Last Woman (5 page)

I did several things before leaving that hotel. I cleaned up, wore comfortable clothing and transferred items from that damn bulky duffle bag to a large suitcase with wheels. That suitcase was packed. I grabbed anything and everything I thought I may use in my journey home. I figured it would be easier than that duffle bag to tote. I carried a small sack over my shoulder with my day’s rations. How long I’d be out or how far I made it remained on my health. Which felt remarkably better. I didn’t feel as weak and those shoes were going to work.

From what I saw, the main streets of town were free of traffic, except for the sidewalks lined with bodies that occasionally tumbled to the road. But in the back of my mind, I had it figured that the main roads out of town were going to be jammed or blocked. The fleeting thought to grab a car, left me.

I had to walk. It wasn’t going to be as hard, at least that's what I believed. I wore better shoes and didn’t carry that heavy duffle bag. Pulling something on wheels would be a lot easier. However it was much more annoying.

One of those wheels squeaked.

The concrete jungle of the city was a cavern for echoing. Each step I took, the wheel squealed and bounced back at me, over and over.

“Are you kidding me?” I said out loud. “The entire city and I get the defective suitcase. Unreal.”

I grew irritated with each step, I suppose there were other things that could have annoyed me,
and perhaps the noisy suitcase was just a distraction to keep my mind off things.

It was better when I got onto the expressway that went around the city. The noise of the squeaky wheel was still there and loud, but it carried out in the wind and didn’t echo back at me. My plan was to follow the expressway until the end of the city and go south. At some point they had to stop blocking the roads and bridges, or so I thought. Cars were crammed on sections of roads, then there would be a long stretch of nothing.

Nothing except that damn squeaky wheel. I think I stopped every twenty feet to get a break from it.

The expressway was also named River Trail Road because it ran alongside the river. Not really, portions rose high above other roadways, giving me a good view of all that went down.

I wondered how a flu so feral, how something so swift, left enough well people around long enough to loot and cause damage.

Stores were broken into, glass busted, the bullet strewn victims were easy to spot as opposed to the one
s that died of the flu. With something that wiped out everyone, I would imagine I’d be too sick to want to steal.

Then it dawned on me, the city was shut down a week before I woke up. Those last few days of chaos and fear. My God how people must have panicked knowing it was over. How scared they had to be. It wouldn’t take long for thousands of people to destroy a city. People fighting because that was all they had left to fight for was a morsel of food and their last dying breath. Maybe they held out hope that they’d be spared. Or maybe they were spared and shot while looting or even shot because they weren’t sick.

That thought struck me. What if that was the case with me? What if someone sick and bitter knew I wasn’t going to get the flu and said,
‘the hell with her, why does that drunk deserve to live?’
and they tagged me as dead?

How many people may have been that tiny speck of hope, but were extinguished by another?

I would never know.

I could only guess in my mind. That passed the time as I walked slowly, tugging along my squeaky case, darting in and out of cars, and when there weren’t cars, avoiding the mass amount of dead birds that spewed about everywhere.

Taking in the sites of destroyed properties and bridges to nowhere.

There was something awesome about the sight of the main bridges. It wasn’t the bridges themselves that were destroyed as it was the ramps to the bridges that had some sort of explosives used on them. The biggest bridge was breathtaking. The ramps leading up to it folded like a house of cards.

It was a good enough place as any to stop. I actually had done really well and made it to the edge of the city. Some water, a cigarette, maybe a cracker. It was warm on the roadway, the sun beating down and a constant light breeze brought in and blew out waves of stench.

I pushed down the handle to my squeaky suitcase and sat down.

Had the world been normal, had there even been birds, I probably either wouldn’t have noticed or heard them. But like my squeaky wheel, the sound carried to me. In fact it scared the hell out of me and I jolted.

It sounded like a big hollow rubber ball smacking against a concrete wall. But it didn’t just make one bouncing sound, it echoed loudly.

Something dropped? Was it my imagination?

Slowly I stood. It was quiet. Just as I was about to dismiss
it and started to sit again, I heard the same bouncing sound. This time I jumped to my feet. Determining where it came from was hard because of the echo in the empty city.

I
was also above the town. Where? Where did it come from?

The binoculars were in my rations bag which sat next to the suitcase. I bent down for it, and another sound occurred. This portrayed frantic. Metal against metal. In my mind I immediately envisioned gang members, wearing bandanas, carrying weapons. Men turned beasts in an
apocalyptic world, no law and order. Ravage. Pillage.

Listening to the metal against metal, my fear increased. They were coming for me.
Taunting me, running a pipe against a fence, because that’s what it sounded like. The same pipe they probably would use to bash my skull after they robbed me.

I wasn’t sticking around. I was in the open. How foolish. How stupid I was to believe I was alone. If I lived, someone else did and that didn’t mean they were nice.

Gathering my rations bag, I tossed that over my shoulder, popped up the handle to my suitcase and immediately started to bolt.

The pipe against the fence stopped. My god, they spotted me. The faster I ran, the louder and higher pitched the suitcase squealed. I was a moving target, easy to hear. So with that in mind, heart pounding, barely able to breathe, I dropped the suitcase.

The moment I did, the moment I started to run, I heard something else. Something I didn’t expect.

A voice. A male voice, deep, raspy and not young, screamed out, cracking as he did.

“Hey! I hear you! Hey! Is someone there! Anyone! Help!”

I stopped running.

It took only a moment after the voice stopped calling for me to believe I had completely lost my mind. I read the magazine; I knew the numbers, while I hardly was delusional to believe everyone that survived would be nice. Really? A gang?

Shaking my head at my own silly delusion brought on by silence, I walked back to my suitcase. I was certain the noises, the voices were similar to a mirage of water in the desert.

But … what if?

As crazy as it seemed, I took a deep breath and just simply called out. “Hello!”

My voice bounced back at me.

Quiet.

“Hey!”

Immediately I knew that
wasn’t
my voice. One would think, that, I mean, I woke up to an extinction level event, it was the third day after waking, and it was the first human contact I had, I should be ecstatic.

I wasn’t. I was actually kind of scared.

Unable to pinpoint where the voice came from, I started rotating my body clockwise, looking. Wherever he called from, it reverberated. But how far was he? In the silent, dead city, sound traveled.

For a second, I thought about leaving. Again, chalking it up to my imagination.

“Hello?” he called out.

“Why are you hiding?” I asked.

“What!”

“I said …” I inspired a huge breath. “Why are you hiding?”

“I’m stuck!”

“Is this a trap?” I yelled.

“Lady, please!”

“Fine! Where are you?”

A pause.

“Jail.”

Jail? Was he kidding? I questioned, then I slowly looked to my right. I stood on the roadway directly in front of the county jail property. The red brick, multi building complex was close, yet far, because I was on an overpass.

To get to the jail I had to back track. It wasn’t going to be an easy trek. If he indeed was in the jail, and stuck, then it was inhumane of me to keep walking and not, at least, try to help him.

Before I made it from the rise of the overpass to street level, if indeed this man was in the jail, I asked, once more where I could find him. Knowing full well, I probably wouldn’t hear him once I was on the street.

His voice cracked horribly from yelling. Stating something like Building One, Two ‘B’. I had no clue what that meant.

The county jail was located in the vicinity of the city’s judicial building. I had never been there not even for a traffic ticket, so I was going in blind.

When I left the overpass, I glanced at my Wilkes’ watch and it was shortly before noon. When I finally lugged my belongings and myself to the city building, it was pushing one o’clock. Not that I was moving that slow, I just didn’t know where I was going.

I suppose he thought I left him. That wheel squeaked loudly again, especially as I entered the more confined space of the city.

Finally I found where I was headed and it was evident, that towards the end, it was a complete madhouse.

Police cars were burned, bodies were everywhere, military posts
once again set up and abandoned. I wondered how the man calling me was stuck when apparently the front doors were busted open, numerous bodies of men wearing bright orange jumpsuits sprinkled across the pavement.

I brought in my suitcase, but left it just inside the entrance of the building labeled number one. I pulled out the hefty flashlight. While there were some small windows, very little light made its way in. The building I sought was clearly numbered and located on the river facing portion of the property.

In a sense I was proud of myself for being brave, I never really was. I didn’t do haunted houses or go to see scary movies unless I was with a group of people. Yet, I made it into the buildings and followed signs.

Doors were open everywhere and the stench of dead filled the air. A map on the wall just outside of the room marked ‘visitor waiting room’ told me that this 'Two B' was on the second floor.

I searched for a stairwell and found it. It was even darker than the building. Pitch black. Even though I was thankful for my flashlight, I still was cautious, flashing back to movies and, staying close to the wall and hoping some sick, flu stricken man didn’t grab onto my ankles and ask me to come have chicken with him.

Second floor.

Again, another unlocked door.

The stairs led to a hall, which in turn led to a huge open control room.

One body of a guard was there. He sat at the control board, blank monitors surrounded his slumped over body. Yet, only the third person in authority I saw holding their post.

Outside of the control room I could see where the hall was marked. I stopped at Two A, and aimed the beam of my light through the small glass window on the metal door.

I called out. “Hello!”

“I hear you!” he replied.

I moved to Two B. The door as the same. Closed, I could see through the window some light, but not much. I walked to the door and pulled. It was locked, of course.

I lifted my flashlight and leaned to the window to peek in.

Suddenly my beam caught his eyes, the light reflected from them, quickly making them appear a glowing green and I jumped back with a scream.

“Thank God.” His voice was muffled, more so than what I heard calling when I was on the street.

I inched to the door.

I couldn’t see much of him, only that he was hunched over to look through the window at me.

“I am so happy to see you!” He said with excitement. “I am so glad to see you. I heard you.”

I couldn’t see much of his face, not at all. I was scared, after all this man was in jail.

“Are you a murderer?” I asked.

“What? No. I ...”

“A rapist?”

“No.”

“Child molester?”

“Lady. No. I’m the second floor.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“Lower the floor, the lower the risk.”

I realize it was stupid, I was face to face sort of with another survivor, but I was hesitant. Was I going to help this man only to be slaughtered?

“Is that true?”

“Think about it. Even if it wasn’t would I tell you?”

I didn’t like the sound of his voice. It was ‘husky’ for lack of better word. Worn and dry, deep and not youthful. Years of experience were in it, years of hardship.

“Please, I’ll tell you anything you need to know. Let me out.”

I reached for the door and pulled. “It’s locked.”

“Can you shoot at it? Maybe that will break the lock?”

“Shoot at it with what?” I asked.

“Your gun.”

“I don’t have a gun.” When I said that, I cringed. Why would I tell him that?

“All that shit that happened out there, you’re wandering around without a gun or protection?”

“Everyone’s dead.”

“I’m not. You’re not. Others are not.”

“I can’t get you out. It’s locked, see.” I pulled. “Sorry. I am. I don’t know what to do.” I turned.

“Wait!” he shouted. “Where are you going?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t get you out. I have to go.”

“Stop.” He hit his hand on the door. “Don’t leave. There are keys.”

I stopped walking.

“Please. I can’t believe you are gonna leave.”

Slowly I turned around. “Where? Where are the keys?”

“The locks on these doors are manual override. There’s a black box in the control room. They are in there or, if you can, find a guard.”

“There’s a dead guard in there.” I pointed backwards.

“He may have keys.”

I held up my hand. “I’ll check.”

“Thank you.”

It was frightening. I was talking to a mere eye with a voice attached. I didn’t know what kind of man would emerge from behind door Two B. If I freed him, I knew I wasn’t sticking around long enough to find out. My good deed was to release him.

If he was in jail, obviously, he was dangerous.

I returned to that control room and to the body of the guard.

One hand covering my nose, I reached down to pat his sides, nothing. No keys. Before I gave up., I lifted him from his slumped position. His face was nearly glued to the counter from decomposition. It made me gag.

I was already in a weakened state, tired again, my legs wearing down, my body lacking energy, and hoisting him back seemed to rob me of what I had left.

Brackenridge. That was his name. T. Brackenridge.

Then I remembered, he was more than a body.

“I’m sorry, T.” I whispered and then spotted the huge key ring attached to the front loop of his pants.

I undid them and lifted the ring. Nothing was marked clearly. There had to be at least thirty keys. But for the man behind that steel door, I’d try each one.

I jingled the keys as I made my approach and I heard him cheer happily.

Tucking the flashlight under my arm to shine on the door, I began the process of elimination.

Jail man stayed close, talking to me as I tried each key.

“I heard the squeaking,” He said. “It was the first sound in days.”

Key tried … failed. Another tried ...failed.

“It was far away at first and then moved closer.”

I didn’t speak, I kept trying the keys, I didn’t want to lose track of the ones I tried.

“I was able to see you moving from the one window. Then I waited until the squeaking stopped so I could make some noise or else you wouldn’t hear me.”

Another key, another failed attempt. I didn’t think any of the keys would work.

“We have an open rec area, it’s open air. I figured if you could hear me from anywhere, it would be there.”

I grunted in frustration. Why wouldn’t any of the keys work?

“Thank you for stopping. Thank you for coming. I’ve been here for almost two weeks. I think.”

I shook my head focusing on the keys.

“I lost track of time. The one guard, unlocked the cells but not this door. Everyone kept dying. I thought …”

Key in.

“I thought I was gonna die.” He chuckled. “I still may …”

Click.

“Oh my God.” he gasped.

The door unlocked and slightly fearful, I pulled open the door.

Not only was I pelted by a strong sour aroma, I was also slammed by the large man who barreled out and immediately embraced me.

He hugged me as if I were a long lost friend he hadn’t seen in years. A huge embrace and I was smothered in his arms.

“Thank you.” He said,
and stepped back. He placed his hands to my face and kissed my forehead. “Thank you so much.” He hugged me again.

“You’re welcome.” I pulled away and took in the vision of the man who could be a poster representation of a biker group or professional wrestling organization. He was tall and bulky, strong looking. His head bald, face tough with overgrown whiskers that were probably once a goatee. He had to be in his forties, late forties maybe. His orange jumpsuit hung down to his waist.

He kept staring at me.

“Do you need water, food?” I asked.

“Yeah, water. I’ve been rationing what I had.”

I reached into my rations bag and handed him a water bottle. The man took it, sipped it gratefully yet sparing, then handed it back.

“Keep it.” I told him and turned, aiming the flashlight before me. “The building is pretty dark, so follow me. Do you need anything before we get outside?”

“No. No, I’m sure, what I need, I can find out there.”

I agreed with a simple nod of my head, leading the way past the control room and to the stairwell. Admittedly, the stairs was a lot less spooky walking down with him behind me.

We emerged and I faced him. “How long since you
’ve been outside?”

“I was tossed in here right after the shut down.” He replied. “I’m guessing nearly two weeks.”

“Just be prepared, okay?” I asked him.

“I can only imagine.”

“No, you can’t.”

At the entrance, I grabbed my suitcase by the handle and toted it with me.

“The squeaky wheel,” he said with a slight smile. “That saved me.”

“Yeah.” I exhaled. “You sure you don’t need anything?”

“No.”

“You should be able to find whatever you need. Some of the stores were looted, but the businesses and stuff probably have machines.” I stepped outside and watched as he covered his eyes. The sun obviously was blinding him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just tough to see, I’ve been in the dark awhile.”

“Let your eyes adjust. And … are you sure I can’t give you an MRE or box of cereal to tide you over
?”

“Tide me over until when?” he questioned.

“Until you find food.”

“I’m confused.” He lifted his arms. “If you have food, why am I …. Wait. Wait. No one is around. Everyone is gone. We’re not sticking together? You’re going your own way?”

“No, actually, I’m headed home.”

“What the hell, lady! Why pull me out then?”

“You asked.”

“You’re serious?” He asked with a hint of airy disbelief. “I’m not going to walk with you?”

After a second pause, I simply shook my head, said, “No,” and tugging my squeaky wheeled suitcase behind me, I slowly moved onward.