Barren Waters, A Post-Apocalyptic Tale of Survival

Part 3

She watched the gap between ship and shore grow to a huge gulf. Perhaps this was a little like dying, the departed no longer visible to the others, yet both still existed, only in different worlds.

—Susan Wiggs, The Charm School

Chapter 11

1 Year Prior

The Walgreens sign was almost completely shattered. Thick pieces of the faded red background had cracked and fallen to the paving, exposing shattered florescent bulbs beneath. The front of the store was badly vandalized. Shattered windows and fractured doors had done little to protect the interior from the elements. Jeremy could see the alien fungi—the exotic stranger that had taken over the world—fingering it’s way across the threshold, inching its way across the linoleum flooring.

He just wanted to check the pharmacy. It was something he did everywhere now. He and Sam had become like the other refugees, like those who foraged and fought for what was left. Yes, he mused, he was luckier than most. He still had the disks Susan had passed to him that night, along with several others they’d hidden in the cart. But they wouldn’t last forever. A solution must be found. Jeremy vowed to visit every damn convenience store, grocery store, or pharmacy from here to Kalamazoo, if it came to that. He’d do anything to keep Sam safe, anything to keep her alive.

Sam was walking behind him slowly, preoccupied with one of her new books. Funny, he thought, how he referred to them as new. The covers were cracked and dusty and faded, the pages yellowed and warped into curves, but they were new to her, and that’s what mattered. It had been a successful trip to the library. The books he carried were heavy in his pack. She’d found all but two of the Harry Potter series, and the entire Twilight series, too—much to his chagrin, and already, she was immersing herself in the comfortable well-worn pages.

The morning had been pleasant. Dare he say enjoyable? Now that their silence had finally been broken, he hadn’t realized how much he missed her companionship. And though a weighty sadness underscored her every word and gesture, he was certain they’d reconnected in a way that healed her. Her eyes were somewhat brighter than before, and she moved with purpose and vitality again. On their way to the library, she’d been downright chatty. Hell, he’d even seen her smile once!

It was a testament to the healing power of honesty. Hanging on to blame and anger and resentment hurts the self more than anyone else. Sam seemed lighter, as if unburdened, like she’d shed a winter cloak on a summer afternoon. Emotions, he had learned, were like that. He’d even experienced a bit of that himself.

He pushed through the Walgreens door, which was hanging half-open on a broken hinge, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness. He didn’t expect to find anything of use, but it was important to check nonetheless. This particular store was at the corner of what had once been a bustling intersection, and thus, had been plundered so severely that he doubted a rat could find sustenance within. All of the windows had been smashed to bits and pieces, and most of the shelving had been turned on its side. Some senseless idiot who failed to understand the obsolescence of money had dashed the cash registers to the ground in a fury, a likely attempt to break them apart. Fool, Jeremy thought, shaking his head. The thief had probably ignored food and water, focusing instead on useless paper. Money had become worthless a long time ago. Water was the world’s currency now, and food its coinage. Anything else was a waste of time.

Wading carefully into the mess, he stopped to peer over his shoulder. Sam hadn’t followed. She’d stayed outdoors. He watched her sink to the curb, slowly, eyes pinned to the book in her hand. Sunlight streamed over her glossy hair.

“Staying behind?” Jeremy called out to her, though he already knew the answer.

She muttered her reply to the binding of her book. Good, he thought. Let her enjoy the freshness and warmth of the day. Let her lose herself in a fantasy world, imagine herself anywhere but here, in a place that was free from uncertainty and stress. For God’s sake, let her know a moment of peace. God knows he wished for one too.

Alone, he turned, picked his way through the rubble. All convenience stores seemed to follow the same basic floor plan. The cash registers were always housed in the front, makeup, hair products, and other cosmetics to the right of the store, and household items to the left. The pharmacy was always at the back. With a frown, he scanned the wreckage, and seeing nothing but remnants of bedlam and chaos, decided to make his way straight to the back. He ducked beneath the pharmacy counter, absently kicking past trash and empty packaging. The bottles at the front were crushed or broken, and what medicines remained were long expired, or useless for his particular needs. There were myriad diet pills and appetite suppressants, which would remain untouched until the day humanity was officially extinct. Weight gain was no longer a leading cause of death in the United States. But diabetes was. He frowned and moved on, past over-the-counter medications and ointments, to the back of the pharmacy where he spotted the needles, the glucometers, and of course, the glucose tabs. Empty bottles littered these shelves. Not a one was full. There was nothing of use. With a resigned sigh, he pushed himself to his feet, turned to leave, and inadvertently kicked a small box across the floor. With a tearing sound, like the shearing of paper, it skated across the cracked linoleum. He would have walked past it altogether, he thought, were it not for the jingle of a something inside. Curious, he crouched to examine its contents.

Pills? Small trinkets? What the hell was this?

As he parsed the contents, his pulse quickened. There were two bottles of multi-vitamins, a bottle of Advil, and three containers of antacids next to these, and—whoa!—two bottles of insulin pills. A tiny stuffed teddy bear was curled in the corner of the box, nestled next to an old tube of Carmex. He lifted the toy, which was an old a keychain, and slid his index finger through the ring on its tail. A tiny bell, attached to its collar, jingled softly in his hands as he turned it around.

How on earth was this here? he wondered. Who had assembled this haphazard collection? Brow furrowed, he examined the randomness of things that were seldom found on the same shelves of a store. Someone had been here, recently, and with a rather discerning eye, ransacked this store, chose items he or she found worthy, and then assembled them inside this box. But then what had happened? It was left it behind? Treasures like these were forgotten in haste? Or did a gang interrupt this fruitful expedition and neglect to take the spoils for themselves? Both scenarios were highly unlikely. Ridiculous, in fact. It didn’t make sense.

A thread of uneasiness rippled through his body, and the walls seemed suddenly closer. This had the hallmarks of a well-laid trap, and he had fallen into it without thinking. He held the box away from his body, as if it were a snake poised to strike. Sunlight spilled through the entrance of the store, where small motes of pollen and dust danced in the golden light. Sam was just beyond that door, far away, and unaware of the danger. For a moment he considered setting the box to the floor, but for some strange reason, he paused. Perhaps he should just take the insulin pills. He could palm the bottle and run for the door. How in good conscience could he leave them behind?

“Put that down,” a voice hissed from behind. “Now. Set it to the ground and I won’t pull the trigger.” The voice, though raspy, was distinctly feminine, a voice worn thin by draught and dust. “Do it now,” she repeated. “I won’t ask you again.”

Jeremy slowly sank to the ground, set the box to the floor, and then straightened. He lifted his hands above his head as he did. “I’ll leave,” he said softly, without turning around. “I’m no threat to you. I’m a father. I have a child outside. I’ll just walk away from here.”

He ventured a step toward the light and then paused.

“No,” she said, “You’ll do no such thing. You’ll turn around slowly and face me. You’ll turn around slowly and back toward the door, and you’ll do it with your hand in the air. Am I clear? I need to see your hands at all times.”

Jeremy’s stomach performed a tumbling act, worthy of Barnum and Baily’s. “Okay,” he conceded. “I’m turning around now. Do you see? I’m doing it slowly.” He lifted his hands higher. “Please don’t shoot. I have a daughter outside. She—”

He was speaking the words as he turned toward the woman’s voice, but what he saw when he faced her stole the breath from his lungs. He was unable to think, speak, or breathe. He was paralyzed. Dear God, he thought as he fought his rising gorge. This was his deepest fear manifest. This was his worst nightmare incarnate and standing five feet from where he stood. He struggled to keep his expression placid, as he looked upon the woman and her boy, but failed.

She was young, he observed, twenty-five, or twenty-six. Certainly no more than thirty. And her boy, sick as he was, was no more than six, though his illness made him seem much younger. He was gravely ill, emaciated, worn. But that wasn’t the worst part, by far.

As Jeremy’s eyes found the barrel of the gun, he took a breath to steady himself. Every instinct told him to flee from this place, and it took all his energy to fight it.

“My name,” he ventured, “is Jeremy Colt. My daughter, Sam, is outside, on the curb. I mean you no harm. I’d just like to leave. I’ll back away now, like you told me to. I’ll leave you to your property and your business. We’ll leave and we won’t look back. We’ve business of our own to tend. I’m not interested in the affairs of others.”

She nodded her assent and motioned with the gun, an efficient and militant dismissal. He didn’t waste time, took two steps back, while carefully judging her reaction. She was alert, he observed, though obviously exhausted, worn despite a manic gleam in her eye. A deeply lined face and puffy eyes betrayed the depth of her fatigue, and as he looked upon her, his eyes betrayed him. His glance slid to the boy at her side, and then finally, to the small cache of medicines his mother had collected for him. A sharp panic knifed through his gut. This could easily be Sam, he thought. This was her nightmare future. He couldn’t face this. His arms slowly lowered, against his will, while his fingers sought his nose, and pinched. He cast a nervous glance over his shoulder, toward Sam. Hopefully she was still engrossed in her book. He didn’t want her seeing this.

In the heavy heat of early afternoon, the boy’s stench was ghastly. Jeremy stumbled a few steps back. Though he wanted to leave, he was frozen in place. It was two-dozen steps to the door, if that, and he awkwardly pitched himself toward it. The woman’s son was on his deathbed, sprawled on his back, in the base of a shopping cart, which was much too small to contain his long-limbed body. He was folded inside a stack of blankets that were dirty, his legs awkwardly dangled over the side.

And it was his left leg that betrayed his disease.

With a start, Jeremy realized he was mewling like an animal. He coughed into his fist and cleared his throat. He had to get away from this. Now. Away from this reminder of how things could be, of how things would be if he didn’t devise a plan, if he wasn’t able to find a solution.

He stuttered and tottered his way toward the door. “I’m leaving,” he muttered. “I’m leaving right now.”

The scene in front of him was a train wreck, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to look away. His eyes betrayed him again and again. The child, at this point, was all but unresponsive, probably unaware of his surroundings at all. One small blessing, Jeremy said to himself, his gaze settling on the boy’s leg.

The gangrene, it seemed, had set in long ago, as it commonly did for untreated diabetics. The decay had originated in his foot. Four of his toes were blackened and curled, beyond regenerative healing capabilities. They were twisted and gnarled, and the skin was peeled back, which revealed a shiny and glistening rot. The rot seemed to crawl from the ankle to the calf, in a way that was similar to the fungi outside. It was staking its claim as if sentient and purposeful. Like a parasite it crawled across his leg, necrotizing healthy flesh as it inched its way along. It reached for his knee, longingly, lovingly, as if it knew that once it scaled that final bony hurdle, it would be free to feast on the abundant flesh beyond. There were faint patches of white bone in the deepest parts of that rot. Jeremy shivered. The pain was unimaginable.

He stumbled back, almost fell to his knees. He’d never let this happen to Sam. Not ever. Not in a million years, if he could help it. How could this woman have allowed this happen? How could she have neglected her son so completely?

Wait. He faltered. Neglect? Was that fair for him to say? Did he believe this woman had allowed this to happen? Why would she do that? How had it happened? Neglect was a conclusion he had no right to reach. Not without more information.

His gaze found hers and held her tightly. She was exhausted, drained, barely able to stand upright. Fear coiled in the depths of her eyes. She made no attempt to conceal it. She was doing all she could with what little she had. And didn’t Jeremy know, firsthand, what that was like? His thoughts turned to Sam, then finally to Susan, and he knew a moment of crippling guilt. Would Susan have behaved as he was right now? Would she have jumped to such terrible conclusions? And furthermore, he wondered, would she abandon a sick mother and child in a store? Though he’d lost the cabin, Jeremy was still a rich man. He was wealthy in a world that was stricken by poverty. His resources were abundant. Would he truly walk away? Would he refuse to offer them aid?

He lifted his palms, held them out for inspection.

“I have a house,” he whispered, “not far from this place, with food, water, and medicine.” His voice sounded strained, almost hollow in his ears.

She shook her head slowly. It was the smallest of movements. “You seem decent,” she breathed, “but I can’t do that. You’d best be on your way, and you’d better do it fast.”

“I will,” he replied. “I am. I’m just saying. You look…” He paused. “You look tired. You look like you could use little help, is all. My daughter is—”

“Stop. You’re lying to me. You have no daughter. Quit playing me for a fool.”

“I do have a daughter,” he objected. “You’re wrong. She’s sitting outside, on the curb, on the street corner. You can see for yourself if you look out the window.” His words came faster as his thoughts coalesced. “She’s reading a book. We just came from the library in midtown. She likes to read.” He glanced at the boy. “She found Harry Potter books. Would your son like that? Come with us. Come back to our house. She could read it to him, and you could get some sleep. You could eat a hot meal. I have plenty of food: cans of beans, vegetables, rice, oats, and lentils.”

He could see her hunger beginning to build, and he suddenly dropped to his knees. “I’ll stay here,” he whispered. “So you can go look. I won’t come near you. I promise. Just look out the window, see for yourself.”

She dared a step forward and he refused to move. Bolder, she crept to the nearest window, and with hands that shook, wiped it clean. Her grip on the gun had loosened, though slightly, and Jeremy held his breath as he watched her. Sunlight spilled across her hair and face. Perhaps she had once been pretty, he remarked. There may have been a time when she was beautiful. Her dark hair may have been lustrous and thick, though now, it was matted and clumped. It hung to her shoulders in twisting tendrils. She was thin, though her hips swelled suggestively, as though her womanly curves had been whittled with time. She captivated him as she stared out the window. The depth of her despair was etched onto her face, sadness so profound it took his breath away.

She must have seen Sam, for her mouth fell open. Jeremy’s emotions stirred at the sight, and he instinctively knew she and her boy were alone. How strange it must be to confront another person after so much time, even stranger to encounter another child. He watched a tear slide slowly down her face, drop from her chin, and fall to the floor. Her voice shook, her words desperate and pleading.

“Dear God,” she breathed as she slowly exhaled. “How badly I want to trust you. How badly I want that hot meal.”

“Then take it.”

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“You can. You should. Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m leaving this store and I’m joining my daughter. We’ll leave and walk back to our house. We won’t look back. We won’t turn around. You’re welcome to follow us, see for yourself. You can watch us for a while, give it some thought, come back when you’re ready, but we’re moving on soon. Not right away, but soon.” He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “It’s just the two of us, just my daughter and I. We lost my wife, Susan, and we’re resting and healing, gathering our strength before me move on. You can have the house when we leave. It’s yours.”

He turned from her then, and walked toward the light.

“I’m Jeremy,” he said, “and my daughter is Sam.”

While he crossed the store, she didn’t make a sound, until he finally reached the door and the light. Her reply, though faint, was discernible, full of hope.

“I’m Meghan,” she said. “And my son is Peter.”