Chapter 17: Jonathon
My familiar cell phone morning jingle wrenches me out of unconsciousness. It won’t be long until we can’t depend on the cell phone alarm. The battery drained as it tried desperately to acquire a signal, so I slipped it into the car charger yesterday. We can't hope for it to work too much longer. For now it will do. Someday, even battery-powered alarms will be useless; there will be no batteries.
I can see that it stirs the girls, and Jo shoots up quickly. I’ve done that before, but usually after anticipating something intimidating all night. With any luck it won’t go wrong and we won’t see anybody there this morning.
Rolling out of bed, I call to Sara and Caitlyn. “All you have to do is come to the car, girls,” I say, conveying how easy it will be once they’re there. “You can fall right back to sleep in the back, okay?” Their eyes don’t really open fully, but they stumble out of their bunks and slowly slide what looks like clown-sized jackets over their arms. Jo's clothing will have to keep working for now.
Jo is shaking her head to clear it. She could probably do with a little bit more sleep as well. “I’ll drive,” I say, grabbing the keys from the table and walking to the door. We pile into the SUV after I lock the cabin door behind us, but I doubt anyone will even be in the area. Caitlyn coughs in the back seat as she and her sister nestle together. I start the engine and slowly guide the vehicle out of the campground so that the bumps don’t disturb the girls too much. Before long, we’re on the open road, headed toward the civilization that just two days ago we would’ve given anything to leave completely behind.
The ride is long, and the sun is just beginning to turn the starlit sky into a deep blue in the east. The soft breathing and infrequent stirring of the girls provides a little bit of a distraction, or at least a reminder of what’s at stake here. If I can fill these backpacks with food, we’ll last this winter. We just need enough time to get some sort of system in place.
Thoughts of hunting and gardening stir my mind until I notice the familiar signs for the nearby town. I know that super center is up on the hill not far from here, so I pull the car off the road and swing it into the brush.
Jo stirs. “Are we here?”
“Yes. Here are the keys. Turn your phone on and give me an hour. If I’m not back by then, head back to the cabin.”
“Jon, we aren’t…”
“Yes you will,” I whisper. “Besides,” I start, smiling, “If I get tied up I will just run the mega-marathon.” I slap the side of my thigh twice. "Like a horse."
She looks back at me, obviously not amused. "Be careful," she insists. I nod.
I drop the keys on the driver’s seat, pull the three backpacks out of the passenger seat foot-well, and start off. By putting two backpacks inside of the third, I’m able to strap it on and jog off in the direction of the grocery store. The sun is over the horizon now, but it hasn’t been long. We’ve timed it well.
The hike to the parking lot is short. In ten minutes, I’m approaching the asphalt. The store is up on a hill, so I crouch as I reach the crest. Needlessly, I slyly raise my head above the crest. No cars in the lot. No people walking out the doors. It looks like the doors themselves are broken. The large parking lot looks empty compared to a few days ago. All that's left is some twirling trash.
I increase my jog to a run to get across the parking lot. It’s eerie; I’ve never seen a twenty four hour store so completely dead.
Just like the bodies that are keeping the front doors open.
My run comes to an abrupt halt as I notice them at the entrance; a few are bloody and twisted. I draw a deep breath and force it out through tight lips. Some of the bodies are not very old. The holes in the door windows look like they were from bullets. Is this going on all over the country?
I’m here for a purpose. Get in, get out, get back to the cabin so we can completely withdraw. I try not to look at their faces as I quietly walk through the entryway. Some of them are five...maybe even ten...years younger than me, but I force myself to look up.
It’s pretty clear that this store had been cleared by those looters, but it hasn’t been emptied. The cashier lanes even have some protein bars left on their shelves. I don’t have much time, but I grab one to quickly eat as I proceed. I find the canned food aisle sign and head there. The lights inside keep flickering on and off. Along the way, I start to become aware of the smell of the place. I toss the remainder of the bar to the ground. There are some corpses scattered about the store, but not nearly as densely as they are at the entryway. I can’t help but speculate that these were people that came in, collected bags, and had them taken from them as they tried to leave. I notice some bullet holes and blood along the walls. Those with guns took what they wanted.
I hate guns.
I pass a few shelves full of medicine, and I fill the smallest pouches of my bag with the bottles that I recognize. Aspirin, Ibuprofen, and some general decongestants will help when the temperature drops or allergies kick in. I’m not even sure how to use anything else. The pharmacy is on my left, and I hop through the window. The doctors always prescribe penicillin tablets for infections, so I’ll grab some of those. I jump back through the window and proceed to the food. The next few aisles are freezer aisles, and with the electricity on and off, their contents are probably spoiled.
The canned food aisle, predictably, is one of the more empty ones. However, considering that I only have three backpacks, just enough cans remain spread along the floor and under some of the shelves to fill my first bag . Some cans are pretty dented, but they should still be okay. Once I have that one on my back, I take another glance under some other shelves and continue. This should work perfectly; enough things have been left behind amidst the violence. There appears to be just enough to fill these backpacks. On the way out, I’ll grab some more candy bars for the girls. This went better than I...
Steps.
Up until now, the only thing demanding the attention of my ears has been the flicker of the lights. But now I hear footsteps coming from the front of the store. I quickly consider the worst-case scenario: a hungry, bigger man sees me with three full backpacks in an otherwise empty canned food aisle. There’s nowhere to hide, and I’m not putting these things down. I turn and try to quietly escape to the back of the store, slowly watching where I place each step.
“Hey,” I hear from behind me. I’m not going to outrun anybody with all of this extra weight. I stop and turn around. “What do you have there in those bags?” growls the figure standing at the end of the aisle. He is the worst case scenario. He’s tall and probably a year or two older than I am but he has a boyish face with expression that is very unsettling. His body is square with the width of the aisle, but his head is turned partially to the side, making his dark eyes appear even more accusing from under his heavy brow. He is the size of an ox.
“Almost everything in this store is gone. I think there is some more over in that aisle.” I reply, pointing away, and hoping to evade the obvious and true answer to his question.
“That’s not what I asked,” he boomed, beginning to take heavy strides down the aisle. “What’s in your bags?”
I need to get this food to the girls – to Jo. I can’t give anything up. I have to convince this man that it’s all for me and he can’t have any.
That’ll go over well.
“I asked you a question!” he roared, taking quicker steps, clenching his fists.
“Just a few cans,” I admit. “I need them,” I add weakly while backing up a few steps at a time.
“Not as badly as I do. Give them to me.”
“I can’t. You don’t understand.”
“Give them to me!” he roared again.
“Listen, I need these!” I yell back. “Can we just talk…”
“Give them to me!” His walk turns into a run, and the snarl on his face makes him appear to be more of an animal than a man. I hope I was wrong about being able to outrun him.
I turn and head for the next aisle over, and run as fast as I can toward the front of the store. The weight of the bags in my arms prevents my arms from swinging, so I just lean as far forward as I can and try to stay balanced. This is what it feels like to run for your life.
His face greets me as I approach the front of the aisle, followed by his fist. How stupid am I? Did I really believe he wouldn’t just turn around and block the exit? I stagger back and turn to run the other way, but he tackles me, trying to pry the backpacks out of my hands. The time for talk is over.
I let go of the bag in my right hand and deliver a cross to his left eye. I guess he didn’t anticipate that I’d fight back, so the strike shocks him for a moment. I roll back up and grab the pack on the ground, and turn around to find my exit. As I turn around, I raise my left arm just in time to deflect another punch with a bag. He yells in anger as his knuckles glance off the cans inside. His other hand swings into the side of my face and my vision blurs for a second. I get ready to block more punches, but he doesn’t swing. He lunges for my neck.
With my hands weighed down, there is no way I am going to keep his fingers from wrapping around my throat. My knees bend and I try to keep on my feet. He’ll kill me. A wave of panic and rage surges through my body as I open my hands, letting the two bags fall to the ground. He shoves me against the shelves. My hands shoot to his wrists, but are unable to pluck them away. Instead, I raise my hands above my head and bring my thumbs into his eyes. I push as hard as I can. His hands and arms release from the pain, and I can draw a full breath. I grab his shirt at the shoulder and under the other arm and deliver a knee to his groin.
His hands immediately release my neck completely and I back away, grabbing the two bags on the ground. He staggers over to one of the shelf units and supports himself on one of the items. I turn and run down the new aisle I find myself in.
Of course. The cutlery aisle.
I turn and see him ripping the plastic coating off of a paring knife and he charges at me with a new-found energy. He quickly catches up. I let the packs slide to the floor again and try to dodge his attack at the same time. The knife slices through my right sleeve and the skin under it. I see red beginning to darken my coat. I wish I had put the gun in my pocket. I thought I would be safer without it. Wrong. I reach for anything on the shelves that I can and start throwing at him to slow him.
A cheese grater.
A plastic cutting board.
A potato peeler.
Finally, I find myself with a pan in one hand, and I’m reaching for a mop with the other. This would be funny if I wasn't about to die.
As he jumps at me, I shove the mop in his face-the absorbent side. He uses both hands to shove it to his left. I let go of the mop with my left hand, and while spinning clockwise I deliver a blow with the edge of the pan to the left side of his head. I’ve never put so much effort into a swing in my life.
It lands just behind his eye with a sickening crack. The edge breaks through the skin, and his eyes roll back into his head as his body crumbles to the ground. My legs are locked for a moment, and my breathing is labored as my focus remains on the deep wound that I’ve left in the side of his skull.
I bend down and reach for his neck with my left hand. With two fingers across his throat, I wait, feeling for any kind of signal that his heart is still beating.
Nothing. I look at the pan. The edge is crimson, and noticeably dented from the force of the blow. Dropping it to the floor, I collect the bags while breathing harder and harder. A pool of blood forms around his head. I try to feel guilty, but it was just like Darry on the city street. He deserved this, maybe that's why I don't feel sick this time. Not shooting Darry made me sick.
Killing wasn't that hard...
The girls. I need to get back. Do I have everything I need? I look back at the aisle and realize that some of these items could be invaluable. I put one bag over each shoulder and one in my left hand so that my right is free for a big pot with some knives and other items. I step over the recent corpse to grab a metal spatula.
There are movies, mints, books, and some other stands in front of the cash registers. Useless. I need to make sure we have everything we need. One of the stands in particular catches my eye.
Seeds. The stand is full of seeds with a big clearance sign on top of it. Nobody has taken these yet. What’s more, one register over, there's a stand of books with titles like “Paint Your Thumb Green” and “Gardening for Dummies.” I shove as many seeds as I can in the gaps in the bags, which turns out to be substantial, and I put a few books under my arm. The last thing I need is another encounter. I wobble out of the store with all of my goodies in every nook possible on my body.
The rest of the trip back to the car goes without a hitch. When I am almost to the SUV, I stumble and fall down the small hill, dropping the books and one of the backpacks. I look up from the ground and see Jo running toward me.
When she asks how it went I think I will leave out the boy I killed.