Finding Home - A Post Apocalyptic Novel (The Ravaged Land Series Book 2) (2 page)

The knob jiggled and made a soft rattling noise when he put his hand on it. Was he just going to try to enter? My plan to ignore him apparently wasn’t going to work. The door was locked, but that wouldn’t stop someone determined.

“Go away,” I said trying to sound masculine. I sighed, feeling a sense of overwhelming guilt after my attempt to send someone who seemed to be suffering away. Could I really live with myself if I sent him away and then he died? The little devil on my shoulder told me I’d never know if he lived or died once he was far enough away.

“Do you have any water you could spare?” he said in a voice so faint I almost hadn’t heard him through the door. Before I could even figure out what to do, the door jerked inward slightly, which was followed by a rapid scratching noise that moved down the door, and then a thud. I knew without looking he had collapsed against my front door.

Chapter two.

“Damn it,” I muttered as I stuffed the gun back into my waistband and took several steps towards the door. I glanced out the window to make sure I didn’t see anyone hiding behind the trees waiting to pounce.

I put one hand near my gun and slowly turned the knob using the door as a shield. There was no one outside except for the guy crumpled in a heap on my doorstep. I reached around his back and threaded my arms under his. I clasped my hands against his chest and yanked him backwards. His heartbeat was noticeably slow, barely beating through his coat and the thin shell of his body. But it was beating, and that’s what mattered, for him anyway.

My feet moved backwards as I dragged him inside. Once his whole body was inside, I quickly turned to close and lock the door behind us. Then I checked it three times to make sure I had in fact locked it. I wrapped my arms around him again and pulled him closer to the fire.

His jacket was wet as if he’d fallen in the snow more than a few times. I peeled it off of him and covered him with one of the blankets that belonged to whoever owned this cabin before I found it. When I removed his boots he let out a stifled groan and grimaced as if he was in pain. I worried that maybe he had frostbite on his toes and I wouldn’t have a clue what to do about that.

I removed his socks and carefully examined his feet. As far as I could tell they looked like normal feet. He had blisters on his heels, but I think as far as the pain was concerned they had just been sore from walking, or maybe just cold. I grabbed another blanket and tucked his feet inside. A soft moan followed by a weak whimper escaped from his lips as I stood over him.

“Hold on,” I said, “I’ll get you some water.” I darted into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of water from the stream I had boiled a few days ago. My fingers shook as I tried to unscrew the cap for him. I bent down close to his mouth and delicately poured a few drops into his mouth. “More?”

He mouthed the word ‘please.’ I propped his head up on my knee and helped him take a bigger drink. He nodded his thanks, but winced as he swallowed as if it hurt.

His face was thin, but I could tell he wasn’t much older than I was. I wondered why he was out here in the Alaskan wilderness wandering around all alone. What was his story? What would I tell him when he would eventually ask about mine? Surely he would wonder what someone like me was doing holed up all alone in a cabin in the Alaskan wilderness. Or maybe with how things in the world were now, he wouldn’t. But he would wonder how I had survived, just as I wondered how he had survived. It was the one thing all of us survivors had in common. A story.

But this was my cabin now. I didn’t have to tell him anything about how I came to be living here if I didn’t want to. I didn’t owe anyone an explanation. He was the one on my property, so to speak.

“More?” he asked weakly. His eyes stayed closed making the big, dark circles around them all the more noticeable. It almost felt as though I was helping a corpse drink water. Out there on his own he must not have gotten much sleep. How was he still alive? One thing I knew about him already without having said more than two words to him… he was a fighter.

I drizzled more water between his dry, cracked lips while he softly choked and coughed with each tiny gulp. He tried to drink slowly and carefully, but I could tell he wished he could just grab the bottle and chug it down to quench his thirst. But there was no way his body would let him.

“Would you like something to eat?” I asked as I studied him. I was still worried he’d pop up and put a knife to my throat when I least expected it. Maybe being alone for so long had only served to increase my anxiety about being around others. This guy couldn’t move and I was still paranoid about what he might do. The half-dead guy lying on my floor couldn’t even grasp a knife to defend himself if his life depended on it.

“Please,” he whispered as he tried to force his eyes to open wider.

“Don’t. Just lay still. I’ll be right back,” I said as I stood and walked quickly to the kitchen. I opened the cupboard where I stored Sienna’s toaster pastries. It was almost as if I was keeping them tucked away for when she got here. I rarely ate them. Truth be told, I didn’t care for them, but you know, beggars can’t be choosers and all that. If it came down to it, I’d eat them. I grabbed one for the guy on the floor because it was something quick that I could break into small pieces and feed him. I knew Sienna wouldn’t care. Heck, she didn’t even know they were here waiting for her.

I sat down next to him crossing my legs in front of me. My fingers struggled to tear open the package, so I ripped it open using my teeth. I didn’t figure he would mind, and I didn’t even care if he did. If he didn’t like the toaster pastries I’d opened with my mouth, he could go find something to eat elsewhere. I broke off a small corner and pressed it against his lips. He forced his mouth to open, and I dropped the tiny morsel of food inside. He sucked on the cold doughy piece of pastry. After a minute or two he started to mash it between his teeth and then he grimaced when he attempted to swallow it down.

“Water?” he asked as his fingers stretched out as if he was trying to find the bottle himself. I picked it up and poured the liquid gently between his parted lips, paying close attention to follow his pace so I didn’t make him choke.

“What’s your name?” I asked as I broke off another piece of the pastry for him. This time he moved the piece of food around much easier than he had with the first small chunk.

I watched him swallow the small bite of food with a struggled gulp. “Penn,” he said and then coughed several times. Even coughing used up too much of the little energy he had left. He settled himself, closed his eyes and laid still as if he had to recover.

Before I could ask him anything else, he fell asleep. Right there on the hard wood floor. I knew he was asleep because it was easy to see his thin chest moving up and down with each slow breath. They seemed further apart than I thought they should be, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it either.

I leaned back and grabbed a pillow from the recliner behind me. I carefully slid it under his head trying not to disturb him. Letting him rest on the floor would be much easier than trying to wake him and getting him onto the sofa. I got up, and sat in the recliner watching him as he slept. My hand was poised near my waistband just in case I’d have to pull out my gun. I didn’t want to use it, and I wasn’t even sure I could use it well enough. But nonetheless if it came down to it, I’d sure as hell try.

My eyelids felt heavier and heavier as I watched his chest slowly rise and fall with each inhale and exhale. It was almost as if he was hypnotizing me. I started to doze off, but I abruptly blinked and tried to force myself to stay awake. It only lasted a few minutes before there wasn’t anything I could do to keep my eyes open.

* * *

When I woke up, I was still sitting in the chair with my head resting on my loosely closed hand, but the guy, Penn, wasn’t on the floor. For a second I wondered if maybe it had been a dream, but then I saw the toaster pastry wrapper on the floor. My hand moved as fast as a bolt of lightning to get my gun out. I pointed it wildly in every direction as my eyes darted around the room. Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement. He ducked behind the wall near the bathroom.

“Don’t shoot!” he pleaded in a raspy, weak voice. “I was just using your bathroom!”

I lowered the gun and tucked it back into my waistband. Either I was being paranoid again, or I was being smart. I wasn’t even sure I could even tell the difference any more.

“Sorry,” I said as I slipped the gun back into my waistband.

“Umm, that’s OK… I think. I just didn’t want to wake you up,” he said as he lowered himself down onto the sofa. He was careful not to take his eyes off of me. It was as if he didn’t trust me. The thought almost made me want to laugh.

“No problem. I’m just, uhhh… jumpy.”

“I see that,” Penn said with a small grin. He looked as if he was waiting for me to say more. Waiting for me to explain my paranoia further. Maybe tell my story. But that wasn’t going to happen. No matter how lonely I was. He could talk all he wanted, but everything about me and my life would remain a mystery to him. Wasn’t he living in the same world I was? Where people couldn’t be trusted? Where they could take everything from you right before your eyes and there wasn’t anything you could do about it.

I looked him over again… closer. Now that he was up and about, he looked a little different. Still like he was the walking dead, but a little more animated. He had deep round circles surrounding his piercing blue eyes, but they had a little more life in them. Maybe from the food, or the heat, or maybe just the water but he was coming back to life right before my eyes.

I didn’t like how he looked at me. His eyes seemed to have the ability to look into mine and search through my brain, hunting and pecking around for information. I blinked hoping that would break any connection he was trying to make with my mind.

His hair was medium length and shaggy as if he hadn’t cut it in a while. It looked as though the last time it had been trimmed it had been with a dull scissors. Not that I would say anything about it. My hair wasn’t any better, except I had been lucky enough to have used a sharper scissors.

He flipped it over to one side as if he knew I was looking at it and he was getting self-conscious. Perhaps in his past he had been someone who had cared about their looks. If he wouldn’t have been withering away to nothing, practically a skeleton sitting on my sofa, he probably would have been very attractive. But then again, maybe I just thought that because I hadn’t seen another human being in so long. Maybe I forgot what people looked like.

Penn grinned at me suspiciously. It seemed as if he knew I was checking him out, “What?” he said raising an eyebrow.

I folded my hands, placed them in my lap and straightened my spine pretending not to know what he was asking about. I shrugged my shoulders. His eyes widened with curiosity, but quickly shifted to a look of concern. I looked into his eyes hoping I could search his like he seemed to with mine, but there wasn’t anything there. No flashing neon light warning me he was dangerous.

He wrapped himself in a blanket trying to warm his body, but he still shivered. The barely eaten toaster pastry was still on the floor where he had been lying. I picked it up and tossed it onto the coffee table. It slid to a stop right in front of him.

My breathing quickened and my leg bounced up and down. I looked him square in those empty, mysterious blue eyes and took a deep breath.

“You can’t stay here.”

Chapter three.

None of this sat well with me. I didn’t like any of it. Was I really capable of this? Could I really turn someone away who was in desperate need of help? It wasn’t my responsibility to take care of him, and he couldn’t be trusted. As long as he was staying in my cabin, I’d never get any sleep again. Although, that hadn’t stopped me just moments ago.

“Of course. I understand,” he said as he stood up glancing around to locate his things. He tried to work his foot into his still soaked boot. I sat there watching as he wobbled back and forth. He was struggling because he just didn’t have the energy to even get himself ready to go back out into the cold.

“Well, I didn’t mean you had to leave right this second,” I said as guilt flooded me from head to toe. If I sent him on his way, he wouldn’t survive the night. He couldn’t live on a few sips from a bottle of water and a couple bites of food.

“Oh,” he said lowering himself back down on the sofa. “You know… I get it. I may be dying, hell, I thought I had earlier until you opened the door and pulled me inside. You didn’t look like death, so I knew you were saving me, but I’m not stupid. I totally get it. You don’t trust me. And why should you?”

“I shouldn’t and I don’t.”

He raised his hand only a smidge, “But right now, truth is, I am incapable of hurting anyone or anything, even if I wanted to. Even if my life depended on it. Which, and I know you won’t believe this, I don’t. I don’t want to hurt you, or anyone for that matter.” His eyes never moved from mine not even for a second. He seemed sincere, but that was meaningless. Maybe he was just a damn good liar.