The Lonely Living (5 page)

This can’t be…

Getting caught up in the excitement
of possibly finding what I came for and forgetting my current predicament, I swung
the closet door open.   I stepped back in horror as my heart sank deep within
me.  I was too late again.  Lying on the floor was a recently diseased middle
aged woman.  Tears filled my eyes and I cursed in anger as I picked up a desk
and hurled it against the wall. 

“What was I thinking?” I said, defeated.
“I was a fool to believe that there was someone alive here.”

Having given up I walked over to
the door.  I bent over and picked up the Berretta.  But, before I could lift it
to my head I heard a muffled moan from the closet.  I shined my flashlight
inside.  The woman was the same as before and completely still.  Then I heard
it again only louder.  I raised my weapon.  Was she changing?  I took an anxious
step forward and looked closer at the woman, she was definitely dead.  Then I
heard the muffled moan again and I noticed she was lying on a pile of
blankets.  Without hesitation, I ran over to her and rolled her stiff body off
of them.  I pulled the blankets away and my heart skipped a beat.  I couldn’t
believe my eyes.  Lying curled up in a ball was a young woman and she was
alive. 

Alive she was, but barely. She was
thin and bony and her clothes were filthy and torn.  I gently rolled her over
onto her back and moved the grimy and matted hair out of her face.  She briefly
opened her eyes and mumbled almost inaudibly, “she said you would come,” then
returned to a seemingly incoherent state. 

I opened her mouth and her tongue
was dry, cracked and flaky.  “You’re dehydrated.”  I said dreadfully.

I looked around for something to
drink.   Empty water bottles, food wrappers and open cans were scattered all
over the closet floor, but there wasn’t an ounce of food or a drop of water to
be found.

“I have to get you out of here.” 

The horde was wailing as they
pounded the door from the outside.  I frantically searched the room and closet
for a way out.  I started to talk to the girl as she slipped in and out of
consciousness. “I can’t open the door with them outside.  There’s no way we’ll
make it past them.”  I clenched my fists in indignation and pleaded, “Where can
we go?” 

I paused and tried to think.  A
moment ago, I’d given up and now I was more motivated then I’d been since I
lost Abbey.  My outlook may have changed, but my situation hadn’t.  We were
still hopelessly trapped.  I glanced up to curse, but discovering that ceiling
was a drop ceiling, I stopped myself.  “Up.” I said hopefully.

I swiftly climbed atop the metal
cabinet and lifted up one of the ceiling tiles.  There was little more than a
foot of clearance between the drop ceiling and the concrete floor above and
every inch of it was filled with the angry cries and disparaging moans of the
horde outside.  The miserable melody of the deathly chorus wafted up through a
small vent over the door and hung heavy in the air, making my situation feel
all the more dire.  I dropped down to a seated position on top of the cabinet.  “We
gotta get out.”  I mumbled.  “But how?”

I pondered that question for a
moment, grasping at air for answers that didn’t involve me opening the door to
my undead guests outside and their unyielding desire to eat my flesh.  The only
other way out of the room was the vent, which I couldn’t fit the girl through
let alone me.  In frustration, I hopped off the cabinet and began to pace the
floor.  Grieving my circumstances, I walked into the closet and inside a piece
of trash caught my attention.  I bent over and picked it up.  It was the
plastic wrapping of sliced bacon. 

“You didn’t eat this raw?” I asked
the unconscious young woman.  “Of course you didn’t.  But, what did you cook it
with?” 

She was quiet, but a few minutes
later I found the answer anyway.  On a shelf in the closet was a portable
camping stove.  I pulled the propane tank from the stove and twisted the
nozzle.   I took a quick whiff of the gas then twisted the nozzle shut.  The
tank wasn’t empty, but there was no way of telling how much was left inside. 
“Hopefully enough,” I said as I sat the tank down on the shelf, “hopefully
enough.” 

I left the closet and pulled the
cabinet from the wall.  Once there was enough space for me to squeeze behind
it, I did just that and slid the cabinet next to the door.  I pulled a flare
from my belt and went back to retrieve the propane tank.  Using some masking
tape I found, I attached the flare to the side of the tank.

 
I hope I don’t blow my hands
off.

 Being very careful not to drop the
improvised bomb I was now holding in my right hand, I climbed atop the cabinet. 
With little difficulty I pulled the vent from the wall.  I paused and took a
deep breath.

Here it goes.

  I lit the flare, turned the
nozzle on the propane tank, just a bit, and without hesitation tossed the bomb
through the hole.  I dropped to the ground and covered my ears expecting a loud
explosion, but nothing happened.  After a few seconds of sitting curled up in a
ball, I relaxed.  My heart sank at the realization that my bomb didn’t go off. 
I stood to my feet. “Dam—”

-- BOOM!  Heat and smoke poured
from underneath the door and the ground rumbled under my feet causing me to
fall against the wall. I gathered myself and hurried over to the young woman.
She stirred a little as I slid my hands under her body and picked her up.  She
was very light and I could feel her ribs and spine underneath her clothes. 
With her head lying softly against my chest and her limbs dangling at my sides,
I carried her to the door.  After a few attempts I managed to unlock it.   The
handle was hot to the touch, but I bit my lip and turned it anyway, burning my
hand in the process.  Smoke billowed through the opened door causing me to
stumble backward in a coughing fit.  I calmed myself, took one last breath and
charged forward into the furnace.  It smelled terribly of scorched flesh and the
black smoky air was so thick it was nearly impossible to see.  My eyes burned
and I choked down wasted breaths, as the fire and smoke tightened like a noose
around my neck.   Fraught hands grasped for me in the smoke, but I shook them
off as I searched for the exit.  I tripped over a burning torso and nearly
fell.  As I regained my footing, a flaming fiend lurched for us, but I kicked
it in the chest and it fell away.  The moans of the damned grew louder and more
severe as the fire spread.  I staggered down the hallway, my body weakening
with each step.  Finally, nearing collapse, there was a touch of cold air.

I’m near the exit.

 I plodded forward and the air became
clearer, colder and at last I tumbled into the snowy dark.  I climbed to my
feet and made for the snowmobile.  I hastily laid the young woman in my sled
then jumped in the seat.  I started it up and pulled away just as the remainder
of the horde burst out the broken doors of the school.  I sped away into the
night as the wretches registered their despair with deathly shrieks and howls. 

When I was safely away, I stopped
to gather myself.  After my pounding heart began to slow and my breathing normalized,
I climbed off the snowmobile to check on the young woman.   She was still alive,
but her skin was now ice cold. 

“Stay with me,” I said as I brushed
some snow off her face, “I’m going to take care of you.” 

Quickly and carefully, I wrapped her
up in all the blankets I had and strapped her to the sled.  I opened her mouth
and attempted to give her a drink from my canteen, but my still trembling hands
caused me to miss the mark and spill the water all over her face.  I dried her
up and after steadying myself, tried again.  This time I was successful and
managed to get some water in her system.   After finishing, I slipped the
canteen back in my bag on the sled.   I then reloaded my handgun and topped off
the gas tank before climbing back on the snowmobile. 

A light snow was falling around me,
but a bitter, cold wind was whipping it up into a frenzy, limiting my
visibility.  It was going to be very hard to find my way home in the dark going
the way I came and my earlier tracks had most certainly been erased by the
wind, which left me two options.  Find a place to stay for the night and wait
for the morning or follow the river.  Believe it or not, I agonized over the
decision.  That young woman’s life was hanging by a thread and was going to
take something just short of a miracle to save her.  So, despite my internal
anguish, I decided to follow the river.

I stayed as near to the bank as
possible, keeping my focus on the terrain before me, moving as fast and as
recklessly as the safety of my passenger would allow.  About a half hour into
the drive, I neared the source of my internal anguish, Christ’s Church by the
River.  The old church wasn’t much to look at and in the dark I could barely
see it, but I knew that place as well as I knew Little Eagle’s Island.  I
slowed down a bit and searched for a way to avoid even driving by it, but there
was no place to safely cross the river. I slowed to a stop at the edge of the
property line.  A mixture of sadness and anger swept over me as my body began
to tremble once again.    The solitary Church, with its once proud steeple,
loomed over me like a giant tombstone.  My head filled with memories and
thoughts of a time that felt like a distant dream, but in reality was not that
long ago.  I closed my eyes to drive away the tears that were welling up inside
them.  “Curse this place.”  I said in disgust before hitting the throttle and
speeding away into the night.  I didn’t look back nor did I want to.  The
further away from that place the better.

A couple hours later, I reached the
mouth of Red Lake.  My body was numb from the cold and more than anything I
wanted to fall into a snow drift and sleep.  I crossed the lake and pulled the
snowmobile and sled right up to the front porch.  I unstrapped the young woman
and carried her inside the house.  I laid her down on my couch, relit some of
my candles and then stirred the coals in the fire place.  I tossed some
kindling on the coals and soon enough the room was lit with the orange glow of
a young fire.  I pulled off my gloves and warmed my hands by the fire, for a
moment, before turning my attention to the young woman.  She was still
unconscious and the only sign of life was the tender rising and falling of her
chest when she breathed.   I slipped my left hand under her head and tilted it
forward.  I carefully eased the water into her mouth and she still gagged
before finally swallowing it.  I resigned myself to staying awake and repeating
the process, until she began to recover.  In between drinks, I took a wash
cloth and gently scrubbed the dirt and grime off her cheeks and forehead, revealing
a pale, emaciated face.  Nonetheless, I was struck by her.  She was undeniably
pretty and I was smitten.   But, at the moment I was more concerned with her
survival. 

I spent the rest of the night
giving her drinks and by morning I could barely keep my eyes open.  Sips became
small drinks and small drinks became gulps.  Gradually, her health improved and
color returned to her face.  I boiled a pot of coffee and sipped on it in an
effort to keep myself awake.  It didn’t do much good; my body was threatening
to go on strike.   I gave the young woman another drink and she briefly opened
her eyes, revealing a flash of green iris and mumbled something that sounded
like thank you.  I sat the pitcher of water on a table next to her and sank
deep into my chair. I went out like a light.

I awoke hours later to the smell of
something burning.  No, it wasn’t something burning exactly, it was something
roasting.  I sat up in my chair.  The young woman was awake and crouched by the
fire cooking a piece of meat.   I didn’t say anything at first, I just watched
her, too caught up in the surrealism of the moment to speak.   She was wearing
the same filthy, torn clothes and was too keen on the food she was cooking to
notice that I was watching her.  She still smelled of death.  Finally, the
aroma of the roasting meat broke through the stench of death and reminded my
stomach that I hadn’t eaten in a day.  I stood up out of my chair and started
for the kitchen.  The sounds of my steps startled the young woman who flipped
around like a spooked animal to face me.

“It’s ok.” I said, holding my palms
forward.

An awkward moment passed with us
staring at each other.  She looked at me expectantly like she was anticipating
me saying something to break the silence, but I was instantly transported back
to high school and frustratingly speechless.  Eventually, I stammered out the
first words that came to my head. “You smell bad.”

She flashed confusion and I caught
myself.

“What I meant to say is that if…if
you want to take a bath, I’ll run some hot water.” 

She looked at me strangely, like
she couldn’t quite figure me out. 

“I’ll go take care of the water for
you.” I said awkwardly as I turned away. “My name is Blake by the way.” 

Forgetting my hunger, I went to the
back porch and fired up the generator.   It had been a while since I used it,
so it took a few good pulls to get it started.   I figured by the time the
young woman finished her meal, the water would be warm enough for her to take a
bath or a shower.  While the young woman was eating, I went upstairs and got
some of my old clothes from when I was younger.  I grabbed a pair of purple
sweats and a
Ninja Turtles
t-shirt and carried them downstairs.   I held
the clothes out in front of me like they were a peace offering and she took
them without saying a word. 

I nodded to a nearby door.  “The
bathtub is in the bathroom and there are towels and soap and stuff inside.” 

She flashed an uncertain smile and
headed toward the door.  I paused for a second and thought about how ridiculous
I must seem to her.  
Of course the bathtub is in the bathroom, where else
would it be you idiot?
  I shook my head and walked away.  I was almost to
the kitchen when I heard the sweetest words.

“Blake.”  The young woman said
softly.  “Thank you.”

I smiled to myself and said over my
shoulder, “You’re welcome.”  

The young woman disappeared into
the bathroom and I into the kitchen.  I pulled a can of vegetable soup from the
cupboard.  After opening it and pouring it into a plastic bowl, I put the soup
in the microwave and pressed the one minute button.   I watched the bowl of
soup spin in the microwave for the entire minute like it was my favorite
television show.  The microwave dinged and I opened the door to a steaming bowl
of soup.  It was a thing of wonder, hot soup in a minute, no fire required.   I
let the soup cool a bit while I went and retrieved my journal from my bedroom.

I sat down at the table with my
soup, tossed in a couple of pieces of jerky and began to eat.  In between
spoonfuls, I detailed the past two days in my journal.  It was easy to write as
the words just flowed from the pen.  Soon, I had filled two pages and emptied
my bowl of soup.  Just as I finished my last sip, the young woman appeared in
the doorway. Instinctively, I stood to my feet.  Her hair was wrapped up in a
towel and she was holding her old clothes.

“Umm…What should I do with these?” 
She asked.

I stared blankly at her for a
second before responding, “I can wash them if you want me to?”

“Umm…I was thinking I would throw
them away.” 

“Oh! Here, I’ll take care of them. 
I have a burn barrel out back.”  I walked over and grabbed the dirty clothes
from her.  I took them outside and tossed them in the burn barrel just off the
back porch.  When I returned from outside, the young woman was toying with a
record player in the corner of the living room.  “Do you want me to turn it
on?”  I asked. 

She shook her head.

“I guess I’m glad you said no,
because I’m not sure I know how to turn it on.” I admitted almost shamefully. “I
was just trying to impress you.”

She smiled and I actually felt
warmer.

“My father used it sometimes.  I
think it came with the house.”

“Your father is John Winters.”  She
said. “His senior picture still hangs next to the gym doors back at school next
to his football jersey.  You look like him.”

 Hearing his name angered me and I
blurted out, “That’s where the similarities end.” 

There was an awkward pause before
she realized she struck a nerve and changed the subject.  “I saw that you have
some pop, do you mind?

“Yes, I mean, no I don’t mind.”  I
answered. “It’s kind of flat though.”

“Thanks.”  She turned and walked
away.

At that moment, I realized I still
didn’t know her name and as if she was reading my mind she stopped in the
doorway to the kitchen and said, “My name is Samantha, but you can call me
Sam.” 

“Ok.”  I responded.

Sam went into the kitchen and I
went upstairs to take a shower. I didn’t get to take hot showers very often, so
I didn’t take that one for granted.    I stood under the steady stream of warm
water for a long time.  I wondered if I had come off as a jerk when Sam brought
up my father and I decided that I had and that I would apologize when I got a
chance.  Mostly, I pondered the future.  I’d found another survivor and brought
her to my home, but what happens now?   What if she doesn’t like me or like
living here and wants to leave?   I determined then that if that was the case I
would let her leave.  However, I hoped very much that it wouldn’t be.  

When I had finished my shower and
changed, I went downstairs.  Sam was next to the fireplace with her back to
me.  As I reached the bottom of the steps, she heard me and glanced over her
shoulder.  She quickly wrapped up whatever she was doing and hastily slipped
something into the pocket of her sweats. 

“Are you ok?”  I asked.

She swiftly turned around, “I’m
fine.”  She lifted her hand to her face and tucked a rogue strand of hair
behind her right ear.  “Really, I’m fine.” 

My eyes narrowed on her pocket, but
she nonchalantly blocked my view with her left hand,. “Actually Blake, there is
something I want to tell you.” 

I took an apprehensive step forward.
“Yes.”

“Umm…” She paused then said
quickly, “I’m sorry I brought up your father.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I answered.
“I’m sorry I was jerk.” 

“I really wouldn’t call that being
a jerk.” 

“What would you call it then?” 

“I don’t know exactly, but it
really doesn’t matter.”

“Well,” I said agreeably, “whatever
it was, I apologize.”

She smiled.  “Apology accepted.” 

I changed the subject.  “Is there
anything you need to do before I turn off the electricity?”

She flashed disappointment.

“I’ll turn it on again.  I
promise.  I just don’t have enough fuel to keep it going all the time.” 

Sam replied resignedly, “I
understand.”  She paused.  “It felt almost normal you know.” 

“It always does.” 

With those words, I lit some
candles and then went outside and turned off the generator.  The house darkened
dramatically and all was quiet again.  As I stared out across the island and
over the frozen lake, for some reason, the dark didn’t seem as dark anymore.