds calling and insects chirping. A squirrel squashes fallen leaves and jumps on a nearby tree.

  I walk to the direction where I think his screams came from. I pull the bear spray out of my belt. This should stop whatever attacking him even if it’s a bear.

  I see them now. My hands fly to my mouth at the sight of two men. One is lying on the ground with blood all over his body while another man sits on his chest, attempting something with the bleeding man's head. I step forward to have a better look.

  The man turns his head to me. He doesn’t have a mask, and there are red spots all around his face. They don't look like acne or a measles rash. The inflammations on his skin resemble tiny sinkholes.

  He is holding onto one of the victim’s eyeballs.

  My heart races as a rush of adrenaline surges through my veins.

  He stands up and turns his body toward me. His shoulders move up and down as his anger builds up. With an unexplainable hate in his eyes, he charges toward me.

  I shake myself to wake up from this nightmare but the reality of the world shudders me one more time.

  Think, Matt. It’s time to take action. Your life depends on it.

  I wait until he comes a few feet closer to me, then raise the spray bottle and push the trigger with all my strength. The amount of light brown gas blocks my vision. I hear him roaring. I release the trigger and take a few steps back to get a wider view of him.

  As the gas fades away, particles of it remain on the man’s face. His eyes are closed, and he is about to lose his balance, but he doesn’t seem to care about the pain or vision loss. He claws his way toward me, grabbing tree branches to support his balance. I move to the right to have a better opening for the second attack. He hears my footsteps and turns to my direction gritting his teeth. I push the trigger again.

  I can’t believe he is still able to walk. This spray is known as a bear stopper, but long discharges couldn’t stop this thing.

  I run a few yards back and stop. He growls while trying to sense where I am. I see a big piece of rock on the ground and crouch as quietly as possible and grab it. The leaves under the rock crunch as I lift it. He turns to my way and walks faster. I wait for him to get closer.

  A strong hit to his head with the rock takes him down. He attempts to stand up with a frightening snarl. I hit his head again, this time even harder. I hear his skull cracking. While he is humming on the ground, I go over him and drop the rock on his head with both hands.

  I freeze as I look at his dead body. A shock wave surrounds me.

  I take a few steps back and sit against a tree.

  It was him or me. I did what I had to do to survive.

  I wait until my breathing slows down. It is not safe to stay here. There might be more of this thing.

  I walk fast back to my hiding point on the hill while looking back every few steps to make sure nobody is following me.

  What I killed wasn’t a human even though his appearance looked like one. I heard a drug called Oxyrica helps the immune system fight the mutated virus. There were reports about this drug making people extremely aggressive. If that’s what created this thing I killed, there is a bigger problem than a virus now.

  It scares me to think thousands of people who used this drug can turn into a monster like him. I just hope he was a rare case or a straightforward psychopath.

  Right before leaving the tree line to cross the road, I hear a vehicle approaching. I get down and look at the direction of the engine sound.

  It’s a red SUV. I recognize it right away. The family I had a pleasure of meeting at the gas station.

  Only the father is in the car, though. Passenger seat and back seats look empty. The wife and daughter are probably at their bug-out location. He must be doing a supply run.

  I wait for him to pass by and disappear at the next turn behind the trees.

  I climb over the rocks to get to my safe hilltop and check the bushes I buried my stash under. It’s still here. The bag of the dried peach is also where I left it.

  This hilltop already feels like home, but I know that I should move. I don’t think I can spend another night here knowing that the creature’s body is nearby.

  I wonder where I should go next. I wish I had a physical map. My phone’s battery died long ago. Without a map, I can still find my way back to Old Fort but there might be Saviors lingering there.

  There is nothing else human-made in the sight. Just an endless looking forest. I don’t think I can find my way to California without getting lost numerous times.

  There is one option left.

  I will follow the red SUV. There is something about that family that makes me think they are reliable. I can trade some of the treasures in unit 218 with a gun, map, light, battery, water purification filter, and anything else I may need on my trip to California.

  I fill my bag with as much food and water it can take and go down the hill over the rocks.

  I am back on the road. I look back to my vista point one more time to memorize the location.

  I hope this won’t be a long walk and the family is as welcoming as I expect.

  Chapter 7

  I have been walking for three hours when I see a “DEAD END” sign.

  The family in the red SUV is nowhere to be seen. I wonder if my brain is playing a game with me after a high-level of adrenaline my body never experienced before.

  I look around one more time. It doesn’t make sense to build miles of the road from Old Fort to here for nothing. The family’s cabin, bunker, mansion—or whatever kind of shelter it is—should be somewhere here.
/>   After all, a big vehicle like that SUV can’t just disappear, especially if it’s red. There is a reason why red cars are the second most pulled over for speeding by police. It’s easy to notice them.

  I could really use a 911 call to get help right now. I miss those days when we were able to call the police for help.

  Without a better idea, I decide to continue walking in the same direction. I leave the road and enter the jungle.

  Minutes after, I spot an abandoned-looking cabin. I scan the area for any sign of human beings or the kind of creature I killed today.

  There is nothing. I hear only the birds chirping and the wind is blowing in a calming harmony.

  Branches snap and leaves crunch under my sneakers as I get closer to the front door. A sign above reads, “National Park Ranger.”

  The spooky appearance of the cabin may not be misleading. It could actually be abandoned. They might have decided to move the ranger’s office in another location even before the outbreak.

  Although every cell in my brain tells me to go back, I can’t resist my curiosity. I approach the door and knock.

  “Hello! Is anyone here?” I say.

  I always wondered why people yell like this and announce their location in thriller movies. I understand it now. I did it because I don’t want to keep my blood pressure elevated. I want this intense moment to be over as soon as possible. If there is someone kind inside, they will open the door and we will be friends. If there is someone not-so-kind here, they will open the door too, and we probably won’t get along well. Either way, the high tension will be over.

  The door slightly pushes back after I knock again. Realizing the door is loosely closed, it opens as soon as I push it.

  I pull the spray out of my belt and place my finger on the trigger. I am ready for a challenge.

  I see a dark hallway with broken and dusted furniture around. I wonder why everything has to be this cinematic.